#in all their beat up glory

[foolscapper]

Las Vegas is a real drag.

[nerice]

naoko takeuchi is responsible for 60% of my neurons. is all im saying

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

when you were five, you stole rin’s soccer ball.

you had no malicious intention, really. but rin didn’t realize that and ended up saying some nasty things (“you’re a stupid and annoying poo-head!”) to you, which ended up had you sobbing while you explained that you were really just cleaning the ball because of the grime and dirt on it. rin ended up feeling bad and buying you an ice cream.

when you were eight, you stole rin’s glances.

he was always looking at you, and even when he was supposed to look somewhere else, his eyes stayed on you. like a moth drawn to a flame, he followed you around. he hid when he got shy, blushed when he got caught, and smiled when you talked to him. the reason for it was simple: he realized that you were pretty and nice, and so he liked you.

when you were eleven, you stole rin’s breath.

when he looked at you, his heart would quicken, he would go red, and he almost stopped breathing every time. he always found his heart skipping a beat and his breath quickening to the point where they were non-existent whenever you smiled. he didn’t understand it, it was weird. he wanted to ask sae about it, but he had already left for spain, so rin just assumed he was sick.

when you were fourteen, you stole rin’s first kiss.

it was just experimental; you had seen so many other classmates have their first kiss, and you had to admit that you felt a bit jealous. you wanted to have your first kiss too, but you wanted to save it for someone special. rin, not wanting to see you upset, awkwardly muttered that he was fine with kissing you. he didn’t know how to word it correctly, but it ended up okay in the end. you were both inexperienced and didn’t know how to kiss properly, but it was only a short and soft kiss after all.

when you were seventeen, you stole rin’s heart.

at this point, with the (unwanted) advice from stupid isagi and bachira, rin finally realized that he fell deep down the rabbit hole of being in love. his heart felt like exploding when you touched him, even if it was something as ridiculous as your fingers brushing accidentally. whenever he sees you, in all your ethereal glory, cheering for him in a game, he feels like he can score 50 more goals. the media had never seen the cold and calculating itoshi rin act like this, although the paparazzi and journalists enjoy every moment of his soft look whenever his eyes land on you.

when you were twenty, you stole rin’s virginity.

self explanatory, although rin was surprised he ever got it taken in the first place. it was an awkward first time for the both of you, and although you both had little to no idea of how the hell you do it, you both pulled through. after the session, rin only seemed to fall for you even more. even after he turned into this cold and rude soccer obsessed person, you never left him, and now you’re here, in front of him, sleeping softly in his arms after doing the most intimate things two humans can do with each other.

when you were twenty-three, you stole rin’s last name.

it was a day of tears, love, and eternality. rin’s eyes gleamed with tears when he saw you in that snow white dress, looking like the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen and ever will see. hearing someone call you by his last name, seeing you laugh and talk with his mother, seeing you holding a pastel bouquet of flowers while walking to him, they were all rin’s dream aside from winning the world cup. the shared kiss had much more experience and passion than the one from nine years ago, and you almost cried knowing just that.

finally, when you were twenty-six, you stole rin’s genetics.

okay, maybe you didn’t. he sort of gave it to you in a way…but your kids sure stole his genetics. bright teal eyes, exceptionally long underlashes, and an undeniable passion for soccer. even at 3 months old, your daughter can’t sleep without holding a soccer ball. rin has never been happier, his soccer career at it’s peak, being with his beautiful wife and daughter, and not heaving to worry about you stealing everything else, because you had already stolen everything from him.

and rin prefers it that way.

[darkblueboxs]

I think my favourite element of the writing in aftg is how Riko's downfall is utterly, entirely, beautifully self-inflicted.

Riko is power hungry, a glory seeker, jealous, cruel, vindictive and unable to share the spotlight. His worst actions and features come back to haunt him over and over in a way that is *incredibly* satisfying from a readers' perspective.

-Riko breaks Kevin's hand. Kevin leaves to become one of the foxes' best players, training them into a team worthy of finals and bringing them to victory with the game's final point

-Riko moves the Ravens to the southern district, placing his team directly in the path of the team that will eventually beat him

-Riko terrorises Kevin on the Kathy Ferdinand show, angering Neil into taking a stand against him (...which causes Andrew to re-evaluate Neil's worth, which leads to their deal, which leads to Neil staying with the Foxes...and so on)

-Riko kills Seth, who becomes a driving force for members of the team, particularly Alison, to beat the Ravens

-Riko setting Drake on Andrew further angers the Foxes and motivates them to beat him; Aaron in particular.

-This also results in Andrew sobering up sooner than he otherwise would have, arguably making him a stronger player and helping the Foxes reach finals

-Kidnapping Neil over Christmas break and forcing him to play as a backliner gives Neil an intensive course in Raven teamwork, drills, etc. Which Neil then teaches to the Foxes.

-Oh, and my favourite. They force Neil to play as a backliner against Riko. The very move which Neil then uses to block Riko from scoring in the final. Fantastic. Ten out of (jos)ten.

-Incidentally, beating the shit out of Neil and putting him in a different position causes the Ravens to vastly misunderstand/underestimate how Neil's abilities as a player have developed

-Forcing Neil into his natural appearance and helping his father find him leads to the most unifying moment for the Foxes of the entire series; the Foxes rally around Neil, and finally become one functioning, dedicated unit.

-and god, just when it seems like it couldn't get any better; Riko destroys Jean, taking one of his team's best players off the court before the match can even begin

Riko set almost every moment of his team's defeat into motion months before their match even began; the consequences of his cruelty not only weaken the ravens but fashion an opposing team which is stronger, more unified, and more determined than ever to beat Riko.

And it doesn't end with the match; Riko attempts to kill Neil, serving Ichirou all the justification he needs to dispose of his brother on a silver platter.

Riko Moriyama's fate is self-inflicted from start to finish, in the most deeply satisfying way possible.

[gghostwriter]

One Single Thread of Gold

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 2 Summary: The three times Penelope tries to solve a Spencer Reid riddle and the one time she (and the team) meet the reason behind all the changes Trope: Fluff! Just fluff and team banter! w.c: 4.0k a/n: For some reason, my earlier post on this disappeared dunno why. But this is a very self indulgent fic as reader’s background is basically based on the industry I work in. I had a lot of fun writing the team banter and I hope you enjoy it too! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗

The first clue presented itself on a dull Wednesday night as the team, minus Hotch and Rossi, were leaving the bullpen after a full day of pushing papers. Penelope in all of her sunshine and colorful glory was buzzing about these accessories that she once spotted on a storefront window.

“I saw a pair of earrings and a matching necklace that would look so good with that top you bought the other day, JJ. You know, the blue one with those soft sleeves—they would look great with it. It’s tres boho chic.”

JJ smiled, opening her mouth to reply, but Spencer beat her to it.

“Did you know that boho chic was actually a response to political and social movements?”

“Wait, what?” Emily interjected.

He took her disbelief as a sign to continue on. “Yeah, yeah. There’s an article written about it in Vogue—softness and femininity historically appears in moments of political stress and war. Just like in the 70s with the hippie and anti-war movement that defined their style as a generation.”

They all piled into the elevator and turned to face the boy genius like he grew another head. For all they knew, this could be a clone and a very bad one at that. The Spencer Reid that they knew had absolutely no interest in the realms of fashion.

Penelope was the first to break the silence. “Vogue?”

“Kid, what gives? Just the other time, you didn’t know how many shoes a woman owns and now you’re some kind of expert?” Derek asked with both eyebrows raised.

“Did not knowing activate some kind of button that made you want to read about it?” Emily added on, feeling like she was in some kind of TV prank show.

“What?” Spencer licked his lips, nervous with all the attention on him. He felt like he was about to slip something up that he had been keeping to himself for a while now. A hidden precious gem that was you. “I—I like to read.” A believable excuse except his voice went up an octave, giving him away.

The three women shared a look.

“But you read academic textbooks and classic literature,” JJ stated.

Penelope added on. “Not fashion magazines.”

He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “I don’t discriminate when it comes to reading. If it’s interesting—” he shifted his weight one side to another, thinking that the ride down on the elevator seemed to be taking slower than usual. “—I’ll read it.”

Penelope narrowed her eyes. She was no profiler but she could smell a lie from a mile away way. That wasn’t the whole truth. Dr. Spencer Reid was hiding something.

“Okay, see you tomorrow!” he squeaked out as he ran out of the elevator once it hit the lobby.

She turned to the three profilers, stunned with the boy genius’ erratic behavior. “Huh, did anybody else get the feeling that Spencer was hiding something?”

“Maybe, but the kid does read a lot. Maybe he just ran out of books.” Morgan shrugged.

The other two profilers tilted their heads and slowly nodded in agreement. It wasn’t far off on something Spencer would do. He did once pick up a pamphlet in the airport to read as mentioned before to her by Derek, granted it was for a case but still, Penelope couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else.

So when she arrived home that very same night, she propped up her laptop and got to digging. Boy Genius was hiding something big and Little Miss Oracle of Quantico can find anything with her tech skills. She’ll get to the bottom of this mystery, once and for all.

———

Spencer was glad to be coming home to your presence. Having spied the lights still on from the outside of the apartment, he took the steps two at a time, excited to see his 2nd favorite person after his mother—you.

“Spence?” You called out, having heard the mahogany front door open. “Is that you, baby?”

“Hey, love. I missed you,” he deposited his satchel to the nearby sofa and ran to give you a hug.

You burrowed yourself into his arms. All the muscles in your body relaxing as you caught a whiff of his cedar wood perfume—the same scent you’ve gifted to him during the early stages of dating. “I missed you too. How was your day?”

“Better now with you,” his words coming out muffled as he refused to detach himself from the embrace. “Actually, I almost slipped up today.”

You extricated from his arms to give him an inquisitive look. The slight scrunch on your nose and raised brows made his heart flutter. How expressive, free, and trusting you were. It reminded him of your first encounter. How you teasingly asked him if he was a serial killer when he offered you a ride home in the pouring rain and how you easily accepted regardless.

“Yeah? Did any of them catch on?” you probed as you pulled him by his belt loops to the direction of the bedroom.

He laughed, finding your aggression cute. “No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Maybe we should schedule dinner with them sometime,” you coyly suggested as you slowly started to unravel his tie. “I mean, we’ve been together for over a year now and I have moved into your apartment, under the guise of watering your plants while you’re away. Which is a lie, by the way—”

“I have plants!” he protested. His hands divesting you out of his sweater, bringing to view his favorite silk set in deep purple that accentuated your skin and the blush on your cheeks.

“—that I brought over, Spence,” you quipped back. “But don’t worry, I won’t spill how the intelligent FBI agent fooled naive me into moving in with him.”

There was a glint in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine. “Love, I wouldn’t exactly call you naive—” his voice going an octave lower. “—not when you’re looking at me with those tempting eyes of yours.”

Giggling, you leaned in for a kiss, one that he quickly took over. His calloused dominant hand wrapped around the back of your neck, effectively caging you in while his other cradled your cheek—a stark contrast to the other. Kissing Spencer had always felt like a religious experience that you never want to part from.

Reluctantly pulling away, you caught glimpse of his need for you. His hazel eyes now dark as ink, nostrils slightly flared, teeth sinking into his lower lip, and his dominant hand dug into the fleshy nape of your neck. It made you feel desirable, like the goddess that he would call you when he’s on his knees tasting nectar from the source.

The discussion of inviting the team out for dinner was long forgotten. No other words were spoken as you pushed him on the bed—only the cries of his and your name and moans of ‘yes’ echoed well into the night.

***

The second clue was uncovered when Spencer walked into the cold windy bullpen with new black cardigan adorning his lithe body. It was non-descriptive to the untrained eye but for fashion enthusiast Penelope Garcia, she knew what those four white lines on the sleeve meant—luxury label and priced well above their pay grade.

She narrowed her eyes. The Spencer she knew wouldn’t dare spend his salary on anything besides limited first edition books. Something was truly up and she planned to get to the bottom of it as her initial online search turned up nothing.

“Reid, that’s a really nice sweater,” she complimented, throwing in her bait.

He smiled. The thought of who gave it to him warmed his heart. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks Garcia.”

Her sparkly pink kitten heels clacking on the floor as she came closer. “Can I see it?” she innocently asked.

The request threw Spencer off the loop but thought nothing of it as he shrugged and handed it to her—still warm from body temperature.

Her squeals caught the attention of the other profilers filling into the office.

“What is it, baby girl?” Morgan deposited his bag on the table and stationed himself beside her. “It’s Reid’s new sweater. Are you seeing something I’m not seeing?”

Garcia rolled her eyes. This was why females are considered more observant that their sex counterpart. Her chocolate thunder was a profiler but how could he not notice what she was deducing?

“Huh,” Emily surmised. “Based on the fibers, it’s definitely not polyester. Possibly a 100% wool, what do you think, JJ?”

“It says here on the tag—100% virgin wool,” she read out loud. “That makes it very expensive, right Garcia?”

The colorful tech analyst smiled. Her girls could never let her down. “Right you are, girlfriends! But it’s not only that, this—” pointing at the four stripes on the sleeve. “—this is a signature Thom Browne detail. Their prices go up to at least 600 dollars—” they all turned to Reid who seemed clearly agitated. “—now why does our boy wonder have a piece that could buy at most five cute heels?”

With his vast intellect, he couldn’t think of a way to weasel out of this impromptu interrogation. He couldn’t very well say that it was a gift now could he? If he did, that would lead to another hard hitting question ‘from who?’ He raked his hand through his curly hair, taking the same path as yours did just earlier as you gave him a kiss goodbye.

When you gifted him the cardigan from your last New York business trip, he really thought nothing of its material equivalence, besides feeling grateful and loved. It was proof that you paid attention to even the littlest details about him.

“Hey Spence, I got you something,” you looked up at him with sparkling eyes. The first thing you had done when you got home was run into his arms. A simple act that healed his aching heart from missing it’s other half.

You reached into your luggage, enthusiastically pulling out the black clothing wrapped in tissue paper like some magician pulling out a rabbit from a hat. “Here you go!”

“A new sweater!” He exclaimed.

You rocked on your heels, looking bashful as you explained the reasoning behind it. “I noticed you fidgeting when you wore the cardigan JJ gifted you last Christmas, the polyester fibers used on it must have been really itchy so I got you a new one—” your eyes widened at how your explanation could be taken the wrong way. “—not that her gift wasn’t great! No, it was very cute! It’s just—I want you to be comfortable and protected during your cases in cold states. Polyester is a good insulator of heat but wool is still the best.”

He loved how unabashed you rambled about your interests. That was one of the first things he piqued his notice. How you liked to share your knowledge about the fashion industry that you work for but never coming across as stuck up or snobby, you just genuinely wanted to educate anyone who had a wrong perception of the billion dollar commerce. Admittedly, he was one of them but hearing you rave about it’s nitty-gritty details and socio-economic movements changed his mind. It also helped that a beautiful and intelligent woman, such as yourself, was educating him.

He pulled you in for a kiss, stopping all the worries that ran through your head. “I love it. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing at all, baby. I like taking care of you. Just like how you take care of me,” you reasoned. “Plus I got it on sale courtesy of the magazine connections.”

A tap on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. It was Penelope with an eyebrow raised at the subtle smile that graced his face while he replayed the moment in his head.

“Okay,” Morgan drawled. “What’s got you smiling, Pretty boy?”

“Nothing,” he squeaked out, turning to see Hotch make his way across the office. Spencer hurriedly collected his things and started to move even before their unit chief could call their attention.

“We have a case,” Hotch announced.

The remaining BAU members all looked at each other, silently communicating about Reid’s irregular demeanor, before piling into the conference room for another grueling scene of murder.

“He’s been acting weird,” Garcia rushed out. “Definitely hiding something. What do you think, Em?”

Emily nodded. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“A girl?” JJ guessed.

“Yes, must be a special one for him to keep secret for so long,” Garcia surmised. “Do you think he’ll hate it if I go further digging around to find out who she is?”

“Further?” Emily clarified.

JJ laughed. “Probably, let’s wait for him to volunteer the information. Okay, Garcia?”

She sighed, shoulders drooping, before nodding in agreement.

***

The third clue was quite literally handed to Penelope Garcia on the jet after a case when she accompanied the team.

“Cold Alaska is so not good for my skin,” she grumbled as she rummaged her bottomless bag for her favorite hand cream. “I love going with you all on trips rather than being stuck in my own tech cave but the weather wasn’t it.”

Morgan chuckled. “Aw c’mon baby girl, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy our time together?”

“You, my sculpted hunk, and the fireplace were the highlight,” Penelope turned to the other female profilers. “My beauties, do any of you have lotion? I think I lost mine.”

Before JJ or Emily could even utter a word, a tube made its way to her lap courtesy of her seat mate, Dr. Spencer Reid.

“Reid, since when do you carry lotion?” Emily inquired.

He shrugged. “Hand cream has it’s benefits besides from moisturizing the skin, it also provides an additional layer of protection. Depending on it’s properties, it can also repair and undo damage.”

The females all shared a look. This was another unexplainable behavior from their resident genius.

“We know that,” JJ stated. “We just thought you didn’t.”

His brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, besides from the fact that you’ve never shown interest about skincare before, isn’t it a stereotype for men not to know? Unless—” Emily slyly smiled and nodded at Garcia to continue.

“Unless you have a girlfriend that we don’t know about,” Garcia bounced on her seat.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Spencer’s eyes widened in alarm. He didn’t realize he was walking into a trap before it was too late. “What makes you say that?”

They laughed.

JJ started. “Besides from you suddenly being knowledgeable in fashion—“

“—or having a pricey sweater you’d never buy for yourself—” Emily added on.

“Or, or—“ Garcia reached out to touch his hand. Which made Spencer react with a high pitched call of her name. “—having a shea butter lotion with rough hands!” She waved the tube up in the air. “Plus, this is half empty. So either it’s not working which I doubt since this is a good brand or you keep this in your bag for a special someone to use!”

Derek chuckled. “Baby girl, you could be a profiler at this point.”

“Oh tell me something I don’t know,” she quipped back. “So Reid, want to tell us the truth?”

He sighed, finding no escape. “Yes, yes I have a girlfriend.”

The girls all shrieked with laughter and their own corresponding questions of who is she? How did you meet? How long has this been going on? What does she do for a living? Is she pretty? Oh I bet she is!

“Looks like that cat is out of the bag,” Rossi nonchalantly stated.

Four sets of eyes turned to look at one of the BAU founders. “Rossi, you knew about this and didn’t tell me?” Garcia gasped, a hand to her chest at the thought of betrayal.

He laughed. “I caught them on a dinner date once and our boy wonder over here—“ nodded in Reid’s direction. “—begged me not to out him yet, said he wanted to be the one to tell the team the news but that was like what, six months ago?”

“Six months ago?” Emily repeated.

“Wait, wait. Hotch, don’t tell me you also knew?” Morgan asked.

The unit chief smiled. “She was added to Reid’s emergency contact last February.”

“February? That’s almost a year ago!” JJ sputtered out.

The tech analyst turned to glare at the youngest member of the BAU. “Reid, you better start spilling all the details or so help me, I will stalk all your digital footprint when we land until I find out who she is, where she lives, and what her deepest darkest secret is.”

“What about hearing it all from her, instead?” He rubbed the back of his neck. The secrecy had gone on for so long and there was no time like the present to introduce his chosen family to his chosen partner—hopefully until the end of time. “She wants to treat you all out for dinner tonight.”

All four nodded vigorously as they watched him pull out his phone and send a quick text to which you readily replied and agreed to.

“My man,” Derek sighed. “Can’t believe you got a girlfriend without me being your wingman.”

“Answer me at least this, is she pretty and does she make you happy?” Garcia asked. No matter how nosey she may be, she only wanted the best for Spencer and if the recent lightness and smiles were all caused by his mystery girlfriend, she already approved.

“The prettiest,” Spencer gushed out. “She’s my own personal sunshine.”

The three girls melted into their seats. Their youngest was all grown up waxing prose over his lover.

“She makes you sappy too,” Derek teased.

***

[EXTRA - When the mystery was uncovered]

Spencer had never felt any more nervous that this moment as he, with the rest of the team minus Hotch and Rossi, wait for your arrival. He sat with his back to the restaurant entrance and his cardigan laying on the empty seat beside him as a reservation mark. His eyes had been going back and forth to his idle phone and to the conversation the team was having.

Morgan noted his state of distress and chuckled. “You okay there, lover boy? She’s still coming right, your mystery girlfriend?”

“Yeah, yeah. She said she was on her way 9 minutes and 24 seconds ago and based on the route and traffic, she should have been here 45 seconds earlier. Just worried that something might have happened.”

Penelope leaned in, picking on her bubblegum pink choice of drink as she did. “You know, if you just told me her name I could have tracked every movement by now and you wouldn’t be sitting here worrying.”

“What—no Garcia, I don’t want her tracked plus she didn’t want you to know everything about her even before meeting her,” his voice going up an octave in your defense.

She shrugged. “I’m just saying. I mean we don’t know a single thing about her—”

“We do know she exists and you’ve been together for almost a year now,” Emily interjected.

“Actually, it’s been more than year—one year and 124 days to be exact.”

“Buttercup, all I’m saying is we don’t even know how she looks—” Garcia gasped, having spotted a passerby on the window and what she was wearing. “Oh my gosh, that maroon coat is to die for and that textured leather bag—I wonder if I could track her down and ask where she got it.”

“Oh she’s pretty,” JJ noted.

Derek smirked. “Baby girl, tell me if you plan to ask her ‘cause I wouldn’t mind asking for her number.”

The tech analyst’s eyes further widened as she noted the attractive woman going inside the restaurant.

“You weren’t kidding about that coat, Garcia, it looks really nice,” JJ appraised.

Emily squinted her eyes, taking note of the garment in question. “It looks high quality, probably vintage and—is she going near us?”

“Oh gods, she is! Act natural, act natural!” Penelope chanted as she repeatedly slapped Derek’s arm.

The stranger stopped behind Spencer. “Hey handsome,” your melodic voice was a siren that called to his every being. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Penelope’s jaw dropped as she took in Derek’s flustered reaction.

“Me?” He pointed at himself, getting picked up in such a public setting was new even for him—the ladies man of the BAU.

You laughed. “Well, you too but I was more of talking to this lover of mine—“ you bent down, kissing your boyfriend’s cheek. “Hey, Spence.”

A series of gasps were heard all around the table.

The youngest stood up and turned to give you a soft kiss on the lips. “Hey, Y/N. I was starting to get worried.”

“I missed the train, sorry I forgot to send an update,” you explained as he helped you into your seat.

Promptly seating back down, he angled his body to yours—all attention on you as if you were the only one in the room. And in a way you were, with how molten his doe eyes stared, alternating between yours and your painted lips that begged to be kissed.

He always felt breathless when you were near. It was as if he found his very own Aphrodite to worship here on earth. Spencer was no believer of fates or destiny but he would pray and light a candle if he needed to, just to keep you his. Your intelligent mind complimenting his, your outgoing personality that draws anyone in, and your face that could launch a thousand ships.

Those eyes that could read the deepest crevices of his fiber of being. Those cheeks that begged to be caressed by his calloused hands. Those soft lips that deserved to be kissed and devoured until you, in turn, were as breathless as he was. He suddenly wished you both were anywhere else but here—specifically in the confines of the apartment where he was free to express his love, devotion, and adoration until you scream his name and beg him to stop. His hand, having found it’s way to your thigh, squeezed the flesh three times—communicating his promise to have your hair laid around you like a halo as you lay under him, bare and writhing with need.

The blonde on the other end of the table cleared her throat, cutting through the tension.

“Okay, Spence,” she smiled. “Mind introducing us to your girlfriend?”

He brought your hand to his lips, leaving a series of sweet kisses on your knuckle. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, this is the rest of the team. Morgan—“ he gestured to each one. “Emily, JJ, and Garcia.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you!” You exclaimed. “So sorry we’re only meeting now. We wanted to stay in our little bubble for as long as we could plus this handsome FBI agent—” you nudged Spencer’s shoulder. “—wanted to keep me to himself. But where’s Aaron and Dave?”

Emily whispered under her breath. “Aaron? Dave?”

“They had prior commitments, love. They did send their regards and Rossi wants to invite you to the next gathering at his mansion,” Spencer explained.

“Love?” Penelope squeaked out. This was really starting to feel like Twilight zone for the team members.

You nodded. “I’ll definitely plot it on my calendar. Now, I heard you had some questions for me?”

“How’d you two meet?” JJ asked.

“When was the first date?” Emily inquired.

Penelope brought out a pen and paper. “What’s you social security number?”

Derek snorted at that. “Do you have any other siblings?”

Spencer’s eyebrows raised further and further up with each question while your shoulders shook with laughter.

“She has all the time in the world to get to know each of you,” Spencer laid out. “No need to make it sound like an interrogation.” He was wishing to keep you forever, if you’d let him.

You smiled as you caressed his cheek, having caught on to the veiled meaning behind his words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[crows4luna]

DANCING WITH ANOTHER GUY TO MAKE HIM JEALOUS.  ﹒˚ ₊ ︵ LOVE & DEEPSPACE EDITION.

mature, suggestive content. explicit content in zayne's section (fingering, nipple play, teasing, pussy slapping). possessive caleb, brief mention of bondage. mentions of miscommunication, disagreements, generally being petty. set in a nightclub. slightly toxic? i think? everything is consensual! reader is gn!afab. reader is not mc but works in the respective fields of their own position (xavier's and sylus' sections). xavier and rafayel's sections are the least horny. sorry, i tried. unedited. 𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀now playing: lokera - rauw alejandro, lyanno, brray [ author's note ] thank you so much @ivohex for helping me brainstorm a little more for xavier's and caleb's sections. also, if anyone has rauw alejandro tickets, please hmu. tysm.

Subtle, strobing lights make the dark intimacy all the more enticing. A beautiful gradient that casts over the bodies that meld with one another in the dark. Beneath them is a fluorescent square platform, following similar color switch patterns as the neon lights above. Those who move on this illuminated island are either drunk, tipsy, or—looking for something with bold intentions.

And bold, you are.

You stand near the middle among these half-inebriated bodies, in a position that makes you secure enough to be within a keen line of sight across the bar. It’s intentional, of course. The music that booms throughout the venue is like a natural, instant spell. Each song that shuffles through is a repetition of a dembow riddim, accompanied by a backing track of pop and R&B instrumentals mixed together.

Naturally, your hips lead a sultry sway. Your body is captivated by the nightclub’s inviting aura, melding with the beat like it’s moving you. A dance that heightens your own enjoyment of the night that’s bound to be filled with opportunity.

Tonight—you’re wearing an outfit skimpier than you’re used to. Showing more skin than you would ever bare on any other night.

And your partner’s here.

But it’s not him who’s pressed up against you from behind. There’s an emboldening heat between yourself and the stranger grinding against you, moving in that same natural gyration. His hands on your waist, squeezing the flesh as you two circle and move as one.

You glance up within that keen line of sight—wearing a hazy, teasing smirk—meeting your significant other’s eyes across the room. Even with the stranger damn near close to bursting in his pants, his hardening bulge grinding up and down against your ass—the only people who exist in this intense atmosphere being yourself and the man you always go home with.

XAVIER - You two were here on a whim to join your coworkers on a night out. It was a spot that had been pointed out by Tara, begging her tight-knit bonds within the Association to ‘let loose for one night.’ - Disagreements were bound to take place between partners, but the light air of tension between you both had been a result of small misunderstanding. He had promised you could accompany him on a mission that was said to be a little bit more precarious. Yet he went alone. - He knows this sight right now was your way of getting back at him. - He gets it. Sure. - But his hand clenches tighter around the glass in hand, ice tumbling and clinking as the liquor inside begins to tumble like a troubled wave. Unknown to him, his jaw is clenched tighter than it ever has. And if anyone knew Xavier better than his usual, composed demeanor, nothing would have been amiss. - You’re always stunning. You’re the most beautiful person to him, and he’s seen you, embraced you in all of your glory. That’s why he finds it unfair that you look as pretty as ever, allowing some random stranger to touch you in a way that only he can. - The glass shatters into pieces—and his tense fingers clench around nothing but the air. - And you’re giggling at the sight. You’re enjoying yourself heartily, feeling a thrum of warmth course between your thighs as Xavier takes an eased stride onto the platform. - You’ve already loosened your grip on the stranger just slightly, giving your partner the ample room to pull away the guy and taking his place. Xavier is stiff at first, but his grip relaxes while keeping a firmer hold on you. - “They already have a dance partner. Find someone else.”

RAFAYEL - The after party following his new gallery opening is handled and arranged by Thomas (surprisingly). Rafayel takes his kindness in good stride. - Yet the artist struggles to enjoy his evening at all. It’s to the point where he’s dissatisfied with the selection of paintings he had for the gallery. He makes a mental note to go over them again, rearrange the space later on so that he’s satisfied. - His biggest gripe isn’t the paintings, though. He realizes it now that the earlier disagreement between you two should’ve been handled better. He misses the normal, casual banter with you, and he hasn’t had ample time to properly whisk you away and apologize. - You’re not holding a grudge against him, but— - You do feel excitement at the thought of him taking the lead. Making the first move tonight. - And Rafayel gets it. It’s why he’s casual, leaned back against the bar as he watches you get lost to the music—as the man behind you is very apparent in fantasizing about taking you home for the night. - Fat chance, the artist thinks. The thought remains when he matches your own playful smile, subtly lifting his hand, in the motion that he would be adjusting his cuff links. - You know each other’s antics already—and you let out a giggle as you make slight distance between yourself and the stranger. Within that same split second, Rafayel snaps his fingers—enjoying how a flame singes the other man’s pant hem, causing him to instantly distance himself as he sputters in panic.

CALEB - It doesn’t take you long to understand that he is seething. The pinch of his brows, slight twitch of the corner of his lips, and a vein damn near outlining on his forehead. - Good. It’s what you wanted anyway. Another petty jest on your end just to rile him up. It’s a fun game, the way you two work together. - Caleb has never once bat an eyelash towards anyone else but you. Yet in the time you were apart, in the time he knew he fucked up and should’ve reached out sooner, you’ve learned how to have your fun. - Don’t get him wrong, he’s absolutely heated in every way possible. You look ready for the taking more than anything tonight—but the sight of that man’s hands on your hips is all that he can focus on. Caleb doesn’t hear a damn thing his colleague is blabbering about. - His teeth might just break from how hard he’s grinding them against each other, hidden behind a forced smile he can no longer maintain. All the while, another vein pops. You’re laughing, knowing how miserable he is seeing this. - He could easily walk up to you, make a scene, and take you into a dark corner and remind you who you belong to. But this was supposed to be a fun occasion. You’ll end up going back with him anyway—and he knows which tie he wants to blindfold you with when he takes you tonight. - Caleb would rather make that happen now. - He subtly lifts his hand with a flick of his fingers—and the stranger you’re dancing with is suddenly pulled back by his pant leg, falling back onto the dancefloor. It startles the other patrons, helping him stand as you walk away with ignorance. You mirror the satisfied smile on his face as you walk towards him—ready to be his for the rest of the night.

SYLUS - It became routine for you two to take on missions together whenever it was something that required going undercover or bringing a plus one. Nightclubs in the N109 Zone were a sleazy but vibrant scene, making the venue all the more intimate when you both stepped foot inside. - Sylus was efficient as ever in handling his task, another arrangement having gone smoothly. He doesn’t have to kill anyone tonight. - Or so he thought. - It’s rare you’re ever in this kind of scene, even more so that you dress for this occasion. Who would you be if you didn’t have your own fun? Especially when it came to riling up your beloved. Between you two, it stirs the very heat needed when you’d like him to be a little more rough. - Sure enough—Sylus is positively seething despite the too calm expression that makes his striking features tense. The look in his eyes is one you’ve come to recognize; it’s the same ferocity that his enemies see in their final moments. - The slightest smirk quirks up on his lips. You’re being cheeky tonight, he thinks. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from your own—ogling him, beckoning him over without a word. - His sharp eyes notice how the man behind you has squeezed your hips a bit tighter, like he doesn’t want to let go. You indulge in it, grinding your ass back into the stranger harder—and that’s all it takes for Sylus to finally prop himself up from the bar. - No, he hadn’t planned on harming anyone at all. He’s a good, morally-abiding citizen. - But oh… the things he was planning to do you. Perhaps keeping you up until the morning was a fair punishment.

ZAYNE - You should have known better by now that your games with him always end up in his victory. - You don’t ever look away from one another as the stranger continues to grind against you, oblivious to the tension and how this was all just an act. But you wonder why Zayne is as calm as he normally is. Eased, relaxed, with no drink in hand. - No, it bothers you. - Your initial, teasing smile begins to soften, and you’re becoming desperate. Your half-lidded eyes now slightly wider, while you jut your bottom lip into a pathetic pout. You’re losing, and your frustration about it makes Zayne smile, ever so slightly. - Your partner eventually pulls away, muttering something about going to get a drink. Just as he turns his back to head towards the opposite side where another bar stands—you feel a familiar, calloused palm tug your wrist, leading you out of the club. - You barely have time to process anything—when Zayne pushes you onto your back against the backseat cushions. He grips your calves, instantly folding your legs back as he slots in between your thighs. - He pants against your throat, humming in satisfaction as his trained hand instantly finds your slicked folds. You gasp for air, instantly weakening beneath him. Your back arches as he presses and circles his fingers into your aching flesh. - “Zayne… Zayne, I—please—please—oh!” You chant his name hurriedly, breathless as you grind into his hand sloppily. - But in trying to chase your pleasure, Zayne retracts his fingers just as fast as he found your skin. His palm strikes against your pussy, drawing a surprised yelp from you. You cry out a whimper, trying to reach out to your lover—and his hand strikes the same spot again. - “What if I just left you like this, hm?” The doctor breathes huskily into your ear, nipping your lobe between his teeth. He groans as his fingers easily slide into you, his low chuckle vibrating against your neck. - His other hand comes forward to expose your chest, instantly latching his lips onto a nipple. You moan out loud into the cramped darkness, more needy than you ever have been. “Ah… agh, fuck… Zayne, I’m sor—” - “How about you go right back into that building, and give him another dance, hm? Just like this.” - You can only whine at this point, huffing with such intense arousal it makes you look pathetic. Zayne is relishing in it, you can feel his smirk against your breast as he flattens his tongue against opposite nipple this time. - “That’s what I thought.”

[suiana]

yandere! skater boy who doesn't think he deserves to be with you. you're all prim and proper, rich and elegant like a piece of royalty. while he's just some... guy. yes, this is a classic case of rich x poor but this time you're the rich one.

yandere! skater boy who loves you ever so much. you're his everything, his one and only. he'd do anything for you, tear his own heart out and serve it on a silver platter all for you. you're everything. however the status gap between the two of you only serves to increase his insecurity in the relationship. especially with how different your lifestyles are. he's a broke college skater living from paycheck to paycheck, and you're... you're you. you in all your perfect glory, living the high life. you deserve better than him.

"hey babe? are you sure you're alright being with me? i just... i think you deserve someone better," your boyfriend murmurs, your hand in his as his thumb rubs the back of your hand. he doesn't know whether you feel it too. the increasing whispers and disdainful actions of those around you. "of course it's fine. as long as we're happy together, right?" your response is as lighthearted as ever and he can't help but let out a sigh. right... as long as the two of you are happy together. since when has he started worrying about what others think anyway?

yandere! skater boy who can't afford expensive gifts or extravangant surprise trips to hawaii or paris. he can only offer you his heart, a burned cd with songs that remind him of you, or maybe the crochet flowers he made himself. it's not much, unlike any of the previous gifts you've gotten before and he's sure you're underwhelmed by his... wait you like them? seriously?

"you... like it?" he stares at your expression, his fingers tingling from where you touched him. his heart feels funny. fast, skipping beats. you've always had that sort of effect on him, making him feel things he's never felt before. his beloved lover. the master of his heart. "like it? i love it! this is so sweet, thank you so much for this! look, you even wrote me a long note! this has to be one of the best presents ever!" oh. oh. you love his gift. you... love his gift? his mouth goes dry, tongue quickly darting out to wet his lips. he could only look the other way, feeling his cheeks heat up just like yours. "fuck, babe..." he mumbles, hearing your happy chirps about how much you adore him and his handmade presents. you're too precious for him. "you deserve better." so much better.

yandere! skater boy who feels awkward attending all your rich people events. he has no decent outfits, lest ones that are appropriate for an event of such high status. he feels so unwelcome in this place no matter how much you try to reasure him. he knows it. he shouldn't be here. it's in the very way people are looking at him.

"are you sure it's okay for me to be here?" it's too hot, too stuffy. too claustrophobic. he feels suffocated in this massive ballroom, as though he was being choked by the tension of everyone's gazes. he tugs at the collar of his one and only slightly formal button up shirt, sweat lining the insides of his palm. meanwhile, you're the life of the party. all smiles and joyful chirps. god, you look so beautiful when you're smiling. are you happy that he's here? "of course it's fine. you're my boyfriend. i want you here." yeah, your poor and not high society boyfriend. he wants to just drag you both out of this place and go back home, watch a movie or something.maybe show you a few cool tricks on his board at the park nearby. just the two of you and the comfort of the night. nothing good ever comes out of socializing with others. especially not snobby rich people who think they're too good for the brokies. but not you. never you. you're different. you're not like them. so if you want him to stay, he'll stay. he'll stay even if he others want him out, even if he wants to leave. anything to make you happy. you're the only one who matters anyway. just you. only you.

yandere! skater boy who just can't let go of you. he knows he should but... no, he just can't swallow or accept a life without you. you, of all people. everyone else can fuck off and die in a ditch somewhere. but you? god, you're everything to him. you're the one good thing in his life. he can't let you go.

"what's wrong, hm?" your voice is so warm. like the warmth of sunshine after a heavy rain. home. you're his home. your boyfriend sighs into your neck, arms wrapped tightly around your torso as he crushes you on the bed under his weight. this is it. this is what his life was destined for. to be one with you. nothing more, nothing less. "i love you babe." and he means it, he really does. he's grateful you want him back too. he doesn't know what he'd do without you. just thinking of going back to the way things were before he met you... no way. that's worse than breaking his board in front of him which is like, death itself. "i want to stay with you forever," a brief pause as he looks you in the eyes. fuck, you're beautiful. how can someone be this perfect? what was he going to say again? your blinding beauty made him forget. oh right. "can i be your husband?"

[kumasakka]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❝ 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐘 𝐖𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐘 ! ❞

⋆.˚ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. isagi yoichi x reader , bachira meguru x reader , itoshi rin x reader .

⋆.˚ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. the moment he realized that he has the biggest crush on you.

⋆.˚ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. ~2.2k words . 0.7-0.8k words each.

⋆.˚ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. drabble for each on. fluff. f!reader. spoiler - free ! safe for minors ! crappy writing. isagi, bachira and rin may seem ooc.

ISAGI YOICHI. when he misunderstood something on valentine's day—

　HE realizes that he has the biggest crush on you when you walked towards him on valentine's day with a beautiful decorated, red box in your hands. Actually it was like a normal day for him—considering that he didn't receive any chocolate.

Well it's not like he minded anyway. Again, valentine's day was always just like another day in school. Yeah but that was until he saw you at the end of the day in all your glory with chocolate in your hand, a bright smile on your lips.

The sun itself shone down on the school, capturing your beauty just right, reminding him of those typical romance movies you never stop talking about. Nonetheless, was that chocolate in your hand? Is that box... for him?

Did you actually like him? He thought the rumors were fake? You never gave any signs that you were crushing on him so he never gave those rumors much thought. And now it seems like he should've prepared for this day!

Nevermind, he can give you tenfold back on white day. The only thing he should do is remain calm and sort his messed up thoughts. At the end, he couldn't help but flush as you stood infront of him, your hand with the box stretched out for him.

"Ah, [n-name]..!" he stuttered.

"Here, 'chi." you paused for a moment, making his heart beat even faster, "a boy confessed to me and gave me chocolate. But I don't feel like eating them, so I'm giving it to you."

It came crashing down. The colors of his face drained. His soul almost flew out of his body. "You okay?" you questioned, a little concerned about the state your friend was in. "Hey, wanna go to the nurse office real quick?! Don't die, Yoichi!"

"I-It's alright... I'm alright..." he blurted out to less your worries, "sure... I'll take those chocolates..."

Even though he assured you he was fine while accepting the box, you were still concerned about his dire state. But you eventually figured out why he was so shocked after forcing him to spill out what his problem was.

"Pfft— You're so silly!" you laughed your ass off, slapping his back firmly which made him yelp out in pain. Not that it really hurt, he was just being dramatic. You think. "Quit being dramatic."

"Hey, you slapped my back! And it did hurt..."

You still think your slap wasn't that painful after he scooted further away from you. "Stop exaggerating." you deadpanned before standing up from the bench, surprising him slightly by the abrupt movement. "Wait here."

With that, you left. Wow, did you really take your leave after slapping his back? Was he actually exaggerating? His back still hurts though. "Did I really just mess up my chance?" he asked himself, his breath hitched, "is she mad?"

Okay, please tell Isagi Yoichi he did not lose his bestfriend since primary school over something that petty. Well, he did thought you had a crush on him. But he would've accepted! Wait, he would've dated you? His best friend? What.

"Calm down and stop overthinking. She will come back." he muttered under his breath, hiding his face in his hands as he bent forward to support his elbows on top of his knees. "after all, she demanded that I should wait. I'm a bit distressed, that's all."

Maybe he should ask you out instead of the other way around. Yeah, maybe he should shoot his shot. You wouldn't reject him, would you? "Maybe I am delusional." he huffed, the blush slowly crept up to his cheeks.

All of a sudden—he felt something cold against his neck that resulted in him flinching. It was too cold for his liking. "Ah, cold!" he immediately sprang up from the bench as a reflex and took a few steps away.

Only to see you behind the seat with a confused expression.

"[name], stop scaring me! This isn't the first time I told you to quit!"

"What were you mumbling to yourself?" you huffed before throwing him something to his direction.

Isagi didn't had time to react but was fast enough to catch the box you had thrown. "Is that chocolate?" he blinked for a moment, not being able to tear his eyes away from the velvet box. This little box was prettier than the other one.

"Yeah. Thought it might cheer you up." you opened the can of cold soda you brought with you. "It's valentine's day, so a little present from your dearest friend won't hurt."

Taking in the sight infront of him, he felt how his face slightly heated up. "Thanks." was this a confession? Was this the confession he needed to be called delusional now? The box was really pretty. Even though it's bought.

"Make sure to pay back tenfold on white day, yes?" you teased him.

"Of course." he answered.

You were surprised by his beaming smile, not expecting this kind of response. So you returned his smile.

After that day, he saw you in an entirely different light. And you did so too.

After all, you're the funniest and prettiest! You're also the one who talked with him without hesitation on your first day of school even though your friends warned you about his weird behaviour. But you shrugged your shoulders with a playful smile.

BACHIRA MEGURU. when he took in the sincerity in your eyes—

　BACHIRA liked you. Not the romantic like-like, rather the plantonic like-like as a friend. But he somehow liked you more than a friend, less than a lover. Something inbetween probably. Again, not that he cares though.

You've been pretty good friends since then, always sitting next to him during most of the classes. And he's also the first one who gets asked by you if you wanna team up for the next school project—warning, he never does one thing to.

The only thing he'd do while you're doing the project is yap, yap and yap. You're doing the whole work. But he does help you if you need opinion or anything else. "Can you hand me the glue?" or "Scissors." or "What do you think? Is the text too small?"

Fast forward—you've grown to be pretty good friends. Silly jokes and banters never came to an end, the laughs were light and pleasant to the ears, shared hugs were warm and cuddly. People assumed you were a couple to be honest.

"Why did the crab cross the road? It didn’t—it used the sidewalk." he mimicked the tongs of a crab, arousing a laugh out of you.

"You're so silly, Meguru!" you laughed.

The jokes would've reminded someone of a dad joke, but for you, it was a first-class joke from the best comedian. Your shoulders slightly shook before you tried to calm yourself down, your aura beamed brightly like his as you smiled.

"Never stop being funny."

"Yes, ma'am!" he grinned, folding his arms on the table, "I had a joke about paper today, but it was tearable!"

One thing Bachira loved was that you shared a humor, laughing at the dumbest jokes together was like a dream for him. "You're so cute!" you squealed, grabbing his surprise soft cheeks. "Your cheeks are the best, man! Ahh!"

Not to mention, whenever you came close, he would notice the twinkle in your eyes—a twinkle that allowed him to believe your unmatched kindness and sincerity were genuine. Genuine for him and him alone.

People do say, eyes are the window of the owner's heart and soul. And Bachira always decided which person had good or bad intentions through their eyes. They were either carrying hatred in them or sincerity like you.

To be frank, he can see a person's heart the clearest through their eyes. And sometimes, when you're talking about things you love, he can't help but stare into your eyes the entire time and admire how they began to shine.

Unfortunately, he's unable to listen what you were saying, making you repeat things very often. Just like right now. "—guru? Meguru, are you zoning out again?" you asked, a little concerned about his attention span.

"What did you say?" he chimed in with a innocent smile, looking like a baby chick that was chirping.

"Ah nevermind!" you huffed, crossing your arms.

It's then when he realized he was being oblivious to his feelings all the time. Did he ever notice how pretty you are up close? Is this what people call crush? If it is, Bachira thinks he fell real deep for you. Like he has he biggest crush on you.

His grin faded for a second staring at your eyes that were filled with worry. "You okay?" you asked, touching his shoulder gently. Wow, he just fell in love with your eyes—they were genuine. Of course. We're talking about you.

"[name]..." he paused to jump on top of you, latching himself onto you, "I love you so much!"

"H-Hey, we're faLING!" you lost your balance.

And yet, he didn't let go.

Rin is also the one who thinks, wow how did she do this? Like, bringing him to the cinema to watch some damn romance movie. He would've rather watched the new horror movie that's out, but you wouldn't quit whining about the new lovey-dovey movie.

ITOSHI RIN. when he caught himself imagining a future with you—

　RIN thinks you're delusional. You're always talking about your dream man and then giggle like a highschool girl, ignoring the fact that you currently are a highschool girl. You were a bit— scratch that, you were delusional with those standards.

Sitting next to next each other, his eyes bore itself into the big screen that displayed some tragic scene. What a typical story. What a tragic scene. He cannot sit there anymore, the seat felt itchy and his mind drifted away.

Not long until he'll fall asleep. He can't though, not after hearing a quiet sob from his right. His eyes wandered to the side, only for them to land on your face—covered with tears as you sobbed like always when something sad happend.

You looked like the actress on the movie who also was crying because their love was impossible, forbidden love. "Quit crying like a baby." he whispered to not disturb other people, handing over a handkerchief for you.

"Thanks..." you mumbled and wiped your tears away.

“Wait for me, my lady...”

Rin continued to watch how the knight was giving the lady a handkerchief, his personal one he spent hours one to craft and decorate. "Once we'll see each other again, you can give it back. But I prefer you'd keep it." the knight swept her hair behind her hair.

"Please come back quickly." she plead.

"I will. That's a promise."

Suddenly, he felt someone lightly shaking his shoulder. It was you, giving him back his handkerchief. "Keep it." he paused. Just like in the movie. Did he catch himself locked in because of that movie? "Err..." he trailed off, knitting his eyebrows in confusion.

"Here." seems like you didn't hear it. "Or should I wash it before returning it?"

Quietly, he took back his handkerchief while shaking his head. "It's fine..." he grumbled under his breath, gripping onto the piece of cloth. His cheeks heated up because of the embarrassment he just said. He was not the knight in the movie.

But he secretly wouldn't mind if you're the lady. He also wouldn't mind, seeing you in the crowd of people, cheering his name during a match. He wouldn't mind if you kissed him for every goal he scored. He wouldn't—you infected him.

Did... did Rin just imagined you as a couple? You must have infected him with those thoughts. It's your fault. But he was wondering what kind of wedding dress would suit you perfectly. He could already hear the bells ringing—shit.

He deadpanned before hiding the upper part of his face with his hand. What is he thinking about? He was already imagining you two during your wedding. You would've looked beautiful though—and he said you were delusional!

"Rin, can I get my drink?" your voice snapped him out of your mind, asking for his drink. Why the heck does he have your drink?

"Huh?" he furrowed his eyebrows, giving you a drink—not seeing there was acutally a second drink.

"It's the wrong one... Did you buy sprite?" you returned the drink. "Rin, you gave me your drink."

Shoot.

"Sorry." he apologized, giving you the other one. Shit. Did you share an indirect kiss? He was drinking out of that one earlier! His face heated up because of... embarrassment? He is being lukewarm as fuck.

"Hope you don't mind that I drank out of your cup..." you whispered.

"I don't." he answered without hesitation.

The only thing he minds is that he caught himself slacking. "I'm going to the bathroom." he excused himself, standing up and quickly made his way out of here as you watched him in concern. Since when was the cinema so hot?

No Rin. You just realized that you had the biggest crush on [name].

"Did I do something wrong?" you muttered before returning to the movie. "Nevermind, it's an Itoshi we're talking about. He can deal with it."

At the end of all Rin knew—your love wouldn't be impossible.

© 2024 kumasakka — do not plagiarize , copy , modify , translate our work !

a/n's — frame lock here I come !!!

[wheneverfeasible]

Random story idea. A bit of a reversal of the constant flirting Eddie does in fics. Non-S4 compliant.

Steve, a confident though not really out bisexual, is finally forced to hang out with Eddie “The Freak” Munson when he’s picking up The Party up from school. He sees Eddie, in all his nerd glory with his big hair and bigger eyes and thinks, yup. That’s the one.

Steve, who always falls so fast and so hard. Steve, who knows Eddie doesn’t like him and only tolerates his presence for the kids. Steve, who might not ever make Eddie like him how he wants too but maybe make him like him as a friend. After all, he’s still friends with Nancy and Robin.

Steve, who never once hesitates to use the Harrington CharmTM on Eddie, flirting for all he’s worth. (He would, of course, stop if Eddie seemed to genuinely hate it, but Eddie always grits his teeth and seems to flirt back.)

Because Eddie…Eddie, the guy who has had more gay rumors about him than anyone, just assumes Steve is straight and making fun of him. Eddie, who doesn’t understand how the kids can be friends with that jerk. Eddie, who decides to try to beat Steve at his own game by flirting back and hoping to call Steve’s bluff.

Steve, who falls harder every day and is just happy Eddie will let him flirt without getting mad at him.

Eddie, mad as hell but like hell is he, an actual gay man, going to lose to Harrington’s Gay Chicken game.

Eddie, who sometimes slips and forgets that it isn’t real.

Steve, telling himself that of course Eddie could never like someone like him, even as his heart flutters every time Eddie sends him that dimpled grin.

Robin, who knows exactly what’s going on but thinks this is far too funny to stop.

Robin, who shares some popcorn with Erica as they watch the two idiots fight-flirt and placing bets with Nancy and Max on who is going to break first.

Eleven, who wins the bet when Eddie accidentally falls into the pool and Steve immediately dives in after him and inadvertently confesses while worriedly checking Eddie for injuries leading to a kiss probably best left in private.

Eleven, who wipes her bleeding nose with a smirk because sometimes you have to make your own accidents when enough money to buy an entire row of waffles is on the line.

~

Hostage Hotties: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump

[no-144444]

mistake- l.hamilton

summary: lewis fucks up

pairing: dad! lewis hamilton x fem! mom! wife! reader

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“I’m home!” Lewis called into the house as he shut the door behind him. The patter of small feet down the stairs made his heart beat a little bit faster as the smile on his face widened. It had been a pretty shitty weekend, just hoping to stay in the points wasn’t what a 7 time World Champion should’ve been doing. He should be at the front, where Charles was. So he made his decision. 

“Hey baby,” you smiled, watching as your toddlers hugged his legs, both begging for ‘uppies’ as he greeted them animatedly. Archie and Milo, your 5 year old twin boys, Anna, your 4 year old, and Harry, your 3 year old, all grabbing for him as Riley, your 2 year old, was half-asleep in your arms. 

He smiled as he saw you, and leant down to the kids, greeting all of them with a hug and a kiss, then standing up and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “Hey baby.”

He pressed a soft kiss to Riley’s head, gently stirring her out of her sort-of sleep. 

The 7 of you enjoyed dinner, Lewis put the kids to bed while you showered, and met you in your bedroom after what felt like the longest day ever. 

He wrapped his arms around you from behind as you brushed your teeth in the mirror. You smiled. 

“You alright baby?” you asked, finishing up. 

He sighed. It was as good a time as ever, he guessed. “It’s been a shitty season,” he lay on the bed, holding you close to him. “I got an offer.”

You blinked. “From who?”

“RedBull,” he admitted. 

“Wow,” you nodded, clearly a little shocked. “RedBull.”

“I might take it,” he admitted. Your jaw dropped. “I want the 8th. I want it so badly Y/n-”

“What about your promise?” you questioned. “You’re nearly 42 Lewis, and you have 5 fucking children and a wife at home who wait for you every single weekend. I know you want all the glory of being the greatest of all time, but will that really be enough for you?” You were exhausted by his ambition. “You’re already the greatest of all time Lewis, one more championship isn’t going to change that.”

“I know I can do it though,” he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. 

“But can RedBull?” you scoffed. “They’ve been fucking Lawson over for a whole year now. What makes you think you’ll be any different?”

He sighed. “Baby, I can’t stay with Ferrari for 10 years when we’re not winning races.”

“They are. Charles is. You’re not,” you scoffed, knowing how mean your words were. “I can’t keep fucking doing this. I can’t just be this perfect housewife. I need more than that. I had a fucking career before this, and you promised me it wouldn’t be put in on the backburner, yet it has been since Milo and Archie were born. You swore to me that you’d be finished when you were 40. You’re almost 42. I’ll never regret having our children, I adore them, but I do regret ever believing you when you said you’d support me.”

Your words cut him like a knife. He felt like shit. He’d done it again, fucking everything up with you. 

“Baby, I’m sor-”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean Lewis,” you scoffed. He opened his mouth to say something, but as if it were planned perfectly, Riley started crying, and you got up to tend to her. He sat back against the bedframe and sighed. 

What was he going to do?

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[ponderingmoonlight]

Gojo watching 'How to Be a Better Husband' videos in secret so he'd be ready if you ever said yes

Satoru Gojo isn’t exactly known for being serious. He’s loud, playful, and the absolute embodiment of overconfidence dripping from each and every pore. So when you walk into the living room and see him hunched over his phone, intently focused on something, it’s strange enough to make you stop in your tracks.

You peer over the back of the couch, curious. His earbuds are in, and his eyes are glued to the screen. You can’t hear the sound, but the title of the video makes your brows shoot up and heart skip a beat.

“How to Be a Better Husband.”

Your first instinct is to laugh. Satoru watching something like that? The man who can't even remember what day of the week it is, let alone handle responsibility in any meaningful way? The man who never fails to make fun of you, who never gave you the feeling that your relationship is this serious before?

But as you watch him sit there, shoulders tense and gaze unwavering, a strange warmth curls in your chest. Is this...really how he feels?

He pauses the video to take notes - actual notes. Scribbling them down on a notepad with the same intensity he usually reserves for strategizing in battle. You blink, feeling heat shoot up your cheeks.

What’s more shocking is the care written all over his face. His usual cocky smirk is gone, replaced with concentration, like this is something he doesn’t want to mess up. And maybe that’s what hits you hardest. The fact that he’s trying. That he’s preparing for something you haven’t even agreed to yet.

You haven’t said yes to marriage, haven’t even had a real conversation about it. But here he is, studying for a future he’s hoping for, one where you’ve chosen him. He’s already thinking of how he can be better, how he can be enough for you.

The thought stirs something deep in your chest.

“What are you doing?” you finally ask, your voice teasing but soft as you lean over the back of the couch.

He jumps slightly, pulling out one earbud as he looks up at you, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

“Oh, y’know… just, uh… preparing.”

He waves his phone in the air, as if that explains everything.

“Preparing for what?”

You tilt your head, pretending not to notice the blush creeping up his neck.

“For… when you marry me, obviously.”

He grins wider, but there's a nervousness underneath it, like he's half-joking but also completely serious.

“Gotta make sure I’m husband material, right?”

You raise an eyebrow.

“And watching YouTube videos is going to make you a better husband?”

“Hey, don’t knock it 'til you try it. These guys have great tips.”

He taps his phone, the confidence slipping back into his voice, though his eyes still flicker to you like he’s waiting for your reaction.

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself.

“Satoru, you’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you love me anyway,” he teases, sliding his arm around your waist as you lean over the couch.

His tone is light, but the way his eyes hold yours for a moment longer than usual - it makes your heart flutter.

And he’s right. You do love him. In all his chaotic, larger-than-life glory. But this? Seeing him like this, quietly working to be better for you? It’s a different side of him, one that makes you realize just how much he’s thought about a future with you.

You press a soft kiss to his forehead, and he blinks up at you, surprised.

“What was that for?”

“For trying,” you say quietly.

"You’re already enough, you know."

His grin softens, and he pulls you down into his lap, wrapping you in his arms.

“Good to know. But I’m still watching these videos. Just in case.”

You chuckle, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Whatever makes you feel prepared.”

Satoru hums, content. “I want to be ready for the day you say yes.”

And the way he says it. Like he knows that one day you will makes you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to feel the same way.

[siriuslylantsov]

morning glory

pairing: spencer reid x reader

description: following the events of drunken confessions. the next morning after spencer tells you he loves you, albeit drunk and half asleep, you don't know if he means it.

tags: fluff, gn!reader, hangover but i dont dwell on it, whiny!spencer (lol), so so soft, r is so unsure but she just needs reassurance.

a/n: omg my first pt 2 as per popular demand (3 people asked), happy reading!

wc: 1.6k

i love you. 

three words that bounce from one end to the other in your head, like a pendulum, reverberating across the hard surface of your skull. it echoes through the small space of your ear canal, taking up entirely too much space. it repeats with the beat of your pulse, heart thudding in a steady rhythm. 

suffice it to say, you barely slept. running the words over and over for some kind of clarity. instead you preoccupied yourself with watching spencer sleep, like you are now.

with the sunrise, came light. light that filtered through the curtains just enough that you could see his face. his lips are slightly parted, soft puffs of air that don’t quite reach you. they’re pulled down minutely, in a little frown, seemingly how his face falls when he's unconscious. it's sweet. his eyebrows twitch, creasing momentarily, you wonder if he’s dreaming, or if it's a nightmare. 

your fingers itch to reach out and touch him, soothe the line. but he's so peaceful, you don't know if you want to wake him up. you never get to see him like this, without the weight of the world on his shoulders, unthinking. so you stall a bit, let the wave of serenity pass before it comes crashing down in the form of a violent hangover. 

you probably stay like that for an hour, an hour spent admiring his features. it's easier than confronting what he said. he’d stayed in the same position all night, curled up on his side, facing you. you’re leaning on your elbow now, looking down at him from above. his face moves, nuzzling into the pillow beneath his head. it causes that same stubborn strand of hair to fall loose. 

you give in and touch him this time, tucking the piece behind his ear. you trace a finger over his brow bone and then down the slope of his perfect nose. this causes him to stir, eyes fluttering open as he takes in his surroundings before they land on you. they instantly soften.

“morning,” you whisper, wary of your volume.

“hey,” he croaks, voice riddled in sleep. all his features pull up, twisted in a grimace as his head throbs. he rolls onto his back, bringing his fingers up to his temple, rubbing the pads of them in between his eyebrows. 

“where's your aspirin?” 

he hums in thought, or in pain, it's uncertain. “the um- drawer,” he points beside him aimlessly, eyes still closed. he's about to move to get it but you stop him, leaning over his body to reach the bedside table next to him. you reach over him, hovering awkwardly over his body. you shiver imperceptibly when his hand settles on your waist for support, an unconscious action, you suppose. when you find it, you give him a pill and he swallows, his hand falls back to his side.

“what time is it?” he grumbles.

“quarter to twelve,” you respond, barring a quick look at the analog clock that sat on his dresser. 

he harrumphs, something of acknowledgement. you didn’t think he’d be this grumpy waking up but you don't mind, it's awfully cute.

“it’s so bright,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut further, if possible. 

“your eyes are closed.”

“my retinas are burning,” he whines, throwing his arm over his eyes to shield him from the sunlight in a thespian flourish. 

“so dramatic,” you huff as you get up to close the curtains, the smile in your voice irrefutably evident. you peek out the window first, your car is still parked outside, you stayed the night!

when you sit back down on the bed, his head seeks you out, laying gently on your lap. you card a hand through his hair, the action seemingly appropriate. he lets out a hum, satisfied.

“do you remember much from last night?” you ask, trying to come off casual, the question is loaded to say the least. plus, you don't know if alcohol affects an eidetic memory the same way. maybe he remembers everything, like always.

“no,” he says with a little shrug. “well, i remember going to the bar and morgan spilling a shot on his shirt but that's it.”

oh. so not that differently.

“well, i'm sure he’ll appreciate you remembering that,” you chuckle, ruffling his hair. with a long sigh, you decide to not bring it up. it’ll come back to him, surely. you’ll wait for him to come to you about it. 

you lift his head off your lap and let him sink back into the pillows. “how about you freshen up and i’ll make you some toast?”

his eyes peek open, barely. “yes please,” he replies meekly, a small smile in tow.

-

you put slices of bread into the toaster on his counter, leaning against it as you wait. what happens if he doesn't remember? will you tell him? how do you even bring that up?

hey spencer! last night you told me you love me. do you?

the loud spring of the toaster startles you back to the moment. behind his bedroom door, you can hear the faint sound of his shower running and you remember you’re still in his clothes. god, you're gonna have to wear yesterday's clothes back home. you mindlessly take the hot toast out and set it on a plate, wincing when you hold them for too long. you put 2 more slices of bread in, for you of course. 

you decide to make some eggs too, pulling the carton out of the fridge and getting a pan from beside his sink. you move with surprising ease through his kitchen, like you’d been there before. you haven't, but again, it's so easy with spencer, it apparently extends to his home too. you hum absentmindedly, cracking an egg into a bowl and beating it with a fork. you don’t know it yet but spencer's watching you, having finished his shower.

-

it all comes back to him slowly, as he puts on a new change of clothes, skin still a little damp.

asking penelope for a drink, drinking it, thinking, thinking about you, you showing up? maybe he was magic. you sitting with him, talking to him, taking him home. he remembers stumbling up the stairs, his arm thrown haphazardly over your shoulders and yours hooked around his waist.

“you're so nice, y’know?” 

“yeah? you won't think so tomorrow morning.”

you tucked him in, stayed when he asked you to. you told him about your breakup and he told you, oh, he told you he loved you.

shit. 

he has to make this right. he's quick to feed his arm into the last sleeve and walk out of his room. however, he stops when he sees you. swaying lightly, humming a tune he recognises from last night, standing there in his clothes. he thinks he might die. clearly, he wasn’t paying much at all when he woke up earlier. damn headache. 

-

“i told you i loved you.”

your head snaps in his direction, unaware of his presence. you jump a little before calming. “yeah... you did,” you confirm, trying to keep your tone light. it wasn't a question but you still answer. he remembers.

“and you told me to tell you again when i wake up,” he recalls.

you chuckle quietly, “i didn't realise you heard that.”

“i did.”

you nod, slowly, expectantly, for him to say something else, anything else. 

“i love you.” there it is.

“you mean that?” your voice comes out way smaller than you intended. he still hasn't moved.

“of course i do,” he says with a sigh, inching his way closer. you look like you're going to spook.

“okay,” you breathe, looking down at your fingers, you begin to ramble. “it's just, last night- you were drunk and sleepy and well, tired and i didnt know if you were being honest or just saying it on whim.” 

he's suddenly in front of you and you can't look at him. he's fine with that, it makes it slightly easier.

“hey, i mean it. i love you. i’m sorry i said it how i did, it wasn't fair. and you don't have to say anything back, i just- want you to know.”

you look up at him now, eyes searching, and when you find sincerity in his eyes, you soften, muttering out a quiet “okay.” your lips twist to the side, trying not to smile, but glee fills out every nook and cranny of your body. he takes this as a good sign and lets out the breath he didn't realise he was holding, smiling back at you.

“so,” you start, seemingly casual. “how do you take your eggs?”

spencer laughs, amused by your change in topic. he nods toward the bowl of already beaten eggs, “scrambled.”

you nod, firmly. you pick up the bowl and move to the stovetop, but not before grabbing his fingers with your free hand and pulling him with you. 

your thumb glides along the curve of his forefinger as you hold it between your bodies, waiting for the pan to heat up. you’re biting your lip so much, you think you might draw blood. you’re unbearably happy. and you think you’re doing a good job of hiding it but you’re not. spencer can see the way you giddily twitch by his side, opting on not saying anything about it as he smiles softly.

“you love me,” you tease, singsong, dragging out the ‘love’. your head leans against his shoulder. 

“mhm,” he confirms. ”you’re never gonna let me live this down, huh?”

“nope,” you chirp, pressing a chaste kiss to his shirt.

reblogs and replies are appreciated | m.list

[disregardcanon]

i've been reading catching fire for the first time this year and i don't, personally, think that the quarter quell was a "smart move" for snow and the capitol even if things went the way that he wanted them to and katniss and peeta and all the rest died and he got a victor he could control. sure, it would have taken out katniss. but taking out katniss wasn't actually going to be the quick fix he wanted it to be.

because even the capitol citizens were upset about all of this. the capitol citizens, who had grown so used to having pretty victors to smush together like dolls and gush over and show that people from the districts CAN do something and make their lives better. it's the american bootstraps ideal made hideously manifest.

yes, they've been fed this propaganda diet that the games are proper retribution for a crime that happened a lifetime ago, but they're also supposed to bring out these Ideals TM the capitol claims to hold to and then the Beautiful Shiny Model Minority winner gets fame and fortune and safety and a promotion into capitol society. because they beat the odds and they won all these things! they *deserve* this!

now all of the privileged masses have these strong parasocial relationships where they thought they'd see their favorite athletes become safe and glamorous and happy. the social contract says that the capitol citizens get to have these lovely dolls to play with and now he's taking their toys away in a way that shows the propaganda never held any truth in the first place. if we don't actually value these people and what they represent, then why do we actually do it? (it's the cruelty. but the average capitol citizen doesn't understand that the cruelty is the point, because it took snow years and years and years of building up that Capacity for Cruelty, and most people never get to that point. there has to be a pretty facade over this for it to run smoothly for those average citizens like the prep team. and now it's not there anymore.)

and that's not even mentioning the different sort of horror this becomes for the districts, as the idea that's been sold to the wealthier districts is that if these children win they get fame and fortune and protection for life. but you're dragging them back into the horror that was supposed to buy their eternal glory? the careers aging out this year don't even have their "chance" in the arena to make their mark and gain their fortune. they'll just be losing some of their mentors in a pointless rehash.

in the poorer districts, perhaps there is some relief because their kids are safe this year but that means their only victors are being shipped off to die instead. and then their kids who won't have a chance in hell next year! because the hunger games are a perpetual motion exploitation machine, and the only way people were able to be numbed to it was figuring out the rules and then gritting their teeth and living their lives. but the rules are out the window, now. those rules that were supposed to make this terrible system something they could navigate and grit their teeth and suffering through are being blown to bits because snow tried to stomp out the tiniest embers instead of letting them burn out.

[stylesispunk]

The soldier in the armour | part ii

marcus acacius x f!reader

masterlist | previous part | next part

summary: Acacius left for battle while emperor Geta makes his way back to you in a sinister way. After returning, Acacius realizes he is not enough to protect you and you reunite with someone from your past.

wc: 14k???

warning: angst, fluff, age gap, power imbalance, harassment, anxiety, someone bites another person on here, allusions to smut, mentions of poisoning, mentions of blood, reader has a mental breakdown on this one.

a/n: hello! First of all I want to thank everyone for the amount of love you gave to the first part of this fic that was a request and it was going to be a one piece only. But now it has become a series. This chapter is full of a lot of things so i hope you like it and share your thoughts with me. I spent the whole afternoon finishing this and the weather is almost killing me. 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

You could feel the change of beating in your heart when marcus acacius looked at you now. The years of yearning and longing for freedom felt like they had met a fate the moment he said three words to you.

The golden cage you had been part of, the years of being of prisoner faded to nothing after he poured all his love for you in that kiss, in the way he touched every single inch of your skin when he made love to you.

You felt the freedom kissing your skin because you had him. You felt a string connecting both hearts beating and that was the way you coped with everything that was taken away from you.

acacius saved you, he completed you and made this world feel less lonely for you.

He felt the same, since how his hand burn over your skin or your heart beated like a beast under his palm.

He had come to learn how to love you, beyond the duty and protection he has swore to work for.

Now you were his heart and your life his purpose.

The hours before he had to leave for battle, the air around the Villa felt heavier. Charged with and unspoken tension of an impeding separation just when he had become addicted to your presence next to him.

Acacius busied himself with preparations, knowing he would give up everything in order to stay back with you. But he knew better. He was aware of how the glories he brought back from battles became the privileges that would keep your life safe.

After Lucilla sent Lucius away, you and her stayed in Rome, becoming prisoners under the ruling madness of Emperor Geta and Caracalla.

Always at bay, always with your life depending of the outcomes of Acacius battles.

And you, bound by blood and beauty, remained, a pawn in a dangerous game where your survival now depended not only on Acacius’ victories but also on Geta's unpredictable affection.

Geta’s obsession with you had become a double-edged sword. His love, if it could be called that, offered a semblance of protection, a shield against Caracalla’s wrath. Yet it was a prison of its own, trapping you within the steel of a cage, where every glance, every word, was laden with passive threats. You lived in constant vigilance, knowing that Geta's favor could turn to fury in an instant, and that fury could mean your end.

Now, Acacius battles weighed heavier over his shoulder. From this moment, with every campaign, he would risk his life, leaving you to endure the suffocating air of the emperor’s court, where you were little more than a gilded possession. He hated it, the helplessness, the waiting, the gnawing fear that one day he might not return, and you would be left to fend off Geta's advances alone.

You watched him from a distance, your fingers gripping the edge of the balcony railing. His broad shoulders bore the weight of his duty, but the occasional glance he cast your way betrayed the turmoil beneath his composed exterior. He was a man bound by honor, but also by a love that had grown more profound with each stolen moment between you.

"Will you look at me?" you whispered, your voice breaking the silence that had grown unbearable for him.

Acacius paused, his hands stilling on the edge of the balcony. Slowly, he turned to face you, and the weight of his gaze, filled with longing, regret, and the love he could never fully express in words, made your breath hitch.

"I fear," he began, his voice rough with emotion, "that if I do, I may never be able to leave."

You stepped closer, slowly, as though you could hold back time itself. "Then don't," you said, your hands reaching for him, your touch soft yet insistent as you placed your palms over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath his clothes.

He let out a shaky breath, his forehead falling to rest against yours. "You deserve more than this life of waiting, of uncertainty. I cannot give you freedom, not truly. All I can give is my promise that I will return."

"Acacius, that’s all I need from you." you said, your voice firm, closing your eyes as you felt his warm enveloping you. “I have a surprise for you”

Acacius raised his head slightly, his brows knitting together in curiosity. “A surprise?” he asked, his voice soft but tinged with intrigue.

You nodded, a small smile breaking in this moment of madness. “Come with me,” you said, taking his hand in yours. He hesitated for a moment, his sense of duty tugging at him, but the warmth of your touch and the glimmer in your eyes proved irresistible.

You led him through the villa, weaving through the familiar halls now draped in the golden hues of early evening. The air grew warmer as you approached the chamber where the servants had worked quietly under your instruction. Pushing the doors open, you revealed the scene you had prepared.

The bath was set within a sunken marble basin, steaming water rippling gently beneath a scattering of rose petals. The room was lit by the soft glow of dozens of candles, their flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. The scent of lavender and sandalwood lingered in the air, soothing and rich.

Acacius stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening as he took in the sight. “You did this… for me?”

You turned to face him, your smile soft and filled with affection. “You’re always giving so much of yourself to Rome, to the battles, and now to protect me. Tonight, I want you to let me take care of you.”

His eyes softened as they landed on you. "You’ve thought of everything," he murmured, his voice laced with gratitude.

You graced a small smile. "You deserve at least this much."

Acacius began to remove the layers he had worn all day, setting them aside piece by piece until he stood before you in nothing but the bare vulnerability you had come to know by yourself. He stepped into the bath, sighing as the warm water enveloped him, washing away the weight of the day.

You moved to leave, thinking he might prefer solitude, but his voice stopped you.

"Stay," he said softly, his eyes locking onto yours. "I want you close tonight."

Your heart skipped a beat at the quiet plea in his tone. You hesitated only briefly before nodding. Removing your dress, you stepped into the bath, the warmth of the water immediately soothing your tense muscles.

Acacius reached for you, pulling you gently toward him until you were nestled against his chest. His strong arms encircled you, his hand brushing lightly against your damp hair.

"For all the battles I’ve fought," he murmured, his lips brushing your temple, "this one feels different. I can’t bear to leave you behind."

"You’ll come back," you whispered, your voice firm despite the lump in your throat.

He tilted your chin up, his gaze piercing and filled with emotion. "I will move heaven and earth to return to you, my lady." he promised.

You sat in the water together, the silence filled with the unspoken fear and hope that swirled between you. For that moment, there was no war, no emperors, no uncertain future, just the two of you, bound together by a love that defied everything else.

But still, you shifted slightly, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The warmth of his body and the soothing water wrapped around you, but the weight of reality pressed against your mind. After a moment, you spoke, your voice soft but filled with worry.

"I don’t like you fighting Geta and Caracalla’s battles," you admitted, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. “They have done nothing to deserve the place they are at. All his glory comes from blood and murder. They don’t deserve loyalty.”

He sighed deeply, his hand stroking your back in slow, comforting motions. "I know," he said, his voice heavy with the same frustration. "I’ve questioned my place in their service more times than I can count. But my duty... it’s the only thing that keeps you safe. As long as I fight their battles, they have no reason to turn their cruelty toward you or Lucilla."

You lifted your head, meeting his gaze. The name of your mother troubled you. You couldn’t even name the feeling, perhaps jealousy. After all, the years Acacius had spent his life on battle were to protect her before you.

"My happiness," he whispered, “It’s you.” He said as he could read your thoughts

"How was it like?" you asked softly, your voice barely audible above the gentle ripples of the water. "When you served in Maximus's army?"

Acacius shifted slightly, the tension in his body growing palpable. His eyes flickered with something unreadable, and he took a moment before responding. "It was... different," he began cautiously, his hand never ceasing its soothing caress along your back. "Maximus was a man of honor. He fought for the empire, yes, but also for something greater. For justice, for the people."

You noticed the change in his demeanor, the way his jaw tightened and his gaze drifted, as though he were remembering something painful. You knew there was more he wasn’t telling you, a truth hidden beneath his words. "You respected him," you said, more a statement than a question.

"Yes," Acacius admitted, his voice low. "He was a leader unlike any other.”

You studied his face, searching for more, for the deeper truth that lay behind his guarded expression. "Did you know him well?" you asked, your heart pounding in anticipation.

Acacius hesitated, his eyes meeting yours with a flicker of hesitation. "I knew him," he said carefully. "He was a great man, but like all great men, he carried his burdens."

There was something in the way he spoke, a weight that suggested he knew more than he was letting on. Your curiosity piqued, but you decided to tread carefully. "My mother never spoke much about him," you said quietly. "Only that he was a noble warrior."

Acacius's hand stilled on your back, and he took a deep breath. "He was loved by people." he said gently.

You nodded, understanding the unspoken words. "I remember him more than I remember my own father," you murmured, your mind drifting to the stories you had heard of Maximus’s valor and strength. “I remember seeing him fighting at the colosseum and I remember how Lucius got obsessed with becoming a gladiator…”

Your eyes drifted somewhere else as if you were trying to find an exact extract of a moment where you would find your brother inside your memories. Acacius’s expression softened, but there was a shadow in his eyes. He knew a truth beyond, something Lucilla had confessed to him only and he had sworn never tell.

 "He defeated your uncle," he reminded you, his voice barely above a whisper trying to bring you back from your thoughts.

“I know. I can recall that day.” You said, and after a pause you spoke again. “He wasn’t different from Geta or Caracalla, but I remember how much he loved Lucius. More than me even.” You looked up at him for a moment, “I’ve never feel truly seen, truly loved…”

Acacius kissed your head, his lips lingering against your damp hair as though trying to imprint the moment into his memory. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer until there was no space between your bodies.

“You will always be loved by me” he whispered as you closed your eyes at the sensation of his lips on your head. “Until my last breath.”

You tilted your head back slightly to look up at him again, your eyes searching his face. The flickering light of the lamps cast soft shadows across his strong features, but it couldn’t mask the vulnerability in his expression.

"You remind me of Maximus” you said, tracing his jawline “You’re the strongest man I know," you whispered, placing your hand gently on his cheek. "You’ll come back to me, General Acacius. I believe in you."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though his eyes remained solemn. "You make me want to survive every impossible fight, just to see your face again."

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with your own. The bathwater lapped softly around you, the warmth a stark contrast to the cold reality of the coming day.

"Promise me something," he said after a long silence.

"Anything," you replied without hesitation.

"If I fall—"

"No," you interrupted, your voice sharp.

"Listen," he urged, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your arm. "If I fall, I need to know you’ll keep going. You’ll live, for yourself.”

He cupped your face in his hands, his touch impossibly gentle. "You’ve always been the braver of us," he said, his voice heavy with emotion. "But I need to know you’ll fight for your happiness, even if I’m not there."

You swallowed hard, nodding despite the ache in your chest. "I’ll try," you promised, though the words felt hollow. You didn’t want to confess he had made your life easier to bare.

He kissed you then, not with urgency or desperation, but with a deep, abiding love that seemed to say everything words could not express. It was devotion in a silent vow; he would return to you.

And as the water cooled and the night deepened, you stayed in his arms, unwilling to let go, even as the weight of tomorrow loomed over you both.

When the early morning light peeked through the curtains, casting a soft glow on the bed where you still slept. Acacius lay awake, his arms wrapped around you, his chest pressed to your bare back, feeling your skin against his own. He observed the gentle rise and fall of your breathing, committing the peaceful moment to memory. Every fiber of his being ached at the thought of leaving you behind haunted by the demons that threatened to take you away.

Quietly, he shifted, slipping his arm from under you and placing a kiss on your shoulder. You stirred slightly but didn’t wake. With a heavy heart, he got out of bed, moving through the bedroom as he dressed in his armor, getting ready for another senseless battle. The sound of leather straps and the faint clink of metal echoed softly in the room.

Acacius paused at the edge of the bed, glancing back at you one last time. Your face, serene and unguarded in sleep, was a sight he wanted to carry with him into battle. He closed his eyes briefly, murmuring a silent prayer for strength before placing a longing kiss on your temple and stepping out into the hall.

Outside, a handful of guards waited, their expressions tense but respectful. They fell into step behind him as he strode toward the courtyard, the weight of his duty heavy on his shoulders. The morning air was crisp, a sharp contrast to the warmth he had just left behind.

“General!” a guard called suddenly pointing at behind him, stopping him in his tracks.

He turned, his heart clenching at the sight of you running toward him, barefoot, wearing your nightgown you must had put on in hurry. Your hair was loose, tumbling in waves around your face, and your eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Acacius!” you called out, your voice trembling with urgency.

He met you halfway, his hands reaching out to steady you as you nearly collided with him. “What are you doing out here?” he asked, his tone both tender and concerned.

“I couldn’t let you leave without saying goodbye,” you said, your breaths coming in quick gasps from running. “Not like that.”

His expression softened, and he pulled you into his arms, ignoring the curious gazes of the guards. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his armor as though you could anchor him to you.

“It’s too early for you to be outside. You’re freezing,” he murmured, rubbing his hands over your arms to warm you.

“I don’t care,” you replied fiercely, looking up at him. “I couldn’t let you go without telling you that I love you, Acacius. And I’ll be waiting for you to come back to me.”

His breath hitched at your words, and for a moment, the stoic general was nowhere to be seen. In his place was a man who adored you with every fiber of his being.

“I love you, too,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “More than you’ll ever know.”

“You have made my life worth living again,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but the weight of your words hung heavy between you.

His breath caught as he stared into your eyes, the raw vulnerability there piercing through every defense he had ever built. The battlefield, the war, the chaos Rome had become, all of it disappeared in that moment. There was only you, grounding him, giving him a purpose beyond the duty that had defined his life.

Acacius covered your hands with his own, the calloused warmth of his touch steadying your shaking fingers. “You’ve done the same for me,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “I was lost until you brought me back to life.”

You smiled faintly, though tears streamed down your face. “Promise me you’ll come back. Promise me this won’t be the last time I see you like this.”

“I swear it,” he said firmly, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. “By the gods, I’ll return to you. Nothing will keep me away.”

Your lips brushed his in a fleeting kiss, filled with all the love and hope you couldn’t put into more words. When he pulled away, he gently placed your hands back at your sides, as though committing every detail of you to memory.

“I’ll see you soon, my lady.” he said softly, before mounting his horse.

As he rode away, you stood there, the wind tugging at your gown, your heart heavy with emptiness. Watching him disappear into the horizon, you clung to his promise and touch, letting it light a spark of hope in the uncertain of what was coming without him anchor.

A gentle hand touched your shoulder, pulling you from your thoughts. You turned to see one of your loyal servants, her eyes filled with concern as she took in the sight of your tear-streaked face.

"Come with me, my lady," she urged softly, her voice full of care. "You’ll catch a cold out here."

You nodded silently, allowing her to guide you back toward the warmth of the villa. The wind whipped around you, carrying the scent of the olives and the distant sound of Acacius’s departing horse still in your mind. Each step felt heavier than the last, your heart aching with the weight of a farewell.

Once inside, the servant led you to your chambers, where a fire crackled warmly in the hearth. She helped you out of your damp gown, wrapping a thick shawl around your shoulders. "You need to rest, my lady," she said kindly, her hands lingering on yours in a gesture of comfort. "General Acacius will return sooner than you expect.”

You offered her a faint smile, though the ache in your chest was still fresh. "Thank you," you whispered, sinking into the plush cushions of the chair by the fire.

The servant bowed her head slightly before retreating, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows on the walls, their warmth doing little to ease the chill in your heart. You stared into the fire, replaying Acacius’s words in your mind, clinging to his promise as though it were a lifeline.

A few weeks had passed since Acacius left for battle, the days had stretched into endless hours that seem not to meet the dawn, time felt longer, the nights colder without Acacius filling the space. You found yourself feeling more tired lately, there were new changes happening to you body, some pain, uncomfortable sensation that you blamed on the deep emptiness settling in your heart that nothing seemed to fill.

So, as you sat at the table for breakfast, the familiar clink of silverware was the only sound in the room. Lucilla sat across from you, her regal presence unshaken, but there was a softness in her eyes as she regarded you. The way he looked at you, as a mother who was supposed to love her daughter.

"Acacius will return soon, my child," she said gently, her voice calm and reassuring. "He never—"

Before she could finish, you interrupted, a sharp edge to your tone. "You must know a lot about it," you said, your gaze fixed on your plate. The bitterness in your voice was unmistakable.

Lucilla’s expression shifted, a flicker of pain crossing her face. She set down her cup, her hands folding neatly in her lap. "What do you mean?" she asked softly, her voice tinged with a sorrow that mirrored your own.

You looked up, the walls you had built around your heart beginning to crack. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words and shared pain. “You were the one he returned to before.” you said, bitterness inking your tongue.

Lucilla's face softened, her eyes reflecting the guilt he carried, the story between her and Marcus that seemed unfinished. She took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly as they rested on the table.

“Yes,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “He was bound to me once, by duty and by the burdens we shared. But that was a different time, a different life.”

You felt the sting of her words, the truth you had known but never fully confronted. “Different time?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Your question hung in the air, thick with the weight of your emotions. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you looked at your mother, waiting for an answer. The air between you was charged with uncertainty, like the quiet before a storm.

Lucilla shook her head, her gaze steady and filled with an intensity that made your heart ache. “Yes” she said firmly. “You are his heart now. I see the way he looks at you as if the world begins and ends with you.” She paused for a bit "I never wanted you to be caught in the politics of this empire, my dear," she said, her voice soft but laden with guilt. "I never wanted you to be a pawn in a game of power between two men. But I feared what would happen if I didn't do something."

You looked at your mother, the weight of your question pressing on you. The air between you was thick with the tension of everything unspoken, of truths that had been hidden for so long. Your voice trembled slightly as you asked, "Would you have married Acacius if the emperor hadn’t courted me first? Would you have still arranged for him to marry me, or would you have chosen a different path for us?"

Her gaze fell for a brief moment before she raised it to meet yours again. "Had it not been for Emperor Geta, I would have never allowed Acacius to marry you.”

A bitter smile tugged at your lips as you absorbed her words. "But you didn't expect he would end up loving me instead of you," you said, your voice laced with a mix of hurt and defiance.

Lucilla’s eyes flickered with a flash of emotion-wether it was regret or something deeper, you couldn’t quite tell. She hesitated for a moment before speaking, her tone measured but filled with a quiet resignation. "No, I didn’t expect that. I thought his loyalty would always lie with me. I never imagined he would find in you what he once saw in me."

You swallowed hard, the weight of her confession settling heavily in your chest. "And yet, you still pushed us together, knowing it would tether me to a life I never wanted."

"I believed I was protecting you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "From the dangers of court, from the whims of powerful men. I thought if you were with someone like Acacius, someone strong and honorable, you would be safe."

"Safe?" you echoed, incredulity seeping into your tone. "You call this safety? Acacius leaving to fight battles to kept your place in this empire and protect me?” You took a deep breath, anger raising within you. "And what about Acacius? Did you ever consider how he felt in all of this?”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she met your gaze once more. "I didn’t think he could love anyone else," she said, her voice breaking. "I thought his heart was mine alone, even if our paths diverged. I never anticipated that he would find solace, comfort, love... in you."

The room seemed to close in around you, the weight of her words pressing down. "Well, he did," you said, your voice steady but filled with a quiet strength. "And now we’re both paying the price for your miscalculations."

Lucilla reached out, her hand hovering in the air between you. "I never wanted to hurt you," she whispered. "I only wanted what was best for you."

The silence stretched once more, but this time, it was not filled with bitterness. It was laden with understanding, a shared pain that neither of you could escape.

“I only want him to come back,” you whispered, finally allowing the tears to fall. “I want him to be safe.”

Lucilla reached out, her hand covering yours in a gesture of comfort. “He will,” she promised, her voice soft but resolute. “Acacius will return, because his heart belongs to you now, and nothing will keep him away.”

You couldn’t bear the thought of a life without him. Ever since Acacius had shown you kindness, the warmth his love could offer, he had filled the hollow spaces in your heart. You had become addicted to him, to the gentle way he would brush a stray hair from your face, to the force of his arms around your waist when the weight of the world threatened to crush you.

Before Acacius, your life had been a series of obligations and sacrifices, each day blending into the next in a monotonous cycle of duty you didn’t choose. But then he appeared, his unwavering loyalty and quiet strength breaking through the walls you had built around yourself. He had finally seen you as a woman with dreams, fears, and a desperate need for freedom.

You and Lucilla remained in a heavy silence, the weight of your shared worries filling the space of the room. The warmth of her hand on yours felt protective as never before.

A servant entered the room, bowing respectfully before addressing Lucilla. "My lady, Emperor Geta has requested your presence."

Lucilla shook her head, her voice firm yet calm. "Later," she said, unwilling to let the fragile moment between you both be shattered.

The servant hesitated, shifting uncomfortably before speaking again. "No, not you, my lady. Her." His gaze flicked toward you, and the room seemed to grow colder.

Lucilla’s hand tightened on yours, her expression hardening as she closed her eyes briefly, understanding the implications of Geta’s request. She knew this moment would come, had dreaded it ever since Acacius left for battle. Geta’s twisted fascination with you was no secret to her to you, neither to Acacius. That was the reason of your marriage after all, him providing protection from him.  She feared what it meant now that Acacius was no longer there to shield you.

"Stay calm," she whispered, her eyes opening to meet yours with a shining light. "I will do everything in my power to protect you. Remember, you are stronger than you think."

Her words were meant to reassure, but the unease in her voice betrayed her true fear. You swallowed hard, trying to gather your courage as you stood. The servant’s eyes avoided yours, his discomfort evident as he waited to escort you.

With one last squeeze of your mother’s hand, you followed the servant, each step feeling heavier than the last. The shadow of Geta loomed over you, his intentions clear and menacing. But even as dread settled in your chest, you clung to Lucilla’s words and the hope that Acacius would return, his promise lighting a fragile spark in the darkness.

The quiet of the palace gardens was only broken by the soft rustling of leaves and the distant murmurs of servants. Emperor Geta was sitting on the stone bench, perhaps trying to gather his thoughts, when he noticed your presence. He turned around to face you, his golden robe gleamed faintly under the pale light of the sun, and there was an intensity in his eyes that unsettled you.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he accused you, his voice carried yearning and longing. “I understand why, but I needed to see you. To speak to you.”

You stayed silent, your gaze fixed on the ground. His presence was overwhelming, and the weight of everything he had done, and might still do, pressed heavily on you. Yet you knew there was no escaping this conversation.

Geta crouched before you, his piercing gaze softening as he studied your face. “You’ve always been kind, even when you had no reason to be. Even when I didn’t deserve it. That’s why I love you,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Not because you are the princess of Rome, not because of your beauty or grace, but because you have a heart unlike anyone I’ve ever known.”

You flinched slightly at his words, unsure how to respond. “Emperor Geta,” you began hesitantly, “I’m your prisoner and my heart belongs-“

“To General Acacius,” he interrupted, bitterness creeping into his tone. “Yes, I know. But does he truly deserve it? Does he love you as I do? Does he see you for who you are?” He reached out, his hand trembling slightly, and cupped your face. His touch was surprisingly gentle, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I would give you everything,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “The empire, my loyalty, my life… I would burn the empire for you.”

You felt a lump in your throat as his words echoed in the morning. His words were both a confession and a threat, a reminder of the power he wielded and the danger that came with it. Before you could move away, he leaned closer, his forehead briefly resting against yours as if seeking solace.

Then, without warning, his arms wrapped around you in an embrace. It wasn’t harsh or demanding, it was almost tender coming from him. But the closeness made your heart race with fear. His lips hovered near your ear as he spoke again, his voice low and possessive. “You were made for me. There is not marriage, no power that can change that.”

Before you could respond, you felt the sharp sting of his teeth against your shoulder. It was a claim. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and wild, and you could see the faint trace of blood on his lips.

“That mark,” he said, his voice steadier now, “will remind you that you are mine, no matter what. Even if you deny it, even if you run to Acacius, you will carry me with you.”

You stared at him, horrified and furious, your hand instinctively going to your shoulder. The pain was sharp, and you knew the wound would scar, a permanent reminder of his obsession.

“You’re mad,” you whispered, your voice trembling with fear “This isn’t love, Geta. This is control. And I will never belong to you.”

His expression flickered, as though your words had struck a nerve. But the defiance in your voice didn’t deter him. Instead, he straightened, his composure returning. “You may hate me now, but time will change that. You’ll see,” he said softly, almost as if convincing himself. “One day, you’ll understand.”

Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving you alone under the light of the sun, that now seemed to disappear.  Your hand remained pressed against your shoulder, the wound throbbing painfully against your fingertips.

Your gown clung to your shoulder, damp with the blood running from the bite Geta had inflicted. The metallic smell lingered in the air, and the dull throb of the wound made your steps falter as you returned to the villa. You wrapped a shawl tightly around yourself, hoping to conceal the evidence of what had transpired.

The flickering lamplight in the villa's corridors cast long shadows as you entered quietly, your heart pounding in your chest. You prayed no one would notice your state. But as you made your way toward your chambers, a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Daughter?” Lucilla’s voice was soft but carried a tone of concern. She had emerged from her own chambers, her sharp eyes immediately taking in your pale face, the stiffness of your movements, and the crimson stain slowly seeping through your shawl.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re distressed. What happened?”

You shook your head, attempting to brush past her. “It’s nothing. I’m tired. I need to rest.”

But Lucilla was relentless. She reached out and gently pulled at the shawl covering your shoulder. “Let me see,” she insisted, her voice tinged with a maternal sternness that left no room for argument.

You hesitated, swallowing hard, but the look in her eyes left you no choice. Slowly, you loosened the shawl, revealing the blood-soaked fabric of your gown and the angry bite mark on your shoulder.

Lucilla gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “What in the gods’ name happened to you?”

Tears welled in your eyes as you struggled to find the words. “It was Geta,” you whispered hoarsely. Regretting the words you had throwing at her earlier, “He... he bit me. He said I was his. That I would never truly belong to anyone else.”

Lucilla’s face hardened, horror contorting her features. “That monster,” she hissed, her voice trembling with anger. “He’s lost his mind. He has no right to lay a hand on you- no right at all!”

She took your hand, guiding you firmly toward your chambers. “We need to clean this wound before it festers,” she said, her voice now brisk and focused.

You followed her silently, the weight of the revelation pressing heavily on your shoulders. The pain from the bite throbbed with each step, but it was nothing compared to the turmoil swirling inside you. Lucilla’s grip on your hand was firm, a silent promise of protection despite everything that had transpired between you.

Once inside your chambers, she set about gathering water and cloths, her movements efficient and practiced. She didn’t speak, but the tension in the air was palpable, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. You sat down, your hands trembling as you tried to steady yourself.

Lucilla knelt beside you, gently peeling back the fabric of your gown to get a better look at the wound. Her expression darkened at the sight of the raw, inflamed skin. "This will sting," she murmured, dipping a cloth into the water and pressing it against the bite.

You winced, biting back a cry as the cool water met the tender flesh. "He said I could never escape him," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water. "That no matter what, I would always be his."

Lucilla’s hand paused for a moment before resuming her careful cleaning. "You are not his," she said firmly, her voice leaving no room for doubt. "You are your own person. No one has the right to claim you, especially not in such a barbaric way."

You observed her, focused on mending your wound with such caring.

“Was it worth it?” you asked.

Lucilla’s hands stilled, her eyes momentarily closing as if the weight of your question struck her deeply. When she opened them again, her gaze was heavy with emotion.

She set the cloth aside and sat back on her heels, her hands resting in her lap. "I don’t know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I was doing what was best, what would keep you safe. I believed that Acacius could protect you in ways I could not. He brings the glory they lack of and-"

Her eyes met yours, the pain in them reflecting your own. "But I never anticipated this. I never thought Geta would..." She trailed off, her voice faltering as she fought to find the words. "I wanted to shield you from the dangers of this world, from the cruel games of men like him. I thought I was giving you a chance at something better, even if it meant sacrificing my own happiness."

You swallowed hard, the weight of her words pressing heavily on your heart. "But it didn’t stop him," you whispered, the bitterness and sorrow mixing in your voice. "Even with Acacius by my side, he still came after me."

Lucilla’s expression crumpled, her composure breaking as tears filled her eyes. "I failed you," she admitted, her voice cracking with the weight of her guilt. “I should have sent you and Lucius away.”

Her words hung in the air, a heavy confession that seemed to echo through the silence of the room. You felt a pang of sadness at the mention of your brother, the thought of him bringing back memories of simpler, happier times.

"You wanted to protect us," you said softly, your voice trembling as you tried to console her. "You did what you thought was best."

Lucilla shook her head, her tears falling freely now. "I thought keeping you close would be safer, that I could shield you from the worst of it. But I underestimated him, underestimated the depths of his cruelty." She paused, taking a shaky breath. "Sending you away might have spared you from this... this nightmare."

You reached out, placing a hand over hers. "We can’t change the past," you said, your voice steadier now.

As you held her hand, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over you, making the room spin. You blinked, trying to steady yourself, but the sensation only intensified. Your grip on Lucilla’s hand tightened involuntarily.

Lucilla’s eyes widened in concern as she noticed your pallor. "Are you alright?" she asked, her voice laced with worry. "You’re pale."

You nodded weakly, though the dizziness persisted. "It’s nothing," you murmured, attempting to downplay it. "It’s been happening lately... just moments of dizziness. They pass."

Her brows furrowed with worry, and she guided you to sit down, her hands firm on your shoulders. "You’ve been pushing yourself too hard," she said, her tone gentle but insistent. "Rest now. I’ll send for the healer."

You wanted to protest, to assure her that you were fine, but the fatigue and the weight of everything that had happened made it hard to argue. With a reluctant nod, you allowed her to help you lie down, her concern evident in every movement.

"Promise me you’ll tell me if it gets worse," she said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "We can’t afford to ignore this."

"I will," you whispered, the heaviness of your eyelids pulling you into a restless sleep, Lucilla’s soothing presence the last thing you felt as you drifted off.

The moon casted a pale glow across the courtyard as Acacius rode back into the Villa. His horse’s hooves echoed softly against the stone pathway, a familiar sound that had once brought comfort. Now, with the weight of the world pressing down on him, it only seemed to remind him of the uncertainty and chaos that had taken hold of everyone he cared about.

As he dismounted, he glanced toward the fountain where Lucilla was tending to the delicate flowers growing around its edge. The peacefulness of the moment, in stark contrast to the storm brewing inside him, caught him off guard. His breath caught in his throat when Lucilla looked up, a soft smile appearing on her lips despite the weariness in her eyes.

"Acacius," she said warmly, her voice filled with relief as she walked toward him. Before he could say anything, she closed the distance between them and enveloped him in a tight hug. His arms instinctively wrapped around her, the familiar embrace both comforting and bittersweet.

"I’ve missed you," Lucilla murmured against his chest. "We’ve all been worried."

Acacius hesitated for a moment, then slowly returned the hug, the feeling of her presence grounding him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed. The tension in his shoulders seemed to lessen, but only slightly. He pulled back, searching her face for answers, as if he could find some peace in her expression.

"Where is she?" he asked, his voice low and urgent. His eyes flicked to the passages of the place, his heart racing at the thought of seeing you again.

Lucilla sighed softly, her expression softening with concern. "She’s asleep," she said gently. "She’s been resting a lot today."

“I need to see her.” Acacius said.

Lucilla placed a hand on his arm, stopping him from moving toward the door. "She’s asleep, Acacius. She needs rest more than anything right now," she said, her tone firm but caring. "Let her sleep, please. You’ve been gone too long. You need to eat something first. You’re no good to her if you’re running on empty."

Acacius clenched his jaw, his gaze flickering toward your chambers once again. "It doesn’t matter," he said, determination in his voice. "I’ll see her now."

Lucilla’s hand tightened on his arm; her voice soft but insistent. "Please, Acacius. For her sake, you need to rest too. She’ll be fine. I’ll wake her once she’s had some rest."

He looked at her, torn between the urge to be with you and the concern for your well-being that Lucilla had so clearly expressed. The room was heavy with unspoken words, the tension between what he wanted and what was best for you both almost too much to bear.

“No. I have to see her first.” He said, walking towards where you were.

The door creaked softly as Acacius entered your chamber, his heart pounding in his chest as the longing and concern filled his. The room was dimly lit by the fading light of the moon, casting soft shadows across the bed where you lay, still deep in sleep.

He moved quietly toward you, his steps light, careful not to wake you. His gaze softened as he looked at you, taking in the way your body relaxed under the weight of exhaustion, your face serene in a peaceful slumber. The sight of you brought a bittersweet smile to his lips, and without thinking, he sat down beside you on the bed.

His hand hovered for a moment before gently caressing your face, the touch tender and filled with affection. His fingers traced the delicate curve of your cheek, as if he could somehow erase the pain and hardship, you’d endured His thumb brushed over your skin, a silent apology for everything that had happened, for everything he hadn't been able to prevent.

He observed you. He watched over you memorizing every inch of a face he had missed you for weeks.

He lived for you, breathe for you.

At the touch, you stirred, your eyelids fluttering open slowly, the fog of sleep still clouding your mind. For a moment, your gaze was unfocused, as though you weren’t fully aware of where you were or who was beside you. Your eyes met his, but there was a distant look in them, as if your mind was still caught somewhere between the dream world and reality.

Acacius held his breath, his heart aching as he watched you struggle to fully wake. "It’s me," he whispered softly, his voice barely above a breath. "I’m here."

But before he could say more, your eyes fluttered closed again, and you drifted back into a deeper sleep, your breathing slow and steady.

A soft chuckle escaped him. He leaned closer, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face as he whispered to you, his words meant only for your ears.

"Rest, my love," he murmured, his voice full of emotion. "I’m back.”

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

The soft light of morning filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. The air felt fresh, the quiet stillness of dawn wrapping itself around you like a gentle embrace. You slowly stirred, the remnants of a dream still lingering at the edges of your mind. For a moment, everything felt hazy, like the lines between the real and the imagined were blurred.

As your eyes fluttered open, you felt the comforting weight of warmth beside you, and a soft breath against your skin. For a heartbeat, you thought it was just another dream. Your mind was still foggy, the night’s turmoil and the strange sense of peace from the past few hours making it difficult to separate reality from the dreamworld.

But then, as your gaze shifted, you saw him.

Acacius was there, lying beside you, his presence so real, so tangible that it almost hurt. His features were softer in the morning light, his expression calm and peaceful as he slept. His hair fell in gentle waves around his face, and the steady rise and fall of his chest was a reminder that he was truly here.

You blinked, unsure whether this moment was part of your dream or if you had truly woken up to find him next to you. The feeling in your chest, the warmth, the weight of his presence, it was so vivid that it seemed too perfect to be real.

You slowly shifted, sitting up slightly, careful not to disturb him. Your hand reached out tentatively, brushing a strand of hair from his face. The touch was soft, hesitant, as if you were afraid, he might vanish like a dream upon waking.

But he didn’t. His warmth was solid, his breath steady, and as your fingers lingered near his skin, you realized with a rush of relief that he was truly there. You felt the tightness in your chest ease, the anxiety that had plagued you for so long slowly dissipating in the comfort of his presence.

Acacius shifted slightly, his eyes opening slowly, and when they met yours, they were filled with warmth, tenderness, and something more, something deeper.

"You’re awake," he whispered, his voice still thick with sleep but filled with a soft affection that made your heart flutter.

You nodded, still taking in the reality of the moment, still unsure whether you were dreaming or not. "I... I thought you were just part of a dream," you admitted, your voice barely more than a breath.

“I came to see you last night, but you didn’t truly see me” he smiled softly at you.

Your smile widened; he mirrored your smile. It made your heart swell. You were overwhelmed by the certainty that he was real, that he was here, and that this was not just another fleeting dream.

Without thinking, you leaned closer, your hands trembling slightly as you cupped his face, pulling him toward you. The space between you shrank with every heartbeat, and before either of you could say another word, your lips met his.

The kiss was soft at first, a gentle testing of the waters, but the emotions swirling inside you, the love, the longing, the relief, soon poured into it. It deepened, quickening, both of you unable to hold back the fervor that had been building for so long. Your hands slid into his hair, tugging him closer as if you couldn’t bear the distance between you.

Acacius responded immediately, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you to him with the same urgency. His kiss was filled with the same passion, his hands tracing the lines of your back, pulling you into the warmth of his embrace as if you were the one thing that anchored him in this world.

You broke the kiss slowly, your forehead resting against his neck as you both breathed heavily, your heart racing. You lifted your head, looking at him into his eyes, searching for the same love dancing on them.

"I’ve missed you," you whispered, your voice shaky with the intensity of your feeling. “I’m glad you are back.”

Acacius's eyes softened as he gazed at you, the smile still lingering on his lips, but there was a quiet intensity now as he studied you more closely. "Last night, you didn't even see me," he chuckled, his voice low and full of affection. "Why are you so tired?" His gaze lingered on your face, searching for an explanation, a hint of concern creeping into his words.

But before you could answer, his eyes drifted to your shoulder, and the lighthearted smile faded instantly. His hand reached out gently, brushing aside the fabric of your gown to reveal the angry bite mark on your skin. His breath caught, his face contorting with anger as he traced the wound with his fingertips, his touch almost sacred.

"What... what is this?" His voice was a whisper, edged with disbelief and a growing fury. "Who did this to you?"

You winced slightly at the touch, but it wasn’t from pain, but from the overwhelming flood of emotions that rushed through you at his reaction. You were ashamed.

 "It’s... from Geta," you said softly, your voice trembling as the memory of that night flooded back. "He... he bit me.”

Acacius’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as he clenched his fists. He pulled his hand away from your shoulder, his gaze never leaving the wound as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. "Geta..." he growled, his voice low and filled with contempt. "That animal."

You swallowed, feeling a lump form in your throat as the weight of the situation settled on you. "It’s nothing," you tried to reassure him, but the words felt hollow. "It’s just a bite. I’ll be fine."

But Acacius wouldn’t be soothed so easily. He leaned closer, his hands gently cupping your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. "It’s not just a bite," he said firmly, his voice steady but full of determination. "You’re not just a victim of his games, and I won’t let you be."

His thumb traced the line of your cheek, his expression softening with an intensity that took your breath away. "I will make sure this never happens again," he promised, his voice low and filled with an unspoken vow.

Acacius's words hung in the air, carrying a promise as his hands gently cupped your face, his thumbs brushing softly over your skin. Without a word, he leaned in, pressing his lips to your forehead, a tender kiss that seemed to erase some of the heaviness in your heart. His lips lingered there for a moment, as if grounding you in the warmth of his protection, before he moved to kiss your temple, his touch both gentle and filled with an overwhelming tenderness.

Each kiss was a quiet declaration of his love, his need to soothe the pain and the fear that had taken root in your heart. His lips trailed down your cheek, the soft pressure of each kiss igniting a calmness in you, a sense of safety that had been lacking during his absence. As he kissed your nose, your eyelids, your cheeks, his touch was soft and reverent, like he was willing to erase every trace of hurt you had face.

"You don’t have to carry this alone," he whispered against your skin, his breath warm as it fanned across your face. "I’ll be here. Always."

Your heart beat wildly in your chest, the overwhelming emotions of relief and love flooding through you as you closed your eyes, letting him soothe your pain. You weren’t his to fix but you were his to love.

The way he kissed you with such care, it was as if he was healing not just the physical wound, but the deeper, hidden scars.

As he kissed your lips, a soft, lingering touch, you finally opened your eyes to meet his once more. His gaze was full of such raw emotion, as though he, too, was feeling the depth of the moment.

"I love you," he whispered softly, his voice thick with emotion. "I’ll do anything to keep you safe, to keep you whole."

He knew the plan he had under his hands. He would free Rome from the tyranny and free you from the fear.

The roar of the crowd was deafening as the announcer introduced the key figures present at the Colosseum. The names of the emperors, Geta and Caracalla, echoed through the massive arena, met with cheers and restrained applause. Then came Lucilla's name, and the reaction was thunderous.

"Lucilla, the beloved daughter of Rome!"

The cheers were wild, a wave of adoration sweeping through the crowd. People stood, clapping and calling her name, their admiration evident in every gesture. You watched as Lucilla stood gracefully, acknowledging the crowd with a serene smile, her presence commanding the space in a way that only she could.

Your eyes flicked to Acacius, who was seated beside you. His gaze lingered on Lucilla, a soft, unreadable expression on his face. Admiration, respect... perhaps something more?

Your thoughts were threatening to betray you again, after the accident with emperor geta not even Acacius’ reassurance could take you away from that dark place of your mind.  

The thought clawed at you, your chest tightening painfully. You tried to look away, but the image was seared into your mind: the way his lips curved into the faintest of smiles, the way his eyes seemed to curse you.

Acacius was holding your hand, tightly but your skin felt empty. A cold wave of detachment washed over you. The cheers around you became distant, muffled, as though you were underwater. Your heart felt heavy, your thoughts spiraling into the possibility that you had been wrong all along.

Had he chosen you, or had he simply settled for you?

You were lost in the haze, barely registering the sound of the announcer continuing the introductions. It wasn't until you heard your name being called that the fog lifted.

"And now, the princess of Rome, our General Acacius' beloved wife!"

The crowd clapped politely, but it was nothing compared to the ovation Lucilla had received. You blinked rapidly, startled back into the present. Acacius had turned to you, his hand still touching yours.

"Are you all, right?" he asked, his voice low enough that only you could hear. His brows knitted with concern as he studied your face.

You forced a smile, though it felt brittle. "I'm fine," you replied, the lie slipping easily from your lips.

Acacius' gaze lingered, his frown deepening slightly, but he said nothing more. He turned his attention back to the arena, his grip on your hand tightening slightly as though to reassure you.

But the seed of doubt had been planted, and no matter how tightly he held onto you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he might not truly be yours.

You weren’t naive, nor blind to the reality of the world you had grown up in. The web of alliances and betrayals, the quiet manipulations cloaked in love and duty, those were woven into the very fabric of your existence.

And now, here you were, seated beside Acacius in the Colosseum, as the echoes of Lucilla's name still hung in the air. You couldn’t stop the twisting knot in your stomach. The way Acacius had looked at her earlier, the subtle warmth in his eyes, wasn’t something you could ignore.

You weren’t stupid. You had always known there was a past between your mother and Acacius, a bond that ran deeper than either of them cared to admit aloud. They might have buried it under the guise of duty, but you saw the shadows of it, lingering in their words, in their looks.

This wasn’t just about the admiration Acacius showed Lucilla in the public eye or the respect the people of Rome gave her. It was about how every move seemed calculated, as though Lucilla had once again positioned herself as the center of the narrative. And you? You were a mere piece on the board, trapped by the choices made to “protect” you, thrown into a marriage that sometimes felt like a gilded cage.

Your mind raced. Were you just another pawn in a game of power, destined to be discarded when your use was up? A part of you feared that Lucilla had orchestrated this entire situation, not to protect you, but to ensure Acacius stayed close, tethered to her orbit under the guise of protecting her daughter.

How Geta looked at you as if he owned you.

The thought sent a shiver down your spine.

"You’re unusually quiet today," Acacius said beside you, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity.

“I’m just… thinking,” you murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, avoiding his intense gaze for a moment.

Acacius shifted closer, his presence radiating the strength you so desperately needed right now. “Thinking about what?” His tone was soft, but there was a sharpness in it, the concern for you evident beneath the calm surface.

You hesitated, biting your lip as the image of Geta’s cold eyes lingered in your mind and sitting just centimeters from you. "How he looks at me," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "Like he owns me. Like I’m a possession."

Acacius’s expression darkened instantly, his jaw tightening as if he were struggling to keep his emotions in check. "He will never own you," he whispered for yourself to hear, his hand gently grasping yours. “You belong to no one but yourself.”

Before you could respond, the distant sounds of the gladiators preparing for the fight reached your ears, shouting commands. The world outside seemed to snap back into focus, the heavy air now filled with tension as Acacius’s duty called to him.

His hand lingered on yours, but there was a palpable shift in the air between you. The intensity of the moment, the weight of his words, and the fear of what might come next made everything feel suddenly fragile. For a heartbeat, you wished you could stay suspended in this moment, untouched by the chaos that was about to unfold.

Your attention also shifted to the arena, where the clash of steel and the roar of the crowd filled the air. A single gladiator stood out among the combatants, his movements precise, calculated, almost effortless. Something about him felt oddly familiar, tugging at the edges of your memory.

He moved with a grace you’d only seen in a few, his strikes landing with deadly accuracy, his stance reminiscent of a soldier rather than a slave. The sun caught the sharp lines of his face for a moment, and for a moment, your breath hitched.

It couldn’t be.

The gladiator turned slightly, and you swore you could see the faint scar across his cheek, the same scar you remembered tracing with your finger once, years ago. Just as he used to do it with yours, the one you had just above your eyebrow.

It can’t be Lucius.

Your heart raced as you sat frozen, unable to look away. What was he doing here? Why was he in the arena, fighting for his life as if he were no more than a pawn for entertainment?

"Are you all, right?" Acacius asked, leaning closer to you, his tone concerned.

You barely heard him, your focus entirely on the gladiator. The crowd erupted in cheers as he disarmed his opponent, standing victorious in the center of the arena. His chest rose and fell heavily, but his gaze lifted, scanning the crowd as if searching for someone.

When his eyes met yours, the recognition wasn’t there, but you feel in your heart.

He didn’t smile, didn’t falter, but you could see the fire in his eyes, the defiance, the unspoken words that passed between you in that fleeting moment. He was here for a reason and it wasn’t just surviving.

The ride back to the villa was suffocating. The echoes of the crowd’s cheers and the clash of steel still lingered in your ears, but your thoughts were consumed by Lucius. You had barely spoken a word since leaving the Colosseum, and Acacius, sensing your unease, remained silent beside you.

Your mother, seated across from you, attempted to meet your gaze, but you kept your eyes focused on the window. The weight of the day pressed down on you, and exhaustion threatened to pull you under.

When you finally arrived at the villa, you stepped out of the carriage without a word. The evening air was cool, but it did little to soothe the fire burning in your chest. You didn’t wait for anyone, heading straight to your chambers, your footsteps echoing through the empty halls.

Acacius called your name softly as you walked away, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t face him. Not now.

Once inside your room, you shut the door and leaned against it, the tension in your body finally breaking as you slid to the floor. You felt tears prick your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not yet.

Instead, you crawled to the bed, too drained to even remove your sandals. You climbed under the covers, pulling them tightly around you as if they could shield you from the storm inside your head.

Your eyelids grew heavy, and though the weight of the day lingered in your chest, sleep began to claim you. The last thing you heard was the faint creak of the door opening and quiet footsteps entering the room.

Acacius.

He didn’t say anything, and you didn’t have the strength to look at him. You felt the bed dip slightly as he sat beside you. A warm hand rested lightly on your shoulder, and his thumb brushed against the fabric of your sleeve.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice low, filled with a quiet worry.

+++++++++

The night was quiet as you walked through the villa, your footsteps muffled on the stone floors. The house felt empty despite the people inside, the silence pressing in on you. When you stepped into the garden, the cool breeze brushed against your skin, but it did little to calm the restless thoughts swirling in your mind.

It was there, among the shadows of the tall, ancient trees, that you saw them. Acacius and your mother, Lucilla, standing close together, speaking in hushed tones. Their words were soft, but you could feel the weight of the conversation, the tension between them thick enough to be felt even from where you stood. Acacius’s hand hovered just above Lucilla’s arm, his posture protective, and though their expressions were unreadable, there was something in the way they stood together that felt... familiar. Too familiar.

A sharp pang of jealousy gnawed at your chest, but you didn’t dare move closer. Instead, you turned silently on your heel and walked back to your chambers.

You couldn’t bear to stay in that room any longer, not with the questions swirling in your mind, not when you felt so abandoned in the very space that should’ve been your refuge. Without a second thought, you grabbed a cloak and threw it over your shoulders, the fabric billowing softly as you exited the villa once more.

The air outside the villa was cool and quiet as you slipped through the shadows, your heart pounding with each step. The guards were focused elsewhere, their attention scattered by the faint buzz of the city. The path to the gladiator quarters was one you had never taken before, but your determination pushed you forward.

When you reached the holding area, the scent of sweat and iron filled the air. Lanterns flickered dimly, casting long shadows on the walls. The clinking of chains and low murmurs from the gladiators made your stomach churn, but you pressed on.

Hanno, you were told his name was.

But in your heart, he was Lucius.

You spotted him immediately. His broad back was turned to you, his head bowed as he held something in his hands. The sight of him like this inside this cell, broke your heart.

Taking all your courage, you stepped forward. “Hanno.”

He didn’t look up. “What now? You people love seeing prisoners like this, don’t you?” His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.

You flinched but held your ground. “I’m not here to gawk. I’m here to talk.”

He finally turned; his sharp features illuminated by the lantern’s glow. His eyes locked onto yours, cold and untrusting at first.

He stood in front of a prisoner dressed in gold, not knowing the story interlocked between you both.

You said nothing, frozen under his piercing stare.

Hanno stood slowly, his presence sent shivers down your spine, you didn’t fear him but the possibility of him being your beloved brother.

Hanno’s eyes narrowed as he looked you up and down, his stance growing more rigid. The silence between you felt thick, charged with an intensity that made your chest tighten.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was low and clipped, filled with suspicion. “Are you the general’s wife?” His words were sharper than the chill in the night air, and they stung like a slap.

You held your ground, refusing to be intimidated, though your pulse quickened at the mention of Acacius. The tension between you and Hanno was palpable, and yet you could sense something else, something more.

“I’m not here for him” you said, your voice steady but quieter than you intended. “I’m here to see the gladiators. To make sure they’re well.”

Hanno scoffed, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “You think they deserve your pity? These men? You’re nothing more than a part of this twisted game, just like the rest of them.” His words hit like a blow, but you didn’t flinch, though they stung nonetheless.

He stepped closer, his eyes flicking to the guards who watched from the shadows, before turning back to you with disdain.

“You wear their pain like a cloak, but you’re not one of them,” he spat. “You’re just another piece of property, owned by the man you married. Don’t pretend you’re anything else. You can’t fool me. You-”

He stopped abruptly, his eyes catching on something above your eyebrow. His gaze sharpened, his face shifting from scorn to recognition. His expression faltered slightly, and he took a step closer, his attention now focused entirely on the scar.

“That scar…” he whispered, his voice faltering. “No. It can’t be...”

You said nothing, frozen under his voice.

The world seemed to slow as your heart raced. You had never told anyone about it, not in years. It was a relic of another time, another life before this one, before the crown, before Acacius.

Hanno’s eyes widened, his hand rising instinctively toward your face, as if drawn by some invisible thread.

“Your name is Lucius Velarius,” Tears welled in your eyes as you spoke “You’re the brother to a siste who is stand in front of you right now, hoping that’s is you.”

For a moment, he simply stared at you, as if trying to convince himself you were real. Then, without warning, he pulled you into a tight embrace, his rough hands trembling as they held you., You could hardly breathe, the weight of the revelation pressing down on you. The realization came slowly, but it hit you hard, like a hammer to the chest.

Your brother.

His eyes softened as the truth sank in, and for the first time in years, you saw the hint of a smile tug at his lips, though it was tinged with sadness. “I thought I’d never see you again,” he murmured, his voice breaking.

He reached out, his fingers lightly brushing the scar on your face, as if confirming you were truly there, truly the same person he had once known. “I thought you were dead,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly.

“I thought you were dead” you replied, your throat tight with emotion.

You clung to him, your tears soaking into his tunic. “I thought I would never see you again.”

He pulled back slightly, his hands gripping your shoulders as he studied your face. “Why are you here? This is no place for someone like you.”

“I had to see you,” you replied, your voice trembling. “I couldn’t stand not knowing if it was really you.”

Lucius’s jaw tightened, his expression hardening. “You shouldn’t have come. If they find you here-”

“I don’t care,” you interrupted, your voice firm. “You’re my brother, and I won’t abandon you.”

His eyes softened again, and for a brief moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift from his shoulders. “Then we have much to talk about, sister.”

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

Lucius sat down heavily on a wooden bench, wincing as he shifted his weight. The dim light of the small cell barely illuminated the fresh gashes and bruises marring his skin. Your hands trembled as you dipped a cloth into a bowl of water, wringing it out before gently pressing it against a cut on his shoulder.

He hissed in pain, but you didn’t stop. “Hold still,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm. “These need to be cleaned, or they’ll get infected.”

Lucius watched you closely, his gaze flickering between your face and the careful movements of your hands. “You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, though his tone lacked conviction.

“And you shouldn’t be fighting for their entertainment,” you shot back, your eyes narrowing. “But here we are.”

He let out a dry chuckle, though it quickly turned into a wince. “You’ve grown sharper since we last saw each other.”

“You left me no choice,” you replied, dabbing at a particularly deep cut. “I had to learn how to survive without you.”

The room fell silent for a moment, save for the sound of water dripping back into the bowl. Lucius finally spoke, his voice quieter this time. “You know it wasn’t my choice.”

You paused, your hands stilling as his words sank in. “You never tried to come back.”

“I would be dead.” he admitted, his jaw tightening.

You shook your head, resuming your work. “But you are not.”

His hand reached up, catching yours and stilling your movements. “But what about you?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion. “What have they done to you?”

You hesitated, the question cutting deeper than any blade. “It doesn’t matter,” you said finally, avoiding his gaze. “What matters is getting you out of here.”

Lucius’s grip on your hand tightened. “And how do you plan to do that? These people… they don’t let anyone go, not without a price.”

“Then I’ll pay it,” you said, meeting his eyes with determination. “Whatever it takes, I’ll free you, Lucius.”

He stared at you for a long moment, “You’ve always been stubborn,” he said with a small, bittersweet smile.

“And you’ve always underestimated me,” you replied, dabbing at his wounds one last time.

Lucius's gaze softened as he watched you work, the rough edges of his hardened exterior beginning to crack just slightly. There was something in the way you spoke, the quiet determination in your voice that made him believe, if only for a fleeting moment, that maybe, just maybe, you could change the outcome of his life.

+++++++++

The trip back to the villa was a blur, your mind heavy with the thoughts of Lucius, and the promise you had made to him. As you arrived at the villa, the sight of the grand stone walls did little to ease the tension in your chest. You couldn’t stay in that cell forever, and you knew there would be consequences for what you’d just done.

Inside, the quiet stillness of the villa seemed to press in on you. You didn’t want to face Acacius, not after everything. Not after what had just happened with Lucius, with the way he had looked at you and spoken to you, reminding you of the bond you shared, the family that had once been torn apart.

But you didn’t have a choice.

Acacius was waiting for you in the courtyard, his broad figure standing against the fading light of day, the tension in his posture unmistakable. His eyes, dark and intense, followed you as you walked toward him. You could feel the weight of his gaze like a physical presence.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice edged with something sharp, something that wasn’t just concern. It was frustration. Maybe anger. You didn’t know anymore.

“I’m not here to discuss time, Acacius,” you replied, your voice cooler than you intended, but the fight in your chest was growing.

He stepped forward, his expression tightening. “Where were you?”

“Out, taking a walk,” you said bluntly, not willing to sugarcoat it.

Acacius’s eyes flashed with anger, and before you could even process it, his hand shot out, grabbing your arm with an intensity that caught you off guard. “Where?” he asked, his voice low but simmering with rage. “What were you thinking?”

You yanked your arm back, glaring at him. “What does it matter to you?” The words escaped before you could stop them, frustration bubbling over. “You were busy with my mother, right?”

Acacius’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening at your words. His hand dropped from your arm, but the tension between you both was thick. "That's not the point," he said, his voice colder now. "The point is, you didn't come to me. You didn't think to tell me where you were going, what you were doing. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to go off on your own, especially with everything going on? After what Geta did to you?"

His anger was palpable, but so was the hurt. You could see it in the way his fists clenched at his sides, the way he stared at you as if you were slipping away from him, slipping away from the bond you shared. It was clear to him that there was something more, something deeper happening, and he didn’t know how to reach you in this moment.

He stepped closer, his breath coming quicker now, trying to seem calm, maybe even desperate, hidden behind the harshness of his words. "I care because I love you," he said, his voice low, almost broken. "Even when I’m angry.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, the raw honesty of his words piercing through the fog of anger that had clouded your mind. You opened your mouth, but the words didn’t come.

"I don't need your love, Acacius," you said finally, the words slipping out more bitter than you intended, making up a lie you didn’t believe “Your love made me weak, Acacius.”

Acacius froze, his face going pale as your words cut through him like a dagger. The air between you both seemed to freeze, his body stiffening as if the words had physically wounded him. For a long moment, neither of your spoke, the only sound in the room was the heavy, labored breathing from both of you.

His voice trembled when he spoke again. "You think I made you weak?" He took a slow step toward you, his eyes searching yours with disbelief and pain. "You think my love for you made you weak?"

You tried to steady your breath, but it caught in your throat. Your heart twisted painfully as you met his gaze, seeing the hurt in his eyes, the raw emotion that mirrored your own. But you held firm, even as your chest tightened with regret.

"Yes," you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to remain cold. "I had to rely on it. On you. And now..." You couldn’t finish your sentence, the words getting stuck. The truth you refused to admit was suffocating you.

Acacius didn’t move. His face was unreadable, but his eyes, those soft brown eyes that had once looked at you with so much tenderness were broken.

The moment you saw the tears fall from his eyes, something inside you shattered. The wall you had so carefully built around your heart crumbled, and you felt the weight of everything you’d been holding in, your fears, your anger, your pain, all come rushing to the surface. You had hurt him, and the sight of his vulnerability, of the pain in his eyes, made you feel like you were drowning.

"I didn’t mean it," you whispered, your voice breaking as the truth tumbled out of you. "It’s a lie... I’m sorry, Acacius. I didn’t mean it."

Before you even realized what you were doing, you stepped toward him, closing the distance between you, and kissed him. Your lips crashed against his with an urgency you couldn’t contain, as if trying to take back all the hurt, all the mistakes, in one breath. The kiss was desperate, frantic, and full of apologies you didn’t know how to say.

He couldn’t hold back, he kissed you back, his arms pulling you closer, his hands sliding into your hair. His kiss was full of relief, as if he had been waiting for this moment for far too long.

You broke the kiss reluctantly, your forehead resting against his as you tried to catch your breath. "I’m sorry," you repeated, your voice barely a whisper. "I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t know how to... how to deal with my jealousy.”

Acacius cupped your face, his eyes searching yours as if looking for the truth in them. "I love you. Only you." he said softly. "

“Show me.” You pleaded, “Show me how much you love me, Acacius.”

His hands were gentle, but there was an urgency in his touch that matched the racing of your heart. Acacius pulled you closer, his lips finding yours again, this time with a fiercer intensity, as if he couldn't get enough of you. The way he held you made everything else in the world fade away.

You circled your legs around his waist instinctively, feeling the warmth of his body press against yours. His arms were around you, steady and strong, and for a moment, it felt as though the weight of the world had lifted. There was no war, no political schemes, no uncertainty, only the two of you, caught in a moment of raw, vulnerable truth.

Acacius broke the kiss just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours. "You have me," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "In every way. I always have."

You could feel his heart pounding, matching the beat of your own. He held you tighter, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands roaming to places that made your breath hitch in your chest. "Show me," you whispered again, more desperately now, wanting to feel every piece of him, to bridge the gap between the broken parts of you both.

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

The next morning, a summons arrived from Emperor Geta, delivered by one of his trusted attendants. You knew you couldn’t avoid him forever, though a sense of foreboding settled deep in your chest. As you entered the emperor’s hall, you were greeted with the sight of an opulent feast laid out on a long table, the scents of roasted meats and sweetened wine filling the air.

Geta stood at the head of the table, his expression warm but calculating. “Ah, the princess of Rome,” he said with a smile, gesturing for you to join him. “Come, sit. Let us enjoy the morning together.”

You hesitated before stepping forward, your gaze flicking to the feast. “Do you do this for all your prisoners?” you asked, your tone laced with sarcasm.

Geta laughed, a rich sound that echoed through the hall. “For you? Always.”

You took your seat cautiously, your back straight and your hands folded in your lap. Despite the lavish setting, there was no mistaking the undercurrent of tension in the room.

“I’ve heard some interesting tales,” Geta began, leaning back in his chair and studying you. “Stories about my dear princess sneaking into the gladiators’ quarters. Healing slaves, no less.” His eyes glittered with amusement and something darker.

Your stomach tightened, but you met his gaze steadily. “I didn’t realize compassion was a crime,” you said evenly.

Geta chuckled, pouring himself a goblet of wine. “Compassion? Is that what you call it?” He leaned forward, his voice dropping. “Tell me, what’s going on? Why risk yourself for men who are nothing more than property? What would General Acacius say if he knew his wife was spending her nights in such unsavory company?”

Your heart raced, but you kept your expression calm. “Acacius has no reason to doubt me,” you said carefully.

Geta swirled the wine in his goblet. “How noble. But I wonder... is there more to this than you’re letting on?”

You forced a small smile, even as your hands tightened in your lap. “What could there possibly be, Emperor? I am simply doing what I can to ease the suffering of others.”

He watched you closely, as though searching for a crack in your armor. Finally, he leaned back with a sigh, his playful demeanor returning. “You are fascinating,” he said. “A woman of such fire and mystery. It is no wonder I love you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but you maintained your composure. “I am married to General Acacius,” you reminded him firmly.

“And yet here you are, sitting with me,” he said with a smirk.

You said nothing, unwilling to give him more power over you.

The feast continued in strained silence, and though Geta’s attention remained fixed on you, you managed to deflect his probing questions. By the time the meal ended, you felt as though you had just survived a battle of your own.

As you left the hall, your mind raced with thoughts of Lucius. You couldn’t let Geta or anyone else discover the truth about his identity.

As the feast continued, Emperor Geta leaned forward, his piercing gaze fixed on you as you took a sip of the wine he had poured. The drink was sweeter than you expected, with an almost metallic tang that lingered on your tongue.

You set the goblet down, a faint unease creeping over you. Your head felt oddly heavy, as though the air around you had thickened. Still, you forced yourself to maintain your composure, unwilling to show any weakness in front of him.

“You seem quiet,” Geta remarked, his voice smooth and casual, but his eyes glimmered with something far more dangerous. “Is the wine not to your liking?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. “It’s... fine,” you managed, though your voice sounded distant, even to yourself.

He smiled, leaning back in his chair as though satisfied. “Good. It’s a rare ancient. Fit for a princess such as yourself.”

A strange warmth spread through your limbs, dulling your senses. Your vision blurred slightly, the edges of the room softening. Alarm bells rang in your mind, but you pushed them aside, trying to focus on Geta’s voice as he continued to speak.

“I can see why Acacius is so fond of you,” he said, his tone almost mocking. “You have a way of captivating men, don’t you? Even ones who should know better.”

You clenched your hands beneath the table, willing yourself to stay upright. “If you have something to say, Emperor, say it,” you replied, though your voice wavered.

Geta’s smile widened, but there was no humor in it. “Oh, I’ve said enough. The rest... well, time will tell.”

A wave of nausea hit you suddenly, and you reached for the table to steady yourself. Geta’s expression didn’t change, but you caught the faintest flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.

“Perhaps the wine was too strong for you,” he said, feigning concern. “You should rest. Shall I have someone escort you back to the villa?”

You shook your head, forcing yourself to stand despite the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm you. “No... I can manage.”

He rose as well, stepping closer to you. His hand brushed your arm, the touch cold despite the heat radiating from your skin. “Take care, my dear,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous.

You pulled away, your heart pounding as you stumbled toward the door. The room spun around you, and each step felt like a battle. By the time you reached the villa, your body was trembling, and your breath came in shallow gasps.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,”

Acacius whispered, his arms pulling you closer, cradling you against him.

“I’ve got you.”

+++++++++++

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[caitchercatlady]

And they all lived Happily Ever After...

Ready to begin, let the wonder take hold

Feel it draw you in, watch the moment unfold

Spark a dream that we're meant to follow

Setting off for a new tomorrow

Every step we take brings a new hope, a new day

Every choice we make helps us find our own way

Every wish that we pull into motion

Diving in with our hearts wide open

Now we're on our way leave our fears behind us

Not so far away from the dreams that live inside us

Moving down this road we're chosen,

There's no limit to where we're going

The battles, the stories, the losses and all the glories

We're changed by the way we live every day

Just look up and reach to the sky

We all have the courage to fly

The story comes alive when we look inside

A new adventure there in your life

There in your eyes

It's just beginning, feel your heart beat faster

Reach out and find your...

Reach out and find your...

Reach out and find your...

Happily ever after!

-Lyrics from Happily Ever After, Jordan Fisher & Angie K

[lokisgoodgirl]

In Your Hands [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: That irritating, smug, asshole Loki has taken your final fuck to give. Or so you think... Warnings: 18+ minors DNI. Smut. Avenger! Loki x female reader. Mild BDSM (ball related), hostility, enemies to lovers. Language. (w/c 2.4k)

Loki’s curses beat the air behind you, and the door from the training room slammed; smothering them.

I fucking hate him, I fucking hate him.

In your experience, dramatic exits should be reserved for special occasions. And striking an ego-killer blow to Loki ‘Godsplainer’ Laufeyson was a special-fucking-occasion. It’d been a long time coming. Although you hadn’t meant to punch him quite so sharply in the balls.

I’m sure he’s had worse, you thought as the stale sweat of the changing room hit.

The last thing you’d seen was Steve’s wide, earnest eyes as Loki had doubled over in a slap of dark hair with a muted oomph—the final syllables of his snarky ‘advice’ fading along with his sperm count. You did warn Loki if he told you the correct way to deliver a blow to the transversus one more time that you’d start intentionally missing.

Not my fault he never fucking listens.

It’d been building for months: every ‘actually-I-think-you’ll-find’; ‘bad-form-even-for-a-mortal’ and ‘are-you-sure-you’re-meant-to-be-here…did-you-sneak-in-with-the-domestic-staff?’.

But under it all, the worst thought of all was your own: you still want his praise.

You picked up someone’s shoe from the floor and lobbed it at the lockers – pure, impotent rage ratcheting back with the clang. If Steve kicked you off the A-Team then so be it, worth it to see that moment of pure, wretched shock in his eyes every time you closed your own.

Breaths scraped from your throat, trying to stop the tremble in your hands. You’d spent months trying to catch his eye like a desperate pick-me teenager, spent months wishing his approval into existence: the aloof, pretentious god. Begging any higher power who’d listen for the chance to kneel at his feet and choke on his cock while he called you a good-fucking-girl. You’d bought an emerald green lingerie set for Christ’s sake. It was still in the box—the returns window a dot on the horizon.

Embarrassing. If he knew, you think you’d die of shame. Months running yourself into the ground trying to fit what he’d want and for what? Fuck. “Do you feel better, now?” The ripple of Loki’s smarm filled the air like steam, but it’s edge could cut stone.

Your lips pinched, biting back a slew of curses. You’d expected Steve, but not him.

The idea of turning made your feet root even firmer to the floor. But with every strained second that shifted past, thickening the air, he was winning—staring at the back of your head with that imperious look that only said one thing: I’m better than you, and you know it.

“If you’re waiting for an apology, don’t hold your breath.” Loki released a low chuckle. “Be assured, I can wait much longer than you. How much of your meagre lifespan would you squander staring at those dismal tiles in order to preserve the façade of your superiority, I wonder?”

You spun with a force that twinged a nerve in your neck. “My…?” It came out in a pathetic gasp. “My…superiority?!”

Loki’s face was the picture of serenity: posture impeccable, lips straight. His eyes slid between yours, brows peaked in sanctimonious expectation.

Borderline indecent gym-wear clung to the sinews of his muscular body. The material was like elasticated silk, and every time you’d made contact in training it made it impossible not to imagine frotting against him: bitch in heat.

The lines of the sweatpants draped like a sheet of liquid tar to the bulge of his thighs as he shifted his weight and said, simply, “Yes.”

Heat flared up your neck.  “You’ve got some fucking balls, Laufeyson, I’ll give you that,” you hissed, regretting it immediately. “I’m not sure your knuckles experienced my anatomy’s full glory to report on such an accolade,” Loki replied without a beat. “Their contact was a little brief…”

He tilted his head, an infuriating dimple crushing into one cheek as the heat scorched up your cheeks and made your eyes itch. “A little…weak.”

“Maybe I should twist them again,” you said, folding your arms. You hoped he couldn’t see the fingers trembling. Loki’s eyes narrowed as he crossed the changing room in three, elegant strides and loomed so close that your bellies touched. “Go on then,” he goaded. “You seem under the impression I don’t like it.”

You searched his face, noting the tremor of something deeper than the familiar irritation. Was that…but, it couldn’t be. “What are you doing?” you whispered, stumbling slightly against the lockers. The heat from his abdomen radiated through your gym top. Christ, his stomach was so hard.

“What are you doing, Agent?”

A few black strands had come loose from his ponytail, sticking to the sweat pearling on his jaw. “All bark, no bite,” he murmured, squinting lightly.

His scent crept up your nostrils like smoke under a door: fresh musk, the linger of the cologne he wore at last night’s party, and above it all a scent that was inextricably him. You could never put your finger on it. It drove you mad: just like the rest of him.

Loki released a short puff of irritation, eyes rolling to the side. “I knew you didn’t have it in you.” As he took a step back, your mind skidded to a stop as a hand flew to his chest, gathering a clutch of the slutty gym top, making no effort to cushion the scrape of your nails against his skin, and pulled.

Loki’s mouth crushed to yours with a gasp, his hands flying to the lockers on either side of your head with an ominous crunch of metal. His breath groaned into your throat, the softness of his lips jerking your senses.

Had you expected them to be cold, hard, unwelcoming: just like the rest of him? Yes. But there was time to mull over that later.

Loki’s tongue nudged against your lips, and you relented. The tension in your body seemed to melt as he draped over you like liquid; the cage of his frame and the rub of a thumb down the valley of your cheekbone making you forget just for a second how much you really fucking hated him.

“Show me,” he murmured against your neck. You hadn’t even realised the kiss had slid apart and your head was tilted back against the lockers, the god’s mouth raging a ravenous path down the valley of your throat.

“Show you what?” you panted, bringing your head forward so quickly your vision swam. A lopsided grin spread across his mouth. “How much you hate me,” he said. “You have a problem.” The barb was unnecessary, but Loki’s grin widened all the same. “Discipline me, then.”

His sapphire eyes blazed as your hand flew to his shorts, grabbing his crotch. Fingers curled around the soft, tight sac nestled below the huge erection snaking up the hip joint. Loki hissed, stomach clenching, more clutches of hair falling free. His forehead pressed to yours as your grip tightened.

“Fuck,” he grunted, voice tapering to a whine. You squeezed tighter, and the lockers behind you crumpled under the strength of his fists bearing down.

“Harder,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

His legendary cock twitched above your white knuckles, straining against the running shorts and Loki’s narrowed eyes glistened, the muscles in his jaw and the veins in his neck hard enough to pop.

“Apologise,” you spat, and Loki’s breath hitched as you gave him a brief moment of relief before clenching an even tighter fist than before.

His trainers slipped against the floor, thighs shaking with the effort not to fall to his knees. Even gods, it appeared, shared some of the weaknesses of men. Loki flipped his hair back.

“Why should I? You’re the c-combative v-viper.” A deep set of lines furrowed his forehead, rippling with each flex of your fingers. “You’re nothing but a shit-talking, spoiled prince with a big cock and nice hair,” you said, every muscle tingling with the desire raging through your veins. “You noticed,” Loki said with the twitch of an eyebrow: incorrigible, even in this position. “The hair, I mean,” he added. He didn’t mean the hair.

The god swept your forearm to the side, and your fingers ached immediately. How tight was I holding him? But there wasn’t time to wonder. His kiss slammed into you with the force of a storm, teeth clashing and his fingertips digging in to your scalp and the wet slide of lips across your own. “Loki,” you breathed, and he moaned into your mouth in response. You found yourself bucking against his hard body, grasping at everything and anything you could to be closer to him; to wind yourself so tightly to him that you though you might snap.

And then, your fingers were playing at his waistband. Loki drew back: eyes wild. “Really?” he asked, flushed and breathless. You stared at him, searching his eyes for any hint of ulterior motive, any sign he was about to pull the rug from under you. You gave a curt nod, and Loki’s expression rippled with surprise.

Your hands slid up the sides of his face, tangling in his hair. “You better make it good, considering you have a lot to make up for.” Loki snorted, “Please,” and then several things happened at once. Out of the corner of your eye, the door to the changing room glowed green around the crack. Loki shoved the waistband of his shorts down, scooping his cock in one hand while you fumbled with your leggings and send them skittering across the gleaming floor. “Norns,” Loki groaned as he cupped your breasts under the flimsy sports top, palming upwards. Beneath the bra, your nipples were hard as pebbles.

His brows peaked as his gaze rose from your chest to your face: a realisation that there wasn’t time for all that— all the filthy things you were beginning to realise he’d fantasised about. All the filthy thing you were beginning to accept that you’d fantasised about. “Maybe next time,” you muttered, pulling his hair-tie free in one sharp movement. A wicked smile unfurled on Loki’s lips.

He dipped, burying his face in your chest as he cupped the back of your thighs and you let out a gasp as he hoisted you upwards. Your legs folded around his hips, slick pussy flush to his stomach, sliding down the taut skin until you met the solid bar of flesh beneath.

“Oh, Agent,” he said in your ear, low and smooth, “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

You shoved his shoulder, but Loki’s fingertips sank into the soft curve of your ass, pushing you up so your slit hovered above the crown of his cock.

His eyebrow rose. “Last chance,” he said with a ladle of sarcasm.

Steadying one hand on his shoulder, you scraped the other through his hair, winding in a fist. You tugged, slowly…slowly, and Loki groaned, letting you sink onto his cock with every sharp ache pinching at his scalp. His thrusts weren’t like you imagined: selfish, primal, uncontrolled. If anyone was a Jackhammer —you’d always imagined it would be Loki. But his hips rolled like dough, undulating against you until your eyes rolled back and the rear of your skull cracked against the lockers. “Harder,” you sobbed quietly, nails digging into his back muscle. “Harder,” Loki groaned, his breath hot in the hollow of your neck. “Ruin me, Agent—I’m in your hands.” You dragged the nails deep against his skin: not enough to break blood, but close. Loki’s ragged breaths of pleasure made a new thrill swell between your legs, meeting his sloppy fucks like you were trying to beat him.

The fist wound in his hair yanked again, and again, and each time…the gods hips jolted. His thrusts were faster now— your moans higher— the rattle of the metal lockers and the squeak of rubber soles on tile making your mind swim. “Can I come?” he gurgled between rough exhales, and you pulled his face to yours. There was something in his eyes you’d never seen before—swimming in the whirlpool of blue. “No,” you said, and his head fell back to the ceiling. Loki’s veined cock tugged every inch of your walls as he pulled out, and buried in, stars bursting in your vision as climax began to shift and slide in the depths like a riptide.

Your legs spasmed against his hips, crossed ankles digging into the base of his spine, the grip on the god’s hair unbreakable. Biting back the urge to sob his name, you slammed your hips down to the root of his length, pulling Loki’s mouth to yours. His tongue massaged the syllables of his own name forming on your tongue, the rumble in your throat matching the one you could feel in the depths of his chest.

“Gods,” he choked when you broke, panting, riding your cunt in sloppy thrusts.

You could feel the slip of your cum between your thighs, and coating the length of his cock: and Loki could too. He looked at you with something a little like fear, one hand flying from your ass and steadying against the lockers.

“Can I—” he started, but before you could respond his knees buckled, wobbling as orgasm hit him like a train. Loki’s cry echoed around the changing room, the pained pleasure of his release making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Fuck: he was beautiful. And now...it was over. A sharp stab of sadness slipped between your ribs. The doorhandle shoogled violently. “Everything okay in there? Loki?” You and Loki’s eyes met. Steve was outside. And he wasn't alone. “What if he’s fallen? Jeepers, the floors are freshly waxed for crivven’s sakes—” “—will you calm down. I think Loki can handle himself on some polished floors,” Sam said dryly through the door. “—Bet that’s not the only thing that’s been polished,” Bucky replied, and even at a distance you could feel the heat building in Steve’s cheeks. “You’re disgusting—our comrade could be in peril. I don’t know what got into her.” There were a series of snorts, and several brisk knocks. “Yo, Laufeyson. You in peril in there?” Sam asked, and Bucky’s laugh followed. “Yes,” Loki whispered; brushing a sex-damp strand of hair from your cheek. His eyes searched yours, pinning you to the lockers as he lowered you to the floor. “I think I might be.”

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