#in another world this could be it. this could be all there is. but not in this one

[leahwllmsn]

tell me I'm the number one girl in your eyes

alexia putellas x reader

word count: 2.5k

You thought that Alexia was the only person in the world who could never hurt you.

You thought about a lot of things. About how Alexia was going to be the one to propose. How your wedding was going to be an intimate one in your and Alexia’s hometown, by the vineyard. How you would have a maximum of two children, no doubt one of which was going to follow in Alexia’s footsteps.

Your life with Alexia was set. It was predictable, really. From the moment you met her back in Mollet del Vallès when you were children, to your first kiss in her backyard, to the day you moved to the city together.

Childhood best friends who fell in love along the way—it couldn’t get anymore perfect than that. Your families were neighbours, it was practically one big family. Everyone was looking forward to your wedding, and by everyone that included you too.

You had been dating for fifteen years (well, you were on and off at some point, but that didn’t count), so it wasn’t far-fetched that you were expecting a proposal soon. You and Alexia talked about getting married, it wasn’t a new subject for the two of you.

The only problem was that the proposal wasn’t coming and for the first time ever, you had a feeling that it wasn’t going to come. Ever.

You couldn’t pinpoint when Alexia changed, when Alexia stopped buying you flowers just because and when the conversations between you felt forced. Maybe it was after Alexia went back defeated from the Olympics. Or maybe it was after Barcelona won the Champions League and Alexia was everywhere but your home.

The distance between you grew and grew until you were left to beg for Alexia’s attention as if you were another fan and not her girlfriend, the person Alexia claimed she loved more than anything.

“I have meetings with investors tonight, for Eleven.” Alexia’s voice broke the silence in your apartment. “Might go on until late.”

“Okay,” was all you could say.

Another excuse, you figured. Another reason to avoid coming home to you. It had been going on for some time. You couldn’t remember the last time you went to bed at the same time anymore. 

Alexia’s figure appeared in the kitchen, she went straight to the fridge and took out her box of orange juice. Gone were the arms around your waist, the gentle kisses to your neck as you read the morning news. Her laughter would ring around the space as she claimed “only old people read newspapers these days, amor!”

“Are we still on for tomorrow though?” You hated that your voice was hopeful. Too hopeful.

Alexia finally looked at you, her brows furrowed. You weren’t surprised anymore that she’d forgotten. It was laughable at this point because it seemed that you were the only one still present in this relationship.

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Dinner.” You tried to act nonchalant about it, as if it didn’t hurt that your own girlfriend forgot about your birthday.

Alexia stared at you for a few seconds, then nodded. “Of course. You know I finish training at four. Dinner is at seven, right?”

“Six.” And I thought you have a day off tomorrow, you wanted to argue. But you kept your mouth shut and let it go. 

Alexia finished her orange juice and grabbed her bag, stepping close to you to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “Don’t wait up.”

And just like that she was gone.

“I love you too.” You whispered to the empty apartment. It felt humiliating at times, to be the only one left in a relationship.

You wondered if Alexia still loved you. You couldn’t remember the last time she said those three words to you. You had a feeling that she stopped, that must be why she never said it anymore.

You wanted to confront her about it, to ask her why you weren’t worth her time anymore, but you didn’t think you were ready to face the fallout. You would be devastated when Alexia decided it was time to leave you. It wasn’t an if, but a when, because you knew it was inevitable. It could be tomorrow, or in a few weeks or even months.

Selfishly, you wanted to keep Alexia to yourself a little bit longer. Even though Alexia didn’t feel like yours anymore. 

You could pretend that you didn’t die every time Alexia’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. You could pretend that it was fine that Alexia never held your hand as you walked through the streets of Barcelona anymore.

You could pretend that Alexia still loved you, and that you were still the greatest thing the universe had ever given her—her words, a few years ago.

Tomorrow, you knew Alexia would go through her day as if it was just another regular day. If you were lucky, she’d remember that it was your birthday. If you were extra lucky, she’d even give you flowers.

Above everything though, you just hoped that she would show up to dinner.

You didn’t think you had any fight left in you if she didn’t.

—

The sun was shining against your face the moment you opened your eyes. Out of habit, your hands reached out to the other side. You couldn’t help the disappointed sigh that left your lips when you were met with empty sheets. You relished in the mornings when Alexia wasn’t awake and you could hold her, even though you had to pretend to be asleep as she gently lifted your hand and slipped out of bed when she woke. You missed when she would turn around and peppered your face with kisses to wake you up. She loved being the first thing you see in the morning.

Usually on your birthday, Alexia would treat you to breakfast in bed. It was tradition, one that she started ever since the two of you moved to Barcelona about a decade ago.

For a brief second, you had a dangerous glimmer of hope that Alexia was just in the kitchen. But with how quiet your apartment felt, you knew she left.

Alexia forgot. Or maybe she remembered, but she didn’t care anymore. You didn’t know which one was worse.

With a sigh and an ache so deep in your chest, you got ready for the day. You went through your usual routine: shower, breakfast, tidying any mess around your apartment that was out of place. 

It wasn’t until an hour later that the doorbell rang. A part of you hoped that it was Alexia, but the thought disappeared as fast. Your girlfriend wouldn’t need to knock on her own door.

It was a delivery man. Surprisingly, with flowers in his arms. Your heart leaped to the faint hope that they were from Alexia.

“Y/N?”

“That’s me.”

“Must be a special day,” he gave a kind smile, handing the flowers over to you. “Delivery for you from… Alba.”

The tinge of disappointment couldn’t help but creep into your chest. Still, you gave him the best smile you could muster and thanked him.

Alba remembered your birthday. Scrolling through your phone, you saw more people who remembered it was your birthday, even people you weren’t that close with.

It was radio silence from the person who mattered the most to you though.

Sitting alone on your sofa, you realized that you had nothing to do. You cleared your schedule out, and Alexia would usually take the lead. It was tradition to spend your birthdays just the two of you.

You dragged yourself to Mercadona, wanting to buy yourself a small cake and some candles. Before blowing the candles out, you wished for the impossible; birthday wishes were supposed to be powerful, weren’t they?

I wish things go back to the way they were before

Most importantly… I wish my girlfriend still wants me

—

You arrived at your favorite restaurant at exactly six o’clock. You ordered a bottle of wine and finished two glasses when thirty minutes had passed and your girlfriend was still nowhere to be seen.

The need to cry was overwhelming, you felt the tears pooling in your eyes already, waiting for the right time to fall. But you swallowed the ache and forced yourself to think of something happy, because crying whilst being alone at a table clearly meant for two was pathetic.

Your texts and calls went unanswered. An hour in and your last resort was to call Mapi and ask her if she’d seen or heard from Alexia.

“¡Hola, cumpleañera!”

“Maps, hey,” you tried to keep your voice steady, but they were futile. You were truly going to sound pathetic with your question. “Have you… Is Ale with you?”

“Qué? Alexia? Is she not with you?” Mapi sounded concerned. She sounded like she was ready to fight her best friend for you. The fact brought a slight smile to your face.

“No,” you took a deep breath. You couldn’t believe this was how your relationship had come to be. “She’s supposed to be here an hour ago.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, chica. She left a few hours ago, I don’t know where she went.”

“That’s okay.” You stared at your empty glass and contemplated on whether you should pour yourself another. You’d finish the whole bottle by yourself at this rate.

“Do you… do you want me and Ingrid to come over?”

The offer was sweet, your heart swell at the reinforcement that there were still people who cared about you. But you didn’t think you could go through conversations without breaking down.

So you politely declined Mapi’s offer and poured yourself another glass of wine. You were finishing this bottle, you decided.

It was a strange feeling. To feel abandoned. Alexia had never made you feel that way before.

Alexia was your safe space. She made you feel loved and made you feel that you mattered.

That Alexia felt like a lifetime ago, like she belonged to another, better version of you—one worthy of her time and effort.

—

The apartment was dark when you got home, but you knew Alexia was here. Her car keys were on the hook, and the shoes she wore earlier were haphazardly placed by the front door.

“Ale?” You let out a wince as you took off your heels, you could feel a blister coming.

As you entered your living room, you found your girlfriend still in her Barcelona sweatshirt passed out on the couch. She looked so at peace that you couldn’t help but pressed a kiss to her forehead.

As much as you hated how she’d been treating you, a part of you still had so much love for her. You knew you deserved better than this version of Alexia, but you didn’t think you had it in you to let her go.

Alexia stirred, not even a guilty look when she opened her eyes and saw you standing there. “Hey, what time is it?”

“Late,” you muttered, walking back to your bedroom. You heard faint footsteps behind you, telling you Alexia was following you. You knew she was watching you, you in your fitted black dress that stopped just above your thigh. It was Alexia’s favourite dress on you, hence why you decided to wear it tonight.

“I… fell asleep,” Alexia’s voice broke the silence. She must’ve realized her mistake then. A part of you broke when she said nothing else, not even an apology.

“That’s fine,” you shrugged. You stripped off your dress and changed into a t-shirt. When you realized it was an old, faded one which belonged to Alexia, you angrily took it off and tossed it aside. This was supposed to be your side of the closet, but over the years, your clothes and Alexia’s have blended together.

“Amor…”

You couldn’t remember the last time Alexia called you that. It used to bring you warmth, but now it only made you feel mocked.

“What, Alexia?” You turned around and the sight of her finally in front of you, of her finally looking at you, made you snap. “It’s not like I waited hours for you, looking like a complete idiota as the waiter kept on checking if I was okay.”

“I didn’t—”

You put a hand up, signaling your girlfriend to stop talking. “Save it, Alexia. You know, I wasn’t even surprised that you didn’t show up. But I thought that your girlfriend’s birthday must count as a special occasion, right? I guess I really do mean nothing to you.”

“Your birthday?” Alexia’s eyes went impossibly wide. 

You laughed, that evil laughter you hear from villains in movies. There wasn’t anything funny. You just felt so pathetic to the point that there wasn’t anything else you could do but laugh at the situation.

Alexia looked like she was close to tears, but you forced yourself to not feel bad for her. She made you feel so much worse these past few weeks.

“I don’t know what I did wrong, Alexia,” you sighed. You knew you were going to lose her after this. There wasn’t going back. “I’ve done nothing but love you unconditionally, but even that seems like it’s not enough for you anymore. It used to be though, so tell me, Alexia, what changed? What did I do to make you stop loving me? We used to be so good.”

The tears were flowing freely down your face. You looked terrible. Your heart was in pieces. It wasn’t a birthday you wanted to remember.

“Ale… If you don’t want me around anymore, the least you could do is tell me. Tell me so I don’t have to wait for you to notice me again. Tell me so I can pack up my bags and leave you alone.”

“It’s not like that,” Alexia finally spoke up, her voice barely a whisper.

“Then what? I feel like I don’t matter to you anymore. You’ve done a great job of showing me that. Forgetting that it’s my birthday is the cherry on top.”

Alexia was crying too, but you didn’t know why she was crying. Guilt, maybe? But this had been going on for some time, why feel guilty now?

“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” you decided, having to force the words out of your mouth. “I know you don’t want to be the one to end things, so I’ll do you a favour.”

This wasn’t what you wanted. You wanted Alexia to fight for you, to prove you wrong. You wanted Alexia to tell you that she was sorry and that she didn’t realize she had been neglecting you. You wanted Alexia to pull you into her arms and not let go. You wanted her to convince you that you were still the love of her life and that she still loved you more than anything.

But Alexia said nothing else and that was all you needed to know.

[grimmsbride]

▗▬̸̎͞/̄͆̅ ̎ ̎̿͞͞͞͞͞͞͞͞ι̚━─ ⠀ NYCTOPHILLIAC ⠀ ⠀ 𑄼ల۫ thanos / reader

getting caught up in thanos’s web was a mistake, especially when it interfered with your sleep.

𓂂 ͜ᩘ ̵̼͓̥͒̾͘𑣿 ⁣⁣⠀ TAGS unconsensual voyuerism (thanos & reader have sexual relations in her bed while everyone is asleep. even though they are asleep, i still put this warning because i know some people can get uncomfortable). ooc thanos (first time writing for him). oral sex (fem. receiving). porn no plot. mentions of past sexual relations. fingering. dirty talk. unrealistic expectations of quiet sex(?). overuse of pet names (senorita, mama, etc.) etc.

𓂂 ͜ᩘ ̵̼͓̥͒̾͘𑣿 ⁣⁣⠀ NOTES please heed the warning above as i would hate to make anyone uncomfortable while reading this fic. with that said please enjoy and i apologize for any grammar mistakes or typos.

Despite different games being assigned each day, it all felt the same — as if you had just stepped inside this odd room, surrounded by strangers that held far too many similarities with you. You couldn’t count the amount of times you flinched or teared up as you watched and heard bullets tear people apart, how their strangled cries escaped in a last ditch effort to somehow convince the ruthless guards to spare them. You nearly screamed yourself when blood hit your cheek, tainting the already sweaty area — which you gingerly cleaned up the moment you got time to.

You somehow survived, in just the nick of time too. You wondered if you had any right to be happy for your victory, or you should be remorseful for all the lives lost today. You pondered it for a complete moment before deciding doing so was useless, and not impertinent to your current situation.

Getting out with enough money was of the upmost importance, nothing more and nothing less.

Which is why you were quick to settle into bed the moment the opportunity arose, slipping out of your socks and jacket, pulling the blanket up over yourself, and shutting your eyes. The world around you seemed to cease — aside from the old man’s snoring beside you — your body melting into the mattress. Sleep was the only comfort you could afford to cling to in this situation, anything else was an unnecessary distraction.

Including the one that stood infront of you, taking form as a purple-haired devil.

You never intended to get entangled with any of the other contestants. You could smile and cheer together, but it wasn’t a secret how quickly that relationship could turn sour. Mixing any type of deeper attachments just seemed like a bad idea.

But you fucked up horribly, one thing leading to another, with you in the arms of a man named Thanos, who said just the right words at the time.

You promised yourself that one time was it, you wouldn’t slip up again. You couldn’t afford to slip up anyway.

“Thanos.. go away.” You murmured, courteous of the other contestants around you. You wondered if the two of you were the only ones awake.

Through the dimmed room you could spot Thanos tilting his head, elbow pressing against your bed as he leaned closer.

“C’mon don’t be like that.. just checking on you.”

You rolled your eyes, growing more frustrated by the minute. You desperately wanted sleep- actually, you needed it. You refused to suffer the next morning, especially since your life was literally on the line. You adjusted your pillow, basically staring daggers into the man.

“I’m fine, now, go to your own bed—“

“And.. I’m also cold.”

You blinked rapidly, nearly slapping that stupid smile right off his face. You decided to turn your back to him, ignoring that soft sound of disapproval he released.

“Wear your jacket or something.. hell— steal your friend’s blanket. Just let me sleep.”

You chose to ignore the second sound he released, which seemed to be an unusually pitiful whine, mixed with an obnoxious groan. You wanted to tell him off for his volume, but decided not to— trying to seem as stern as possible so he could finally leave you alone.

But Thanos wasn’t the type to let up, something you quickly learned the moment you met him. Seeing as his fingers began to graze your blanket, rising closer just so his lips were hovering over your ear.

“But you’re right here.. can’t we share some warmth until morning? You wouldn’t want me to freeze, right?”

Thanos’s words were tempting, as usual. Whether you liked to admit it or not, he knew just what to say. Which is why you called him a devil, a sickening demon with that silver tongue.

You bit the inside of your cheek, desperately trying to fight mind over matter. Not only was this bad for your sleep, you were also at risk for breaking some unknown rule. And if you got shot over cuddling, you would definitely haunt this place like a vengeful spirit.

But in the end you gave in, the reason fleeting at the moment. You could only focus on the fact he would hopefully shut up when he got what he wanted. So, wordlessly, you brought up the blanket behind you; hearing his small giddy voice as he climbed in with you.

At least the man was nice enough to allow most of the blanket to cover you, the rest of your exposed self covered by his larger frame. Thanos made quick work of wrapping his arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him as his face found your neck.

“You have to leave before morning.”

Whether acknowledging you or not, the man just let out a hum, lips treading across your warm skin in the process. With a shiver you attempted to focus on sleep, admitting to yourself that the extra warmth was comforting. It also allowed you to truly relax, knowing your back was covered— literally.

Your hand found the back of his, fingers spreading along it as your eyes settled shut. You felt your self slipping in slowly, body growing heavier as that relaxation began to reach its peak.

Only to tumble down the moment you felt a thumb play at the waistband of your pants.

“Thanos..”

“Hm?”

You slowly turned your head, tight-lipped and squinting at him through the darkness. “Don’t fucking hm, me— what are you doing?”

The shit-eating grin that developed was telling, his thumb now slithering under your shirt and rubbing small circles into your skin.

“Not a thing.. yet.”

“We’re supposed to be sleeping!”

The man was quick to raise his free hand, placing a taunting finger to his lips. “Don’t wake the others Señorita, that’ll be just plain rude.” The circles on your skin continued, Thanos closer as his lips brushed against your own yet didn’t fully touch.

“This will help you sleep better. Erasing alll your worries in the blink of an eye.” He breathed, eyes flicking low as if attempting to see beneath the blanket. Instead his hand did the seeing for him, fingers breaching your pants and underwear; tips stroking your soft cunt. He couldn’t help the little twitch of a smile the moment he felt you release a strangled breath, using two long fingers to spread you open to his hand.

And when your lips parted to speak, his own covered them; a gentle kiss that caused your mind to grow dizzy. You couldn’t help your legs spreading, hand wrapping around Thanos’s wrist the moment you felt him at your clit. He rolled his thumb so perfectly, applying delicious pressure to the little bud that caused you to see stars.

The moment you needed to breathe you regretted leaving his lips, seeing as you struggled to keep your voice down. He wasn’t even touching you much yet here you were, panting and releasing the softest moan. With a quick raise of your hand, you covered your mouth— teeth biting into the flesh the moment you felt a finger slowly sink into your wetness.

“Wish I could see..” The soft comment made you groan softly, hips rising the moment he began to piston his finger. Within moments a second was joining, scissoring you open and plunging deeper then your own fingers could. Your eyebrows knitted close, the pain of your bite washing away with each thrust of his digits.

“Thanos.. please..”

“Oh no.. keep your voice to yourself— I wouldn’t want anyone else to hear how pretty you sound.”

As usual his words held such a teasing tone, face moving back to your neck to kiss and bite gently. Even with his small request the man wasn’t making the situation any easier, especially when his thumb moved right back to your sensitive clit; rubbing those same dizzy inducing circles.

You felt way too good right now, your body practically shaking with how much you struggled to keep in. The thought of anyone waking up right now with you in this state — under the mercy of a certain purple-haired, tattooed rapper — was a thought you couldn’t even imagine without your heart pounding with anxiety.

The best thing to do would be to push him off before things progressed. You hadn’t a clue how far he wanted to take this, nor did you think it would end in time for the lights to cut on. And Thanos wasn’t a creep, he would listen to you the moment you expressed actual discomfort from the situation. But you weren’t, that pain you felt all day, that anguish; did truly wash away in seconds just from the flick of his fingers.

The thrusts against your velvety, soaked walls were perfect— your eyes rolling to find your skull the moment the ferocity increased. A metallic taste invaded your mouth from how bad you were biting yourself, but you didn’t care; it was a concern for morning [Name], not horny [Name] who was currently being cared for by the hottest contestant in this god forsaken place.

“Oh, all this clenching— you’re close aren’t you? Can barely get my fingers out.”

The smile in his speech was obvious, breath fanning against your skin as he urged you more and more; curling his fingers just right to hear your muffled sounds peak into a small squeal.

Your nails dragged across his tattooed hand, feeling it flex with each movement of his fingers. Your mind was growing cloudy, barely being able to register the words that were being pressed right against your ear.

“How about I get a taste, huh? Wanna come all in my mouth, mama.. it’ll be such an easy clean up.”

Before you could even think to speak Thanos was pulling his hand out from within you. You had little time to protest when you felt him grabbing your blanket, pulling it over his body as he crawled down your own. Your eyes slowly widened, realizing his words and actions; a new sheen of sweat finding your skin. Your nerves were on fine at this point, inner mind screaming to tell him to do anything else but that.

However, the moment you felt him pulling down your pants and his lips finding your pretty cunt, all hope was lost. The back of your head quickly found your pillow, hand going right back to your mouth to bite down even harsher than before. His tongue exited his mouth in a long stride, gliding across your wet center, and parting you easily.

Thanos created similar ministrations with the tip of his tongue like his thumb, circling your bud and slowly pulling it between his lips. There, he began to suck, the sound noisy but muffled by your blankets and other’s snoring.

Muffled gasps pushed against your skin, hips rising and legs closing around his head; bringing him even closer to you. The peak that was steadily approached seemed to pick up speed far too quickly, your mind turning to mush.

No more were you number so-so, victim to madmen and their sick games. No, you were simply [Name], moaning wantonly with little care for the environment around you.

Your other hand slithered under the blanket, finding his hair and tugging the soft tresses; feeling them stick between the gaps of your fingers. Shamelessly you rubbed against his face, desperate for that sweet release. Your pussy convulsed with each struggled breath you took, stars impeding your vision as you got closer and closer.

You felt it before you heard it, Thanos’s sweet urges right into your pussy. His wet words of make me a mess, pretty girl— don’t hold back on me now, causing you to tip over the line.

His mouth latched to you, drinking up your release as if you tasted better than any drug within his cross. It didn’t help he was practically praising your taste, a sloppy groan being delivered right into your pussy. Gingerly, Thanos licked you clean, assuring not a single drop was left.

Only when the man was fully satisfied did he let up, climbing up from the blanket and popping his head out to look down at you.

“See, it helped— you can barely keep your eyes open right now.”

You released a soft breath, a mix of a chuckle and a sigh as you stared up at the man. “You gonna let me sleep now?” You spoke softly, watching his wet lips curl into a gentle smile.

“Of course. Good night, [Name].”

[spidermanifested]

another black sails fantheory ive seen around a lot is that silver is jewish, usually specifically sephardic, but despite its prevalence i havent been able to find anybodys actual thesis statements about it. so if there are Essays out there (especially by somebody with more historical-slash-judaism knowledge than i with my meager wiki-crawls) i would love Links

however once again ive pondered a bunch of the stuff ive noticed personally, about mr john "if thats even your real name" silver. and honestly at this point id be kind of surprised if it Wasnt the actual context the writers shaped his character around. everything just seems to come together really neatly

hes impressively literate for his circumstances/time period, and really good at quickly memorizing large amounts of text. a solid religious education could very well explain this

specifically– and this is one of the things that feels like a huge bit of intentional subtext to me– the scene where hes hiding with the lepers and memorizing the urca schedule REALLY seems to evoke someone reading scripture under a prayer shawl

not only does he not know how to cook pork, but does not even seem to know what pork looks like when finished cooking

the pretext flint used to get his crew to hunt down the hamiltons' ship was that it was carrying sephardic riches. this is a completely throwaway detail we learn secondhand, in a story where there are very, very few completely throwaway details

silver speaks at least some spanish. this comes up Once and goes totally unquestioned by everyone around him, likely because they think he just picked it up as a sailor. he almost certainly has not been at sea long enough for this to be the case. speaking ladino as a first language on the other hand would give him a huge leg up (so to speak.) in that department

further point. around the time period of the show, the biggest sephardic community in the world lived in thessaloniki in modern-day greece. it was:

a) one of the most major seaports in the ottoman empire

b) a famous center for learning, which boasted 100% literacy of its jewish population

and c) despite its long and prosperous history under ottoman rule, beginning to decline along with the rest of the empire, for many interconnected reasons, including but not limited to: Problems With the Governments Handling of the Textile Industry (where have we heard that before)

lotta unrest. religious schisms and doomsday prophecies. reactionary groups of overempowered soldiers attacking civilians for stress relief (again. where have we heard that before). people, unsurprisingly, started leaving

so if you did want, against john silvers express wishes. to theorize a backstory for a surprisingly educated stowaway of Mystery Origin, who has Mystery Trauma and doesnt want anybody to know who he is or where he comes from, and which would give a new level of relevance to all the greek stuff that permeates the show (down to the actual name of the thing!), along with containing parallels to several other backstories and events in the show proper,

Well this one make sense i think 👍

[power-handmaiden]

Chuck Tingle interview

OK, here is the FINAL 2024 Tingles My Butt post, which I've been pretty hyped for. I still kind of can't believe this. While I was figuring out how I'd move on from 2024, @drchucktingle generously offered to answer some questions of mine to commemorate the end of my tingler project! Here they are!

-Considering that your process for tinglers is just to write it out and not stress about proofreading and editing, was it weird for you to see someone decide to go back, examine, and contemplate every single tingler published in the past decade?

the whole dang project was really wonderful for me, for exactly the reason you have just said. tinglers are very STREAM OF CONSCIOUS and only edited with one quick pass so while i think this adds to their honesty and rawness it also means that my time with them is limited. really watching someone go back through them at this depth was like reading a diary that i have not opened for many years, and it jumps around through time in a very beautiful way. it was very moving

-I love tingler character names. I personally admire how many great ones you come up with. (I never know what to name my ttrpg characters.) You just come up with all these great names that seemingly spring from nowhere, how do you do it?

DANG great question cant believe i have not been asked this before but yes there is a type of name that shows up in the tingleverse that is unusual and has a certain feeling and cadence that is very specific. if i am trotting along with sweet barbara and there is a name of a product or a place or something that has this tone we will say ‘oh thats a tingleverse name.’ the reason i wanted to do this in the books was as a very subtle way of saying these stories exist on a timeline that is RIGHT next to ours, so in some ways it is exactly the same as our world but there are these little cultural differences with things like chocolate milk and spaghetti and then with the names. you will have buckaroos like justin and sarah trotting along next to buckaroos named corb torbins-quill or borto lart.

-So, as a reader, reading from 2014 to now, old tinglers and new tinglers feel different to me. I believe you when you say tinglers have always been sincere, but they feel MORE sincere than they used to be. Like, I feel like there was some self-consciousness and irony in some of the early tinglers that you've since let go of and embraced the Chuck Tingle voice more. I don't know, am I imagining this, or does this square with your tingler writing journey? If it does, what has that process been like for you?

i think you are absolutely correct. the intention with tinglers was always to be a place for me to express myself with complete sincerity, but the practical way of HOW to trot like this took a bit of an evolution to arrive at. in other words i knew the basics, but actually refining the best way to express yourself and perform your art takes time. maybe in the same way goin back and watching season one of a tv show can feel very different from season three, even though they are part of the same expression. 

similar thing happened with in my chuck PRESENTATION as well, where my main focus was to stay anonymous so the metaphors i used to talk about my life were still true but laid on much thicker. even my attire was a large gi so that you would not even be able to see my shape, which has obviously changed now because i wear suits these days. all of this was a process of starting in a place i knew was important to me and then peeling off the parts that were not helping the message or expression over time

-Is there anything you could tell us about the significance of Borson Reems? I feel like he's more than just another Buck Trungle/Chuck Tangle/etc but I'm not sure what exactly...

yes borson reems is god. not that i believe in GOD in the way that most buckaroos talk about god (i am agnostic) but within the tingleverse, borson reems is an avatar for the creator of that world. technically i am borson reems, because i am writing the books. the question is: are we all the gods of our own little worlds that we create? i do not know, but when i look around at my buds and the joy and love they bring to various timelines they sure seem like gods to me

-A lot of no-sex tinglers (especially ones that aren't romance-focused) vary in terms of plot and structure a lot more than erotic tinglers. Is your writing process for these stories any different?

same process actually, but the sex scenes in tinglers are about 1500 to 2000 words long, and total tingler length is 4000 words which means if you are not including that portion you are going to have to come up with some creative way to fill that space in the story and a new axis for story to turn on. so the variety comes from me getting creative and trying out different axis points

-In "Not Pounded By My Book "Pounded In The Butt By My Non-Fungible Tingler That Is Literally This NFT" Because Of The Current Catastrophic Environmental And Ethical Impact" there are references to an earlier draft of the story that was never released because you ended up disagreeing with the message. Are there any other tinglers that never got finished and/or published, if you'd be willing to talk about any of them?

oh this is a VERY good question. the story of the NFT tingler is that when buckaroos were first talkin on nfts online and nobody really knew what they were, my first thoughts were just ‘oh this is interesting what the heck is this?’ this is my way with most CURRENT EVENTS. and i thought ‘this would be an interesting tingler, i suppose maybe i should make the tingler an ACTUAL nft’. this was in VERY early days so i did not really even understand what an nft was (neither did 99 percent of buckaroos yet honestly). so i looked into it just enough to actually MAKE a nft tingler that was a real nft and put it out. lasted for about thirty seconds before buckaroos were messaging saying ‘oh this is bad chuck you should look into what this is’ and i DID look into it and thought’ oh yeah this is terrible nevermind’. i took down the original and thought ‘well THIS is what art is all about. this is where i thrive in a world of moving living art that is in communication with itself’. so i dove into the research and actually started to understand NFTS and then i repurposed the story into a strongly anti-nft tingler and put that on out instead.

as far as OTHER tinglers that kind of move and breathe and live like this, in communication with the audience, GAY T-REX LAW FIRM is another very good example. that one i wrote early on and i think it was kind of in the model of something like fifty shade of grey, where issues of kink and consent and communication are not really handled well. i think at the time it came out the story was okay, but as time went on it always kind of bothered me and finally i thought ‘i love art that exists in the REAL WORLD and changes and evolves, so lets rewrite that story and fix some of these mistakes.’ honestly it is something i wish more artists would be open to. its okay to let something hold strong against a changing timeline, but it is also okay to explore what its like to take the notes that time gives us

-This one is about Chuck Tingle that exists in deeper layers of the Tingleverse that operate on tingler logic: what does the location inside his/your butt look like?

probably a nice mid-century modern home up in laurel canyon neighborhood of los angeles. kind of quiet and small like a cabin but also very cozy, like the kind of place where you would put on a crosby stills nash and young record on vinyl and gaze out into the woods for a while then walk down the hill for dinner at a little cafe where you spot some actor from a 60s tv show also having dinner in the corner booth. this basically sounds like the start of a tingler and in that tingler i will say the actor would be a bigfoot.

-OK this one is very self-indulgent but if you could help settle this frequent point of discussion I have with my wife- where do the following fit in the Tingleverse bigfoot/dinosaur/unicorn/living object(/human/does not apply?) taxonomy?

-a ghost of a regular human

-a regular human vampire

-a human/fish mermaid

-a sentient winged horse

-a sentient centipede large enough to wrap around a mountain several times (she is handsome)

alright lets trot through these. a GHOST is not one of the four tingle types so you can have a ghost racecar or a ghost unicorn or a ghost bigfoot. ghosts are outside of the four types and do not have a classification

a VAMPIRE is also outside of the four types. so you can have a vampire bigfoot or, of course, a vampire night bus. does not strictly fall into any of the four main categories

MERMAIDS are technically a long lost species of unicorn I DONT MAKE THE RULES I JUST EXPLAIN THEM. this makes the MERMOPED tingler a little confusing but i had to pick a category and that one went into living object. now that i mention it possibly the only tingler that is technically a double category of unicorn/living object.

WINGED HORSE is easy, thats a pegasus which is a species of unicorn just like a mermaid

a SENTIENT CENTIPEDE LARGE ENOUGH TO WRAP AROUND A MOUNTAIN is an ancient creature, therefore dinosaur tingler

-My other self-indulgent question: do you have a favorite bug? (Or second-favorite if you count Mothman as a bug)

i love finding spiders in the house and giving them a pet because they are doing a good job livin their lives doin their thing. close second would be a pretty ladybug

-Any thoughts on what tinglers will be like in 2025? Do you expect to be writing a lot of political tinglers again, like post-2016?

honestly i really do not like writing specifically political tinglers anymore, and the amount that i write has gradually dropped over time (i think ALL tinglers are political but in a different way). so honestly i think i will write a few political tinglers but not many. my hypothesis on this is that my HORROR NOVELS are very very political and so maybe i get a lot of these ideas out of my system that way now. when it comes to tinglers i just wanna explore my OWN mind and heart and butt more

THANK YOU for these wonderful questions and thank you for your tingler-a-day project it was so moving and powerful. what a treat it was an honor to be a part of something so beautiful. THIS PROVES LOVE IS REAL

[gallusrostromegalus]

I did not care at all for Aizen Sosuke when I first read bleach. I found him boring, and worst, unthreatening.

So it's pretty jarring for me that I have been OBSESSED with him in your AU. I'm rotating him at great speed

Walt Disney was a jackass who was flat-out wrong about a lot of very important things, but he employed a great many geniuses of storytelling, and there's a piece in Disney Animation: The Illusion of Life by Frank Thomas and Ollie Johnson that discusses a key feature of Disney Studios Character Design:

"Of all characters, villains are the most fun to develop because they make everything else happen. They are the instigators, and always more colorful than the Hero. They may be dramatic, awesome, insidious or semi-comic, but they MUST be appealing. Almost any story becomes innocuous if all the evil is eliminated, but we do not necessarily gain strength by being frightening. we want a character that will hold the audience and entertain them, even if it's a Chilling Type of Entertainment."

And I've found that to be an important principle of character design, especially the kind of canon restructuring I do.

Aizen had a LOT going for him in canon- for all of Bleach's other faults, Aizen's conspiracy and THE REVEAL are spectacularly constructed and executed. I legit screamed and threw my mug across my dorm room when I read it in the manga the first time. He's also conventionally attractive and the translations I was reading gave him the speech patterns of Every Douchebag In Your 101 Political Theory Who Thinks He's The Smartest Man In The Room, which made him a terrific combination of Unfortunately Charming, Menacingly Competent and Engagingly Obnoxious.

...But he falls flat in a few key places.

Aizen's reasoning could be MUCH more sympathetic- After all, he is RIGHT. Soul Sciety does suck ass and all the options kind of suck. Who designs a universe like that? An asshole who needs killing, that's who. The best kind of Unhinged Madmen are the kind who spell out their reasoning and you realize that there but for the grace of Not Having Super Powers Go I. Canon!Aizen makes a few Good Rhetorical Points, but seems to lack any personal connection to his all-consuming plan.

Another issue is that nearly every villain with A Plan has a clear end goal AND a lot of the menace is drawn from the fact that the plan *could* work. Aizen's plan for betraying the court guard and then killing them off before proceeding into the Royal Realm to Kill God sorta falls apart when it's clear he planned to use pretty much all his accumulated forces dealing with the court guard and doesn't seem to have a plan for the Even More Powerful Royal Guard, let alone God. For how meticulously planned the rest of the plot is, the last two VERY IMPORTANT steps are just handwaved.

So I sat down and started with the plot beats Aizen MUST hit, and tried to imagine what kind of guy would he have to be to get there? And I came up with this:

Sosuke Aizen is a fundamentally good man with genuinely good intentions who is really trying his best for the whole world.

Think about it- what lengths would you NOT go to if you think you found a genuine shot at Fixing Everything Wrong With The World Forever? We all talk about killing Hitler if we found an actual Time Machine- would you do it if your only chance was when he was a baby? Would you kill an infant if it meant you could stop World War II before it starts? Of course you would! One small life for over 75 million? You'd be insane not to! What if you found out that you could prevent the future extinction of Humanity by killing your best friend today? Ten Billion lives? For theirs? It's simple, really- Hell, it's your Moral Obligation to do that if you were SURE!

-And Aizen IS sure. He is absolutely, totally, completely sure that He Can Save Everyone if he just gets rid of that idiot sitting on the throne of heaven. He's seen the plans! He knows where the gate of heaven is! It's So SIMPLE he just has to get inside, and he knows EXACTLY how to do it, yes it'll be hard and there will be... unpleasant parts but. IT. WILL. WORK.

He is of course, insane.

Aizen didn't have One Bad Day that set him irrevocably on the path of madness. It was a succession of catastrophic disappointments and realizations that he was living in a fundamentally irrational world that made irrational thinking look sane. The Catastrophe that befell his family, working for the central 46 and later the court guard and seeing how the organizations were inept to the point of abuse or corrupt to the core, learning that The Actual House Of God is a place he can just? Go to? Anyone would start thinking you were just a handful of white lies and homicides away from Fixing Everything, Forever.

Not only is Aizen insane, he is nowhere near as smart as he thinks. He is smart- He does have a knack for being able to guess just what will spur someone to action or make them recoil in fear. But mostly he gets extremely lucky Many, Many, MANY times. On some level I think it gives him Confirmation Bias that this is what he's supposed to be doing. Aizen is also nowhere near as smart as (nearly) everyone else thinks he is. His bizarrely good luck makes him look like a hyper-competent genius when really it was really the catastrophic failure of Soul Society as a Society that let a merely mediocre conspirator to evade detection for so long.

Being that he is at most, mediocre, he had to have Outside Help, specifically Gin's emotional support and Tousen's Competence- and if there's a part of the fic that stays true to canon, it's this.

Gin is Aizen's emotional rock in Canon. He's the ONE guy that Aizen genuinely trusts, and considers his 'my only real partner' in his scheme. There's more than one occasion in the manga where Aizen more or less asks Gin "Is this actually a good idea?" and Gin backs him up every time.

...Which is more than a bit at odds with Gin's later stated goal of "I did all this to kill you at your most vulnerable to protect rangiku" . It never rang true to me. So I started thinking why on EARTH Gin would be backing Aizen up like that, and realized there was a hole in my world building that he slotted into nicely :)

On the other hand, the entire fic was started because I didn't like how Tousen's character arc ended, so you can imagine how much he's changed.

But in canon, TOUSEN DOES ALL THE FUCKING WORK.

Lab work? Tousen.

Supervising the arrancar directly? Tousen

Actually getting victims for the Hogyoku experiments? Tousen.

Altering all the archives to keep Aizen's plot hidden? Tousen.

Sending all the Orders allegedly from the central 46? Tousen.

Making sure Unohana believes Aizen's fake body is real? Tousen.

Managing all the day-to-day operations at Las Noches? Tousen.

There's even this little exchange, which is Tousen's first appearance in the Manga:

Aizen establishes this entire meeting is a little fake-out a few pages later with "now isn't that a convenieint time for the alarm to go off?"

which makes him look like he's investigating, but he's also going "Good job on disrupting everyone with the alarm Gin!" It's ballsy of Aizen to do a check-in on his plan with his main nemesis in the room, but also his style.

I think the same thing is happening here with Tousen. To make sure Ukitake wouldn't raise a huge fit about the proposed execution of his beloved lieutenant, which might fuck everything up for Aizen because Ukitake is one of like, three people Yamamoto will listen to (sort of).

...So he had Tousen poison Ukitake to keep him out of the way.

ALL. THE. FUCKING. WORK. It's even in his name! The characters for "Tousen" Refer to a legendary scholar the emperor of China sent out to discover the secret of immortality- only to kill the scholar when he returned with that secret. The character for "Kaname" means "Necessary/Vital/keystone" or "to organize/take account of". His name LITERALLY means "Scholar who is essential for the plan (that we're going to kill later)"

Another thing Kubo did well in Bleach: his name game is Off The Fucking Charts.

-but I digress.

In AEIWAM, it's much the same only this time Aizen sees this very dangerous witness who is immune to his illusions but also extremely snart and capable young man and instead of risking being caught out by the one damn guy who can see right through him, opts to Curse Kaname into doing as Aizen says, and doing all the fucking work of this conspiracy against his will.

It's Not Nice, but Aizen genuinely thinks he's doing Kaname a favor by subjecting him to this degrading and incredibly painful servitude- I mean, Aizen's only other option was to Kill him to keep his silence, and isn't it wonderful that you get to help fix the universe? You're the one always going on about Justice, I don't understand why you didn't jump at the chance to mete out some Divine Justice.

An Excerpt from the captain's meeting in between the Massacre that made the visored and Zaraki's arrival, when Kaname realizes Yamamoto is 100% serious about his promotion to captain of the 9th and goes to throw up in the garden. Aizen offers to go check on him while Unohana very politely reads the general the riot act:

---

"You broke your toy Aizen." Kaname coughs.

"…I really am sorry for running you ragged like this. I really shouldn't have gotten so mad about you hiding the the hogyoku- it was very petty of me." The bastard sighs, taking off his glasses and rubbing his face, entirely genuine.

Kaname stayed on his hands and knees, weaving slightly as another wave of nausea flowed through him, powered by disgust and rage.

"How about this- I've got a lot coming up with the new job, training Gin and disposing of Kiganjo- So how about I promise to not give you any orders for a while? You will have to keep our arrangement a secret and not interfere, of course, but other than that, you're free to do as you please for- a year and a day is traditional isn't it? No, that's not going to heal by then- Oh, would you look at that!"

Kaname didn't have the strength to offer his usual rebuttal that he won't look at anything, ever. The sides of his head tingle like his skul was being pressed between two enormous hands made of static electricity.

"It's 11:11! Alright, I won't give you any Orders until 11:11 am on November 11th, 1911. That's easy to remember! What do you think?" Aizen continued cheerfully, patting his back and the Curse nails.

"…I can't." Kaname groaned. He could scream if he had the energy, but due to Aizen's Illusions, nobody would hear him. "I actually physically can't think. Please…"

"Of course! You really are such a help to me, it would be a shame to lose you. I'll even amend our contract, so you don't get paranoid-" There was a sizzling sound and a new stroke of hot pain up Kaname's spine as Aizen did something to the wretched Bakudo. "There. No compulsions for eleven years and a day. What do you say?"

Kaname grimaced, but dropped his head. Save the energy to fight another day. "…thank you, Aizen-sama."

"Good man! Let's get you on your feet." Aizen beamed, putting his glasses back on and offering him an arm.

---

He genuinely thinks that he's doing everyone a huge favor and if they don't get it it's because they're just not smart enough, but it's alright, He's a Benevolent God and they'll appreciate all his hard work the next time around :)

Aizen is a man who is FULL of joy. He loves what he does! He actively takes pleasure in it! And I think that's something that REALLY delivers in terms of sympathy AND horror for him. Who *Wouldn't* have a great time actually fixing the universe? He's a good man who enjoys doing good works, and this is the greatest work of all!

It also Delivers on the Horror when I get to write the deliciously fun scenes where Aizen is Elbows-deep in a novel War Crime and waxing poetic about how GREAT this is, or being confused why the people around him are reacting with fear. Don't you want to make everything better too?

[demonic0angel]

Phantom Family (In Uniform)

My headcanons for when the Phantoms are in costume and working with other DC heroes :3 (click for clarity)

All four of them work separately, but team up whenever there is a world-ending crisis in their universe or in the DC world (where they’re currently staying). Cue shenanigans bc they’ve been gaining the trust and love of people around them who had no idea they were siblings??? (The Batfam feel a strange sense of deja vu)

More notes:

+ Danny joins the JL, Jazz joins Jason's gang as his assistant, Dani joins Young Justice, and Dan is a loner who only works with Nightwing.

+ Danny is named Phantom, Jazz is named Wolf, Dani is named Spirit, and Dan is named Wraith, named for multiple reasons.

+ In my hcs, the DP world and the DC world are separate, and the DP characters go to the DCU for various reasons. Ofc, these makes people from both worlds slightly different from one another via genetic makeup, culture, politics, etc.

+ Jazz was the first to arrive and she mainly wanted to study and practice her fields at Arkham Asylum. However, she got bored and decided to join Jason’s gang as his assistant before quickly earning his trust and then accidentally gaining more power within the gang. Dani came next and asked to join Young Justice. She was accepted and thus became friends with everyone there. Dan was next, but he thought he got the wrong universe and wasn’t able to contact anyone for awhile. He met Nightwing, and after being interested in his innate goodness, decided to stay around him and continue bothering him, eventually resulting in a genuine relationship where he strives to become better. Danny came last and asked to join the Justice League, which they allowed after awhile as he proved himself, eventually becoming one of the top hitters and most powerful members.

+ Danny’s relationship with the JL was cold at first because his arrival was unprecedented and he was considered an unknown. Eventually, they started realizing that he was chill, but it took a long time before anyone could even trust him since he wasn’t really a team player. At some point, Batman was able to get his identity out of him, and after realizing that he was genuinely young, Batman softened and everyone started trusting and befriending him slowly.

+ Jazz’s relationship with Jason was stilted at first bc Jazz was lowkey suspicious and Jason didn’t trust her. After a while, she proved herself to him and helped him a lot, so they began developing a friendship and eventually, she gained the trust and loyalty of everyone around her. She and Jason have a great but complex relationship with the only hurdle being their secret identities. Both of them have an irrational fear of rejection from the other, so they go out of their way to avoid finding each other’s identities (even if it would be really easy for both of them) which has resulted in a lot of frustration and slow burn.

+ Dani’s relationship with Young Justice started out a little awkward, but her personality and charm won them over and with her assistance towards Secret, she was able to integrate herself into the group easily. She’s considered the newest, so they kind of treat her as the baby, but after a lot of crazy adventures, they trust her with the spiritual and supernatural stuff.

+ Dan’s relationship with Nightwing started out as extremely hostile since Nightwing took no chances and almost immediately wanted to attack him. Dan had no problem with this and often provoked him, but was too powerful to be fought off, only leaving whenever he wanted, which resulted in a lot of frustration and anger. As time passed, Dan made himself into a neutral force in Bludhaven as someone who would not kill others, but would not help unless it was Nightwing asking. He wore down Nightwing enough by popping up for more fights that eventually, Nightwing just lowkey teamed up with him until he was accidentally established as his partner.

+ Danny has both his job of being hero and of being the High King of the Infinite Realms. He balances it out pretty well, since JL is also rather flexible. Jazz has both her job of being Jason’s assistant and of being a psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum. She cannot sleep well so she has a bad habit of overworking herself until she drops, but Jason convinced her to sleep in his office at times. Dani has no jobs and only studies or has fun whenever she’s not out and about as a hero. Dan has a bunch of random jobs whenever he’s not flirting with Nightwing, so he can be seen as a bartender, a babysitter, an accountant, a barista, an artist, etc.

+ At some point, they all meet and everyone looks at them like 😟😦😦 bc WHO WAS GONNA TELL THEM THAT 4 PEOPLE WHO ARE STATIONED SUSPICIOUSLY NEAR THE MOST IMPORTANT PLACES WITH PEOPLE WHO CAN BE CONSIDERED EXTREMELY DANGEROUS ARE ACTUALLY SIBLINGS????

[sergioguymanproust]

We are told umpteen times when you are ready to die go to the light,don’t waste your last breath on meandering in and around your house seek the light. Well,then we are also told ,don’t worry your relatives, you know your family and friends will be awaiting your arrival ,this in any order according to your culture.Some people believe this is utter nonsense,they do believe you die and that’s all folks! Haaa! Well,each tribe has its own religion although I don’t particularly like this word , because in our lives it is so bloody and confusing,one day they love you ,the next day they kill you and call you an heretic ,while they are the worse cheating and lying in the name of a god. Haaa! I say a god because each tribe ,clan ,in this world still has not just one god but many ,and some none ,respect them all. You must remember that when you decided to sign your contract to come down and be human ,no religion was assigned to you ,you were just a soul without a brand or anything labeling a particular race or belief ,your parents took care of that!Well ,that’s a story for another day.So,recently as we approach the end of another chapter on this planet ,Remember to be clear at the end of your journey,nobody’s perfect ,so stop torturing yourself and just head for the light.What’s at the end of ocean, tunnel,void,or whatever is your wish , well, at the end where the light is shining your new life is awaiting you!And that’s all I can tell you folks .I believe angels ,but then I could be wrong.Words by Sergio GuymanProust.

[keferon]

Back again inspired by the Roachbunny for the Lost Light and Hot Rod meeting.

———————————————————————

Lost Light drifted in darkness, among small flickering lights, like twinkling stars.

Content.

His world consisted entirely of these little lights, the endless soft void and the Things-To-Do that’d come from inside.

[Set Course for Coordinates 75-300-AER74]

Lost Light drifted through the darkness of space, passing stars that flickered like the little lights that kept him company.

He could see them best when they bobbed on the edges of his consciousness. If he tried to look at any directly, the little lights were too small and too blurry to focus on for long.

That was okay. As long as he had some around he wasn’t lonely. He could even hear them on occasion, like a whisper in another room. Unidentifiable as anything other than a basic form of sound. The kind that always required a question mark attached.

Sound?

They were very noisy today. Enough that the Lost Light could almost remove the question mark. He liked when there was sound, and lights, and Things-To-Do.

[Engage Landing Protocols]

[Open Loading Bay Doors 1-B]

Oh! Many things To Do today.

The little lights began to settle once more. Some disappeared from the grasp of his consciousness.

Sound. Became sound? Became silent again.

The Lost Light drifted in darkness.

New light appeared on the edge of his consciousness. Bright light. Big light.

Lost Light turned his attention to it.

Warm. Bright. Loud.

Lost Light could feel something.

Awe.

Lost Light felt awe too.

Feel? Lost Light didn’t know he could feel things. Warm and bright, the big light bounded across his vision.

The light didn’t disappear into the soft void like the little lights do. It stayed bright and clear and Lost Light could focus on it. The big light felt real and tangible.

Awe and Wonder and Excited pulsed off of the little sun. It was so bright that Lost Light didn’t notice when the big light bounded close to many little lights.

The big light FLASHED in Surprise.

The little lights all started whispering loudly at once.

The big light sped off, leaving a comet trail across his vision. Lost Light followed it, a pang at the thought of it disappearing.

[Engage Lockdown Procedure]

Oh! A Thing To Do. Big day huh. Lots of stuff happening.

As Lost Light began locking everything up, the comet suddenly hit a wall.

Scared.

Oh?

Why?

The big light began bouncing rapidly around. Many little lights were trailing behind them.

[Engage Interior Defenses]

Oh, that made lights disappear. Been a long time since that Thing To Do was a Thing To Do. There were very few lights around after that one for a long time.

[Target Intruder]

Okay dokey.

Lost Light waited for the targeting system to select the intruder. He wanted to go back to focusing on the big light soon.

Want?

Huh. Forgot what want was.

The security systems locked on and-

Big light?

[Fire On Intruder]

The Things-To-Do thingy said.

Afraid. The big light said.

Lost Light was stuck. He was stuck so long that the Thing To Do came again.

[Fire On Intruder]

Huh? Lost Light didn’t complete the last Thing To Do. If Lost Light did nothing, did that mean the Thing To Do wouldn’t happen?

He tested it.

The big light continued to burn bright. So bright in fact, it was starting to show the contours of the Lost Lights soft void.

Halls. Rooms. Engines. Pipes. Wires. Windows. So so so so so much stuff was just sitting there! The whole time!

And he could feel it all.

Why did it feel familiar?

[Fire On Intruder]

[Fire On Intruder]

[Fire On Intruder]

Sheesh! The Things To Do just kept on coming!

And so did the little lights trailing behind the big light.

For the first time in millions of years, Lost Light had something he’d never think he’d have again.

An idea.

If I can do nothing without the Things-To-Do, can I do something without it too?

Lost Light felt for habitual coding and activated it on his own.

A blast door slammed shut, cutting off the little lights from the big light.

Surprise! Came through cleanly. The angry whispers of the others remained muddled and unimportant.

He could feel the big light waver uncertainly. Before a gentle, brushing Hello?

HELLO!

The shockwave of his greeting knocked several of the little lights off completely. The big light only rocked briefly before responding a little louder:

Hello!

HELLO!

Hello!!

HELLO!!!

JoyHappyExcited

JOYHAPPYEXCITEDHAPPYHAPPYJOY

The two of them bounced back and forth for awhile before Lost Light started to have another idea. The more of the void that was burning away (shadow-something, shadow-party?), the more he could feel and think and remember. He could move stuff! A lot of stuff! Because all that stuff? That was his stuff! Stuff made of him!

Lost Light moved walls that hadn’t changed position in a few dozen millennia, rearranging hab suites and hallways until Big Light had a straight shot to where he wanted him to go.

As Big Light trampled through several recently or currently occupied habsuites, Lost Light remembered to shoo out all the little lights before this next bit.

He was a very polite ship you see.

Evacuation sirens blared at just below maximum volume.

Big Light made it to the captains chair, right before the tall panes that made up the very front of Lost Light.

With an almost aching slowness, something began to shift within the ancient ship. Panels opened and unlocked, massive gears began to roll and click into place. Entire thrusters split in half before turning inside out.

Pedes. Servos. Torso. Face.

Senses gone unused for hundreds of thousands of years cycled online.

Lost Light opened his optics. Crossing them, he focused on the Big Light clinging to the bridge of his nose.

The Lost Light smiled at finally being found.

———————————————————————

It’s just too sweet your honor.

Lost Light doesn’t know what’s going on. Everyone else is having varying levels of panic attacks.

Jazz: Did…You know. Lost Light. Was…Uh. A whole… Uh. Guy?

Prowl, Deadlock and Swerve: No.

-SSTP

Oh...oh my god YES PLEASE I LOVE WHEN THINGS ARE DESCRIBED FROM THE POINT OF VIEW OF uhhh how do I say it? Someone who isn't human and in fact very very far from being human and can see the world differently? Something like that?? Like yeah tell me what it's like to be a giant alien sapien space ship SHOW ME I WANNA FEEL IT TOO.

Also I ABSOLUTELY LOVE how these two lovely idiots just keep doing the same hello back and forth to each other it's so so cute kdjfndldkdjj

"He was a very polite ship you see" WHEEEEEZEE. Good job honey you're doing great keep going.

Man, I'm always so entertained by this change of perspective ahahaha. I imagine it's like if you find a spider on your table and try to catch it and move away instead of killing it. You're being very polite and kind and careful while the spider is probably calling it's family to say it's last goodbye because it suddenly started going through giant horrors beyond it's comprehension ahahajkflf

OH AND THAT LAST PART WITH RODDY JUST FUCKING. HANGING THERE KGLFMSN I LOVE IT I LOVEITILOVEITILOVEITSOMUCH

[verstappenverse]

Pairing: Camgirl!Reader x Obsessed!Max

Authors Note: NSFW still working on the details for the upcoming fic but having fun with the concept. Let me know what you think or send any additional ideas 😉

Max can’t remember how he found your page—maybe it was a suggested post on Instagram, or maybe some random link caught his attention. It doesn’t matter how it started, what matters is that now he’s addicted.

At first it's just curiosity, he wasn’t the type to watch cam streams or really spend any time on adult content, but something about you was different. You weren’t like the over-the-top, hyper-curated content he’d expect from this kind of thing. You were sweet, soft-spoken, almost shy in the way you interacted with the camera. And Max sitting alone in his Monaco penthouse couldn’t look away.

He tells himself it’s just a passing distraction, a way to unwind, but then he starts getting… attached. His obsession grows quietly at first. He subscribes to your page, buys your exclusive content, and sets notifications for your streams. It doesn’t matter if he’s at a racetrack, a sponsor event, or a hotel halfway across the world - when you post about your next stream, he checks the time difference and tries to plan his schedule around it.

The first time someone else drops a high tip and you thank them by name, Max feels it. That sharp, irrational sting of jealousy. He knows it’s stupid, he’s one of thousands of viewers, but the way you smile for them? It makes him want to punch a wall. So he does the only thing that makes sense - he outbids them.

When you say his username in that soft, teasing tone and add “Thank you so much, you’re incredible!”—it’s like a shot of adrenaline straight to his chest.

It starts small a few high donations here and there, but soon enough he finds himself spending more of his income on you than he’d ever care to admit. From there it spirals, he’s tipping more, requesting more, even messaging you privately. You respond graciously of course, you always do, but Max convinces himself that your replies to him are different. More personal.

Custom videos, private streams - whatever gets him a little closer to feeling like he’s the only one you’re looking at. He tells himself it’s harmless. He can afford it after all.

It doesn’t take long before his obsession starts creeping into the rest of his life. Between races, he’s refreshing your page to see if you’ve posted. During long-haul flights, he’s watching your videos on repeat. Even at the paddock while his team is running simulations or tweaking the car setup he catches himself checking for notifications.

There are nights he barely sleeps staying up to catch you live, even if he has an early training session the next day. Between races he’ll watch your older streams on repeat, memorising the way you speak, the way you smile. Max knows he’s in too deep, but he can’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop.

His spending ramps up. When someone else tries to steal the spotlight in your chat, he doesn’t just outbid them—he obliterates them. He’s dropping tips that make everyone else look like amateurs, just to keep your attention squarely on him. And it works. His messages get bolder and more desperate too.

I can’t stop thinking about how good you’d look in my bed.

It’s torture watching you touch yourself, knowing I could make you feel so much better.

Tell me I’m your favourite, just once.

You should be sitting on my lap right now instead of talking to them.

Do you know how hard it is to sit here and watch you, knowing I can’t touch you?

The things I’d do to you if you were mine… you wouldn’t be able to walk the next day. Your lips part in surprise at that one, and you quickly cover your flustered reaction with a laugh. “Well, that’s… quite the statement,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. I never make promises I can’t keep.

But it’s not enough.

The idea of being just another fan starts to gnaw at him. Max Verstappen isn’t “just another” anything. But Max is nothing if not competitive, and the idea of being just another fan doesn’t sit well with him for long. He’s used to winning, to being first, to having the best. He wants to be the one you think about when the stream ends.

He wants to know you in ways the others never could. Where you live, what you liked to do when the camera was off, whether anyone in your life treated you as well as you deserved.

What would it take for me to get your attention?

And when you reply, laughing softly, “You’ve already got it,” it’s game over for him.

Max is playing a dangerous game. Balancing his life as one of the most recognisable athletes in the world with his growing obsession for someone who doesn’t even know who he really is. But that’s the thing about Max - when he wants something he gets it. And right now, there’s nothing in the world he wants more than you.

[sweettoothedtrickster13]

[Image ID: A series of posts curated from various media with the caption 'On Love and Community'. The first one is a tumblr post by princes-heels that reads, edited slightly for easier screen reading:

Always remember that love will always come back to you. In a different form, different person, different hobby, different touch. But in any way, love will always come back.

The second post is a drawing of a simple figure with a heart inside of it. The figure takes that heart and tosses it up and to the right, out of frame. A heart then comes back into the figure, followed closely by two more. The figure is then filled with nine hearts, all crowded inside of them.

The third post is by tumblr user InkSkinned and reads:

I want to be so kind it echoes backwards in time and undoes the things that hurt you. I want to be so kind it radiates from me. I want to be so kind that I make someone else find faith in humanity again. There's not much I can do, I'm small and weak and only know so many words. But I know I can be kind. And sometimes, I believe, that changes the world.

The fourth is a screenshot of mitski lyrics, specifically from the song 'my love mine all mine'. The lyrics selected are:

Nothing in the world belongs to me but my love mine, all mine, all mine.

The fifth is a post by tumblr user LittleSpoonSokka that reads, edited for easier screen readability:

Oh and by the way the love was there and it changed everything. If you even care.

The sixth is a tumblr post by user BoyMiffy that reads:

[tearing at my hair] no love however brief is wasted no love however brief is wasted no love however brief is wasted

The seventh is a post by tumblr user 2AMinHouston that reads:

Any love I made you feel is yours to keep.

The eighth is a an image of two skeletons buried together face-to-face. The text over them reads:

Love be like "I will end in heartbreak or death" My partner in life, you made the pain of existence worthwhile.

The ninth is a post by tumblr user TheViralWitch that reads:

I think you should tell people how important they are to you not because they could leave at any moment, but because they're here now, and it's worth saying.

The tenth is a post by tumblr user noodle that reads:

Love is the most important thing ever.

The post has been reblogged by the same user and the reblog reads:

Not just romance. Just having love in your heart.

The eleventh is a post by tumblr user CriterionCollectionGirl that reads:

Just so you know everything in the entire universe is always about love and when it isn't about love it's about the absence of love. Hope this makes sense.

The twelfth is a post by tumblr user FatSoupy that reads:

Eye-opening tumblr post for me included the words "people are meant to be burdens" as in humans rely on and support one another and it's not a bother it's our purpose; to love and be loved in return, so if you ever think you're being annoying just remember that we were made to love and it's going to be okay.

The thirteenth is what looks to be a dialog box on a computer. There are two options, both with clickable check boxes.. One reads:

Remember that you can't save everyone.

The other reads:

Remember that you have to try.

The second check box is ticked.

The fourteenth is a post by tumblr user Mjalti that reads:

You think you're waiting for love to find you when in reality it has saved you in a thousand different ways since the sun rose today.

The fifteenth is by George Saunders in Congratulations, By the Way and reads:

What I regret most in my life are failures of kindness. Those moments where another human being was there, in front of me, suffering and I responded...sensibly. Reservedly, mildly.

The sixteenth is by tumblr user jb-blunk and reads, edited slightly for screen readability:

In this terrifying world you continuously have the power to offer someone a little relief. Why would you withhold that? Do you remember what a little relief feels like? It feels like a lot.

The seventeenth is by tumblr user ponchopeligroso and reads:

Every single person has something in their life and past that is probably worth collapsing to the ground in an inconsolable sobbing heap over, so be nice to each other and tell good jokes.

The eighteenth is by tumblr user headspace-hotel and reads:

The theme that always resonates with me in stories is 'the world is cruel; therefore I won't be.'

The nineteenth is a quote from Everything Everywhere All at Once and reads:

"I'm useless alone."

"We're all useless alone. It's a good thing you're not alone."

The twentieth is by tumblr user cheruib and reads:

Why is it SO incredibly sweet when a stranger smiles at you like. I don't know you but here's a piece of happiness in this crazy world. I'm giving you this smile because it's all I have to offer, and I want to offer you something. You'll forget my face, probably, but you'll remember this, at least for the rest of the day, or the afternoon, or your lunch break. Hope you had a good day. Hope the rest of it is better.

The twentieth is a fortune cookie fortune from an unknown source. The fortune reads:

To love and to win is the best thing; to love and to lose is the next best. Lucky numbers 2, 42, 54, 30, 56, 44. The other side of the fortune is how to say 'urgent' in Chinese, with the pronunciation next to the syllables. It's pronounced ji shi.

The twenty-first are tags from an unknown tumblr user. They read, edited for screen readability:

Maybe the nature of humanity is that we think being cool and lonely will gain us love. But the paradox is that love is attained through embarrassing yourself by asking for it instead.

The twenty-second, and final, is by tumblr user tordenvejr and reads:

Vulnerability is clumsy but it's the only thing worth anything.

End of Image ID]

On Love and Community

@princes-heels // ? // @inkskinned // mitski, my love mine all mine//@littlespoonsokka // @boymiffy // @2aminhouston // ? // @theviralwitch // @noodle // @criterioncollectiongirl // @fatsoupy // ? // @mjalti // george saunders, congratulations, by the way// @jb-blunk // @ponchopeligroso // @headspace-hotel // everything, everywhere, all at once(2022) //@cheruib // ? // ? // @tordenvejr

[nosyp]

i would LOVE. a gentle smut with player 120, where cho hyun-ju had been feeling off due to the feeling of everyone looking at her weird in the games for being trans, but the reader yk just loved her for her, and wanted to show her that and basically just have intimate lovey dovey sex with her!? LIKE SORRY IF THIS IS CONFUSING.. IM JUST ALL FOR THE GENTLE SMUTS OF HER ESPECIALLY THEY DRIVE ME NUTS BRO

I'm so sorry if it took so long I had to sift thru requests sooo... hope you enjoy tho :)

Here are soime pics as well as compensation

Title = A Small Token of Appreciation

Warnings = smut🔞, touching, kissing, blowjob, gentle sex, cumming in mouth

Pairing = Hyun ju (Player 120) x GN! reader

Word count = 1.7k words

The tension in the air was palpable as Cho Hyun-ju sat in the corner, her gaze distant, lost in her own thoughts. Ever since entering the games, she had felt the weight of every pair of eyes on her, every whisper and judgmental stare. People had made their assumptions, and it made her feel like she didn’t belong, not just in the game, but in the world around her. Everyone was questioning the fact that she looked so much like a boy despite acting feminine. 

The insecurity started to simmer beneath her calm exterior and had been growing, creeping in quietly with each passing day, until it was almost impossible to ignore.

But you could see it, the way she held herself a little more tightly, the subtle frown that tugged at the corners of her mouth, and the sadness in her eyes that she tried so hard to hide. No one else seemed to notice, or maybe they were too afraid to acknowledge what was happening beneath the surface. But you noticed. And you knew exactly how to show her that none of that mattered to you.

You loved her, not for any reason other than the fact that she was Cho Hyun-ju. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought. To you, she was perfect, every little part of her. Her strength, her vulnerability, the way she cared so deeply for others. It was all so beautiful.

You approached her slowly, your steps soft against the floor as you closed the distance between you two. Your heart hurt to see her like this, but you wouldn’t push her. You knew she needed to come to you when she was ready. As you reached her, you knelt down beside her, your fingertips gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She flinched slightly at the touch, but you could see the tension in her body begin to ease just a little.

“Hey,” you whispered, your voice soft and full of warmth. It was more than just a greeting, it was a reminder. A reminder that she wasn’t alone in this. “Y’know… you don’t have to carry all of this alone, you know?”

Her eyes flickered up to meet yours, and for the briefest moment, you saw the walls she had built around herself crack just enough for you to glimpse her true feelings. Vulnerability. Doubt. Fear. She was a fighter on the outside, but in this very moment, she was simply someone who needed comfort. Someone who needed to be reminded that they were loved, just as they were. And you were the person to remind her.

You reached out and cupped her face with both hands, your thumbs brushing over her soft skin as you gazed into her eyes. “I love you,” you said, your voice a quiet but powerful declaration. “I love you for who you are, not what others think of you. You’re perfect just the way you are, and I need you to believe that.”

She didn’t say anything at first, but her lips parted slightly, a breath escaping as her eyes softened, the tears threatening to spill but held back by sheer will. You could see the way her breath hitched as the walls around her heart finally began to crumble, just a little.

And then, without another word, you leaned in, pressing your lips to hers with all the tenderness you could muster. It was a kiss that spoke of reassurance, of love that was unwavering. Slowly, you pulled back just enough to speak again, your voice now a soft whisper against her lips.

“I’m here for you, Hyun-ju,” you murmured. “And I always will be.”

Her arms came up to wrap around you, pulling you closer as if to say everything she couldn’t in that moment. The feeling of her embrace, the way she melted into you, trusting you, was all you needed to know that, no matter how hard the world outside was, you would always be there for her.

The kiss lingered for a moment, soft and full of meaning, but the tension between you two wasn’t just emotional anymore. It had slowly become something deeper, something that pulsed between your bodies, unspoken but undeniable. The way her body pressed against yours, the way her hands moved to your back, pulling you closer, it was clear she needed more. She needed to feel loved in every way, to be shown that she was desired just as much as she was valued.

You pulled away slightly, your breath coming out in soft, steady puffs. Her eyes were closed now, her cheeks flushed from the intensity of the kiss, and you could see the desire building in her. She was slow, steady, as if she was testing the waters. You reached down to brush your fingers along the sides of her arms, feeling the goosebumps rise on her skin.

“Are you sure?” you whispered, your voice a soft murmur. You wanted her, but you also knew she needed to feel safe, to feel like she was in control of this moment, even if just a little.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she gazed at you with a quiet intensity. “I trust you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but the sincerity in it made your heart skip.

That was all you needed to hear.

You leaned in again, kissing her more deeply this time, your hands moving to trace the curve of her back, feeling the warmth of her body against yours. She responded almost immediately, her hands sliding up to your shoulders and then down to the fabric of your clothes, tugging at it gently as if asking you to remove the barrier between you two.

You paused for a moment, pulling back just enough to undress her slowly. Every piece of clothing that came off revealed more of the woman you adored, and with each layer she shed, you saw not just her physical beauty, but her soul, the woman who had faced so much and still managed to smile.

When she was finally bare before you, she looked up at you with such raw vulnerability, a quiet desire in her gaze that made your heart ache. “I need to feel you,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need.

Your response was gentle, tender, as you cupped her face again, kissing her softly before guiding her to lay back, your hands running down her body in the most soothing way. “I’m here, Hyun-ju. You’re safe with me.”

You moved over her slowly, your body hovering just above hers as you kissed her once more. It was slow, languid, filled with the love you wanted to show her. Your hands explored every inch of her skin, tracing the curves you adored, feeling the warmth of her body beneath your fingertips. You could feel her shivering slightly as you moved lower, your lips following the path your hands had taken, pressing gentle kisses to her chest, her stomach.

She gasped softly as you moved between her legs, your fingers tracing the lines of her body, asking her permission with every touch. When you felt her nod, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her, you lowered your mouth to her, your lips brushing against her with such tenderness. You wanted to show her how beautiful she was, how much she meant to you in every possible way.

You were slow, slow because you knew she needed this gentleness, this tenderness, to remind her that she was desired for more than just her physicality. As you moved against her, your lips trailing soft kisses across her body, she responded with soft moans, her fingers gripping your hair, urging you to continue.

“I love you,” you whispered against her skin, your voice full of emotion. “I’m never letting you go.”

The two of you moved together, every touch, every kiss, every caress, meant to remind her that she was wanted, not just in this moment, but always.

Your hands tugged at her pants, and your eyes were looking up at her for approval. She looked towards you, meeting gazes and nodded her head, giving you the permission you needed. Gently, you slipped your finger between the waistband of her pants and her skin, letting it stay there before lightly pulling it off. 

It revealed her red cock, it was a shade of pink that was so intense it must’ve hurt. You couldn’t let her go through it anymore so you quickly slipped it in your throat, shoving her whole length into your mouth. 

“A-ah… slowly…” she moans.

You start moving your head up and down her cock, your tongue providing a warmth to her cock. The sudden warmth from your mouth heightened the pleasure even more, causing her to roll her eyes all the way to the back of her head. 

“U-ugh more…” she begged, hand now on the back of your head, gripping it tightly.

Her hand didn’t do anything beside gripping it, allowing you the freedom to go at your own pace. At first it was slow, intimate… but it grew quicker as her grip tightened. 

Your head bobbed up and down faster, saliva coating her member even further. Her grip around you tightened even further, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulled you closer. The pressure of her hands was a silent command, urging you to keep going. And you did.

Your mouth wrapped around her so beautifully she couldn’t stop staring. Her eyes eagerly followed yours, enjoying the sight of you. It didn’t help that your hands were gripping her hips so strongly, increasing the experience even more. 

It didn’t take long for her to finally reach her climax, allowing her fluids to spill into your mouth. Your mouth felt so full that spit… and some of her cum was flowing out of the small gap between your mouth and her. Then, you pulled away, trying to save all the cum. 

Without warning, you swallowed it all in, surprising her, but the look in her eyes told you everything, you had given her exactly what she needed, and she appreciated it more than words could express.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗔𝗟𝗟, 𝗪𝗜𝗡 𝗔𝗟𝗟 max verstappen x girlfriend! tennis player! reader ( fluff ) fic summary . . . Max Verstappen may be unstoppable on the track, but off it, he's your biggest fan. From playful ping-pong battles to courtside cheers, he’s always there—cheering you on, teasing you, and making life a championship worth winning together. ( 3.5k words )

( main master list | more of max verstappen ) ( requests )

The stadium was electric, filled with cheers and the rhythmic clap of hands as you prepared to serve for match point. The crowd's energy was palpable, but your focus was unwavering. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew Max was watching—he always was—but right now, it was just you, your racket, and the ball.

Even though Max was a regular at your matches, his presence always caused a stir. Cameras occasionally cut to him in the player’s box, commentators marveling at the reigning four-time World Champion taking time from his schedule to support you. As if he wouldn’t move mountains to be here.

You launched your serve, precise and powerful, and within seconds, the rally was over. The ball hit the court on your opponent’s side, and the umpire’s voice rang out, declaring you the winner. The crowd erupted, standing to applaud the number-one-ranked player in women’s tennis.

Max shot to his feet, clapping and grinning as you fell to your knees, overcome with emotion. When you finally stood, wiping your eyes, you exchanged a handshake with your opponent and hugged the umpire. Then, as if guided by instinct, you turned to him.

Max was already leaning against the edge of the court, waiting. You jogged over, throwing an arm around his shoulders in a side hug, your other hand still gripping your racket. He smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, murmuring something only you could hear that made you laugh.

A few minutes later, with the trophy presentation complete, you were ushered off for post-match interviews. Max, however, remained a few feet behind, the golden trophy now in his hands. He held it up, inspecting it from every angle with childlike fascination.

You glanced over your shoulder mid-question, catching him tilting the trophy as if trying to decipher its weight. Your lips twitched, holding back a laugh as you return your focus to the reporter.

As the interview wrapped up, Max sauntered over, the trophy gleaming under the stadium lights. He stepped into frame, holding it up proudly.

“I’ll be putting this next to my WDC trophy,” he declared with a grin. “Right on my Red Bull fridge. So I can show you off every time I stream.”

The reporter laughed, clearly charmed, while you shook your head, unable to hide your smile. “It’s my trophy, Max.”

“Yeah, but it’ll look good next to mine,” he countered, wrapping an arm around your waist.

You rolled your eyes playfully but leaned into him anyway. “Fine. But if I find one of your helmets near it, I’m moving it to the garage.”

“Deal,” Max said, kissing your temple as the cameras clicked, capturing the moment of your easy banter and undeniable adoration for one another.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The club was alive with neon lights and the thumping bass of music that seemed to shake the very walls. Somewhere amidst the chaos, you were perched precariously on a booth, one hand clutching a half-empty cocktail and the other raised in the air like a trophy.

"My boyfriend!" you declared, your voice carrying over the music, "is the best driver in the world! Better than all of you!"

A few amused cheers erupted from nearby tables, while Max, standing a few feet away, struggled to suppress his laughter. He had won his fourth title just hours ago, and the night had been nothing short of euphoric. Now, watching you teeter on the edge of the booth, tipsy and unapologetically proud, he couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming fondness.

You swayed slightly, turning to point at a group of confused tourists. "You don’t even know! He’s better than… than…" you paused dramatically, "everyone!"

Max finally intervened, his grin wide as he approached and effortlessly lifted you off the booth and onto his shoulder.

"Alright, princess," he said, his voice tinged with amusement, "time to call it a night."

"But I wasn’t done!" you protested, your words slurred but determined.

"Oh, you’ve made your point," he chuckled, weaving through the crowd with you draped over his shoulder. You waved at strangers as he carried you out, their faces a mix of confusion and entertainment.

Outside, the crisp Las Vegas air hit like a splash of cold water. Max flagged down a cab, gently setting you down as he opened the door. You leaned into him, still buzzing with energy, your words tumbling out faster than your brain could process.

"You’re amazing, you know? Four titles! Four! That’s more than three!"

Max shook his head, guiding you into the cab with a smirk. "Good math skills."

In the backseat, you snuggled up against him, your head resting on his shoulder as the cab pulled away. The driver, an older man with a weathered face, glanced at the two of you in the rearview mirror.

"All this racing nonsense," he grumbled, shaking his head. "Clogging up the city. Nobody could get anywhere. It’s not worth it. A waste of time and money."

You perked up, your drunken indignation flaring to life. "Excuse me, but—"

Before you could launch into a spirited defense of Max’s honor, he gently clamped a hand over your mouth.

"She’s had a bit to drink," he explained with a laugh, his tone light as he leaned forward to engage the driver. "But honestly, I get it. The traffic is a nightmare."

You glared at him, your muffled protests lost beneath his hand. The driver nodded in agreement, his rant continuing as Max shot you an amused look. When he finally released you, you huffed and crossed your arms, but the irritation quickly melted away as you looked at him.

"You’re lucky I love you," you mumbled, your words soft but heartfelt.

Max’s smile softened, and he pressed a kiss to your temple. "I know."

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The paddle court was alive with the satisfying smack of the ball against paddles and the occasional squeak of sneakers on the polished floor. Max grinned at you from the other side of the net, his posture loose but determined. The same couldn’t be said for the man perched stiffly on the bleachers, phone in hand and eyebrows furrowed—Jos Verstappen.

“Why did we have to bring him along?” you muttered under your breath as you adjusted your grip on the paddle.

Max shrugged, his expression sheepish. “He’s my dad.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Could’ve fooled me. He hasn’t looked up from his phone once.”

Max chuckled, his gaze flicking between you and the ball. “He’s not exactly here for moral support.”

Despite the shadow of Jos looming nearby, you focused on Max. He wasn’t the best at racket sports—his coordination on the court wasn’t quite as sharp as it was behind the wheel—but that didn’t stop you from letting him cheat.

When he sent the ball barely over the net, you dove for it, purposefully missing. “Wow, amazing shot, Max!” you exclaimed dramatically, giving him an exaggerated thumbs-up.

He snorted, trying and failing to hide his laugh. “You’re terrible at pretending.”

“Am I?” you teased, tossing the ball back to him with a wink. “I’m just here to make sure you’re having fun, Verstappen. And so far, you owe me a thank-you.”

Max grinned, his eyes lighting up in a way that made your heart ache—in the best way.

But the moment shattered when Jos’s curt voice cut through the air. “Max, keep it down.”

Max’s smile faltered, and you felt a spark of irritation flare in your chest. You turned toward the bleachers, narrowing your eyes at the older man, who didn’t even glance up. The weight of the racket in your hand suddenly felt a lot more tempting.

“Don’t,” Max warned softly, seeing the look on your face.

“I wasn’t going to,” you lied, returning to the game with a forced smile. You leaned into teasing Max more, making jokes and exaggerating your misses just to hear him laugh again. For the rest of the match, you kept him distracted, determined to bring back the lighthearted mood.

When the game finally ended, the two of you grabbed your bags and walked toward the parking lot. Jos, of course, was ahead of you, his back rigid as ever.

You poked Max in his side, catching him off guard. He jolted, letting out an honest-to-God squeak as he swatted at your hand.

“Yn!” he exclaimed, half-laughing, half-scolding.

You grinned mischievously, about to poke him again when Jos’s voice carried over his shoulder. “Max, act your age.”

Your smile dropped, replaced by a scowl as you clenched your paddle. “Oh, I’ll act my age, alright…” you muttered, raising the racket slightly as you glared at Jos’s back.

Max grabbed your wrist just in time, holding you back with a chuckle that was more nervous than amused. “Yn, no.”

You huffed, letting him take the paddle from you, though you still muttered under your breath, “Would’ve been worth it.”

Max leaned closer, his voice soft with amusement. “You’re going to get us both grounded.”

“Fine,” you grumbled, slipping your hand into his as you walked. “But if he says one more thing—”

“You’ll behave,” Max interrupted, squeezing your hand with a grin.

You shot him a playful glare but couldn’t help smiling when he leaned down to kiss your temple. Even with Jos around, Max made everything better.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The chandelier above twinkled like stars in the dimly lit ballroom, the soft hum of a string quartet filling the space. Max’s hand rested securely on your waist as the two of you swayed in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by couples in sparkling attire. You’d both lost track of time, the countdown to midnight still a distant murmur in the background.

“Another year done,” you murmured, leaning closer into Max’s chest. The warmth of his embrace and the faint scent of his cologne made the busy room feel like it was only the two of you.

He hummed in agreement, his fingers lightly tracing the fabric of your dress. “And another title for me. Think you can keep up next year, or am I leaving you behind?”

You tilted your head up, grinning. “Max, please. I’ve won more trophies this year than you’ve had podiums.”

He let out a quiet laugh, pressing his lips to your temple. “Always so humble, my love.”

Your eyes flicked across the room, pausing on a familiar figure standing near the bar. The sight of her brought an immediate smirk to your face. “Oh, look who’s here,” you said, nodding in the direction of one of your fiercest competitors.

Max followed your gaze, his brow lifting slightly. “And what about her?”

“I can’t wait to destroy her on the court next season,” you whispered, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Max let out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes playfully as he pulled you even closer. “Of course you’re plotting your next win at a gala. I should’ve known.”

“Don’t act like you’re not impressed,” you teased, poking him lightly in the chest.

“I’m always impressed,” he said softly, his teasing tone fading into something warmer as he looked down at you. “Even when you’re insufferably competitive.”

You felt your cheeks warm at his words, and before you could fire back, he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to the top of your head. The world around you seemed to blur for a moment, the music and chatter melting into the background as the two of you continued to sway, lost in each other.

It didn’t matter how competitive you were or how much the media buzzed about the two of you. In moments like this, it was just Max and you—two people who found peace in each other’s arms.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The cold mountain air bit at your cheeks, the snow crunching beneath your boots as you adjusted the snowboard strapped to your feet. The slopes ahead glistened under the pale winter sun, a postcard-perfect view that would’ve been more enjoyable if you weren’t already frustrated.

Max stood a few feet away, leaning casually on his ski poles, the picture of effortless elegance. He watched you struggle to maneuver with an unmistakable softness in his eyes, his lips quirking into a faint smile as you hopped and waddled in place, trying to shift your weight on the snowboard.

“I look like a penguin, don’t I?” you muttered, catching the amused glint in his gaze.

He chuckled, his voice warm despite the chill in the air. “You said it, not me.”

You shot him a playful glare but couldn’t hold back your own laughter. “This would be so much easier if I had two sticks like you.”

“Well,” he teased, pushing himself forward effortlessly on his skis, “maybe someone shouldn’t have sprained their wrist wrestling with me last week.”

“That was your fault!” you exclaimed, nearly losing your balance as you jabbed a finger in his direction.

Max raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “I wasn’t the one who tried to put me in a headlock.”

“I was winning, and you knew it,” you shot back, grinning despite yourself.

“Sure, sweetheart.” He stopped just in front of you, his expression softening as he reached out to steady you, his gloved hands brushing against your jacket. “Come on, let’s stick to the easier trail today. I don’t want you hurting yourself again.”

You huffed, blowing a stray strand of hair out of your face. “I’m fine, Max. I’ve got this.”

“You can barely move without looking like you’re about to topple over,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “Let’s just take it slow.”

“I don’t want to take it slow. I want to go on the harder trail,” you insisted, planting your feet firmly in the snow.

Max shook his head, his eyes crinkling with fond amusement. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And you’re annoyingly cautious,” you shot back, sticking out your tongue.

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine as he leaned on his poles. For a moment, he just stood there, watching you with that soft, adoring look that made your heart skip a beat.

“What?” you asked, feeling your cheeks warm despite the cold.

“Nothing,” he said, his smile widening. “You’re just… cute. Like a little penguin.”

You groaned, throwing your head back in mock exasperation. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

“Not a chance,” he said, stepping closer to press a quick kiss to your forehead before you could protest.

With his help, you managed to waddle your way to the lift, Max staying close by the entire time. Even when you bickered and teased each other, he never let you out of his sight, his protectiveness shining through in every glance and touch.

And though you’d never admit it, you secretly loved how much he cared. Even if it meant sticking to the easy trail and waddling like a penguin a little longer.

As the two of you reached the top of the slope, Max leaned casually on his ski poles, surveying the descent with the calm confidence of someone who knew he was going to ace it. You, however, were mentally preparing yourself for the chaos that was about to ensue.

“Ready?” Max asked, looking over at you with a smirk that somehow managed to be both infuriating and endearing.

“Born ready,” you replied, shifting your weight on your snowboard as you braced yourself. But just as Max turned his attention to the slope, you reached out and gave him a playful shove.

“Hey—” he started, but the word turned into a startled shout as he lost his balance, falling sideways into the snow with an unceremonious thump.

You burst into laughter, the sound ringing out across the quiet mountain. “Looks like someone wasn’t ready after all!” you teased, hopping awkwardly on your snowboard to start your descent.

Max sat up, brushing snow off his jacket with an incredulous look. “You’re impossible!” he called after you, but his voice held no real annoyance—just a mix of exasperation and affection.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The low hum of the heater filled the living room, mingling with the occasional click of ping-pong balls bouncing off the table. Snow piled against the windowpane, and neither of you had the energy to brave the cold outside. Max leaned lazily against the ping-pong table, spinning his paddle in one hand and smirking at you from across the room.

“So, remind me again,” you said, raising an eyebrow as you examined the table. “This was supposed to be my actual Christmas present?”

Max grinned, shrugging as if he had no idea why you were questioning it. “I thought it’d be funny,” he said, his voice dripping with faux innocence. “You’re always going on about how good you are at everything. I figured I’d give you a chance to back it up.”

“Funny,” you deadpanned, tapping the edge of the paddle against your palm. “And when I wipe the floor with you?”

Max chuckled, motioning for you to serve. “You won’t, but sure. Dream big.”

The first few rounds were casual, a lazy back-and-forth as you both found your rhythm. But it wasn’t long before the teasing started.

“Is that all you’ve got?” you called, smashing the ball past him with a flourish.

“That was lucky,” Max shot back, jogging after the ball as it bounced off the wall.

“Lucky? Please. That was pure skill.”

The game quickly escalated into a battle of wits and reflexes, each point followed by exaggerated gloating or playful accusations of cheating. You were winning—handily, in fact—but Max didn’t seem to mind. He was too busy laughing at your over-the-top celebrations.

Finally, after one particularly brutal rally where you scored yet again, Max narrowed his eyes at you. “Alright, you asked for it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked suspiciously, but before you could react, Max lunged forward, reaching across the table to swat the ball out of midair.

“Illegal move!” you shouted, but he was already laughing, darting away as you rounded the table after him.

“Oh, come on!” he said between gasps of laughter. “You were getting cocky!”

“Yeah, well, now you’re going to pay for it!”

The chase circled around the living room, your paddle in hand as Max ducked and weaved like a man trying to outrun his fate. When you finally caught him, you jabbed him lightly in the side with the paddle, triumphant.

“Victory is mine,” you declared, panting as you both collapsed onto the couch.

Max grinned, brushing his hair back from his face. “Yeah, yeah. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

You laughed, climbing on his chest. “You’re just mad you lost on your own Christmas joke.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, wrapping an arm around you. “But you’re still stuck with me. Ping-pong table and all.”

You shook your head, leaning down and pressing your lips to his in a soft kiss. “Guess I’ll allow it.”

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The rhythmic thwack of tennis balls echoed through the indoor sports club, blending with the distant chatter of other athletes and the hum of overhead lights. You were on court six, your movements precise and deliberate despite the late hour. The yellow blur of the tennis ball moved in sync with the practiced swing of your racket, a steady reminder of why you dominated your sport.

On the other side of the glass, Max sat in one of the plastic chairs, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his eyes following every movement. His friends had left an hour ago, urging him to join them for drinks, but he’d declined. Watching you practice was far more interesting, and besides, he liked being here for you.

You glanced at him between volleys, catching the quiet focus etched into his expression. He wasn’t scrolling on his phone or checking his watch. He was just… watching. You hid a smile, returning your attention to the ball.

When your session wrapped up, you walked over to the bench and started packing your bag. Max stood, making his way toward you.

“You look like a puppy just now,” you teased, not looking up. “All wide-eyed and quiet, following the ball like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.”

“Is that so?” Max replied, his voice amused.

You nodded, zipping up your bag before finally meeting his gaze. “Despite being a proud cat dad, you have strong puppy energy sometimes.”

Max shrugged, standing close behind you now. “Maybe I’m both,” he said, leaning in. His lips brushed your cheek in a quick, affectionate kiss.

“Max!” you protested, laughing as you twisted away. “I’m sweaty, don’t do that!”

He only grinned, ignoring your protests as he kissed your cheek again, then your temple, and once more on your jawline for good measure.

“Seriously!” you giggled, swatting at him lightly.

“I don’t care,” he said softly, pulling you into a hug that left no room for argument. “You’re my sweaty puppy-cat energy girlfriend, and I’m good with that.”

You groaned playfully, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me,” he said with a satisfied grin, grabbing your bag for you.

You didn’t argue as he slung it over his shoulder and took your hand, leading you toward the exit. The night was cold and crisp outside, but Max’s warmth was constant, a reminder that no matter the setting—on a racetrack, on a tennis court, or anywhere in between—you were stuck and couldn’t get rid of this stupid silly blond man.

[formulawolff]

celebrity — l.h.

pairing -> fem!reader x lewis hamilton

word count -> 2.2k

warnings -> lewis in bf mode, slight angst, cursing, alcohol usage, marijuana use, sexual innuendos, lewis is a FLIRT, reader is slightly insecure, some tears, hurt + comfort (THE BEST TROPE EVER)

a/n -> i am well aware this is not in the garage, but i just can’t stop thinking about this concept. i hope i did it justice!

“you look beautiful.”

heat flourishes into your cheeks, your palms clamming as his hand drifts toward your thigh, grasping the heated skin. he flashes you a smirk as his thumb delves underneath the fabric of your gown.

“easy there,” you murmur, head connecting with his shoulder, “we don’t want to be late.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“i think a few minutes wouldn’t—“

“lewis.” you tut, and he picks up the way your eyes roll in the rear view mirror, “i’m already an anxious wreck. now is not the time.”

“i’m just trying to put a smile on that sweet face,” he counters, yet his tone is light, “you’ve just been so uptight today. all i’ve seen for hours is that tight-lipped frown. the one you wear when you’re dreading something or super worried.”

you shrug, gaze darting toward the passenger window, “i just hate work-related events. especially around the holidays. why do they even matter?”

as fate would have it, your boyfriend, lewis hamilton, would be accompanying you to a gala hosted by your agency. it was the annual holiday ball, where all of the employees were invited to dress their best, encouraged to bring along a plus one.

due to lewis’ hectic schedule during the year, it was difficult to find a window of time to see one another. add in a time zone difference along with your own line of work, and it was almost impossible.

however, lewis made no exceptions when it came to you.

if it was something involving you, he would find time.

no matter what.

and just a couple of days ago, he flew into chicago, so that he could be with you for all of the holiday celebrations. although you had only been dating for about a year, you knew it was time to introduce him to not only your family, but your coworkers as well.

so what better way to introduce him than a work-related party?

yet, it wasn’t that easy.

lewis was no ordinary man. he was a seven time world champion, a highly decorated and coveted athlete in his sport. he spent his weekends driving at speeds well over two hundred miles an hour. he was sponsored by tommy hilfiger, owned a brand, and was even knighted.

he was well-known all around the world, even by those who were not formula one fans.

everyone knew sir lewis hamilton.

and what the world didn’t know, was that he had a girlfriend.

an american girl, merely twenty-three years old.

so naturally, you were a little apprehensive about tonight.

especially if people started to snap photos and post them.

that aspect was the most terrifying part of it all. what would people think? what would his fans say about you? what rumors would the tabloids and gossip pages spin?

how would people perceive you? how would they see your relationship with lewis? would they hate you? like you? think you’re pretty? what if lewis broke up with you because you weren’t good enough for his fans?

what if?

what if?

what if?

his hand squeezes your thigh, bringing you back to earth, “they’re important because your coworkers are like a second family. i know that sounds corny, but it’s true, especially at an agency like yours.

you guys see one another for nearly forty hours a week. i think it’s only fair you attend one work-related event. even around the holidays. who knows, some of your coworkers may not even have a family to come home to. so that’s why they enjoy events like this.”

letting out a huff, you shift your body to your right, in the direction of the window. a brassy chuckle rumbles in his throat, flowing from his plush lips.

“you know i’m right, love. that’s why you’re pouting over there.”

inhaling a sharp breath, you then exhale, shaking your head. the words are low, barely a whisper.

“maybe it’s because i don’t want everyone at work knowing about my private life.”

“oh baby girl,” lewis hums. you feel his grip on your thigh tighten, “is that what’s been bothering you?”

“y-yeah.”

your lower lip trembles, promising of tears. the golden lights of the city morph together as your vision blurs, the car soaring down lake shore drive. a steady hand dials the volume of the music down, his arm intertwining with yours.

just for a second, you feel his eyes pull away from the road, taking in the way you’re practically clinging to him, desperate for some comfort.

“talk to me love. tell me what’s going on.”

“i-i just,” you stammer, choking back sobs, “i just don’t like how my worlds are colliding. it makes me scared because it feels so… so… serious. i am terrified that you’re not going to like it here. or that you’re not going to like me.. the real me. and i just don’t want you to be bothered all night by people gawking or pointing or whispering.”

before you can even register what’s happening, lewis is pulling into the venue. as he places the car in park, waiting for the valet, you notice his jaw tighten, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

his brows are pinched together, his lips slightly pursed. his body shifts, the chain resting on his collarbone glittering in the low light. his chest heaves, almost as if he was panting, fighting something he couldn’t quite control.

almost as if his inhibitions were crumbling away by the second.

fingers curl around the base of your neck, pulling you in close. lewis cocks his head, tongue running along his lips as he studies you.

your pupils are wide, irises slightly glossy from the tears and the half-smoked joint tucked away in your clutch. your lips glimmer, shiny from the new lip oil he bought.

it was a shade he picked out hours ago, one that suited you oh so perfectly. he was satisfied with that pick, as it brought out colors in your eyes he never had noticed before. they were absolutely stunning, nearly pulling him in as he slowly fell further and further under your spell.

your hair was swept into an elegant style, one that you had never worn for him before. the way you managed to pull just about anything off left him speechless, struggling to find the words as his gaze wandered.

the gown clinging to your frame was stunning. it was a simple black piece adorned with crystal detailing on the bodice, sleeves, and skirt. it was a piece by elie saab, one of the top designers in the realm of gowns. very slyly, he was able to get your measurements one day on a whim, sending them over as quickly as possible.

he researched dozens upon dozens of gems and crystals so that he could find colors that reminded him of you. it was a gown that took months to perfect, as lewis started the moment you texted him about the event. he even had it flown over to the states with him, just so that he knew it wouldn’t get misplaced or damaged.

it was a one-of-one piece, made specifically for you and only you.

and to lewis, that was priceless.

he couldn’t tell you that, though. it was his little secret, meant to be divulged when he felt the moment was right.

“lewis,” the way his name falls from your lips is enticing, dripping with a sweetness he found himself addicted to, “they need to park the car.”

“oh,” he blinks, realizing that the attendant was waiting right outside, “shit. sorry.”

gritting your teeth, your can feel your heart thudding as lewis slips out of the car, chirping a greeting to the attendant. he makes his way around the front end, opening the door on your right.

he offers you his arm, bearing a wide smile. one of his trademark grins that nearly had you melting, your knees buckling as you took a step forward.

the agency you worked for was able to rent the art institute for the evening, transforming it to a wondrous winter-themed ball. all around there was a warm glow from candles, illuminating the vast space with golden light. people mill about, laughter intermingling with the clinking of glasses and music.

as you cling on to lewis, you feel your muscles tense, the pit in your stomach only growing by the second. fuck, there were more people than you expected. and of course, heads were starting to turn. ducking your head, you avoid any eye contact, hoping that lewis locates your table as soon as humanly possible.

this was just too much.

“easy there love,” his mouth ghosts over your ear, “i got you. i promise.”

“as long as you promise,” you mutter, shrinking slightly as you pass by a few people from the agency. there are a few gasps, hushed murmurs erupting as he manages to find your table, pulling your chair out.

“lewis, they’re staring.”

“let them."

in that moment, you want to sink into the chair. maybe even into the floor. beside you, lewis takes your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours. he brings your knuckles to his lips, peppering them with tender kisses.

"you want a drink? it may help."

exhaling a shaky breath, your eyes dart around, noticing a cluster of your coworkers approaching the table. yet, you feel his attention remain solely on you, paying no mind to the women starting to swarm around. his fingers massage into your hand, his shoe pressed against your heel.

"why didn't you tell us you were dating a celebrity?"

"you're dating lewis hamilton? how long have you been dating? how did you meet?"

"i can't believe you didn't share this with us!"

lewis' head tilts upward, dimples forming as he flashes them a dazzling smile, "me? a celebrity? i'm not so sure about that. you may have me mistaken for someone else."

"no," your coworker, vanessa, shakes her head, "i know exactly who you are. you're sir lewis hamilton. seven-time formula world champion."

"how did you manage to land him?" another one of your coworkers arches a brow, "because never in a million years would i have--"

"i'm with her because i love her," lewis cuts in, his kindness rapidly dissolving into a polite yet firm tone, "it shouldn't matter what she does for work, or if she's an influencer or model. fuck, she could be unemployed and i wouldn't care. i love her for who she is. that's how she 'landed me.' she's absolutely wonderful. now, if you'll excuse us, we're going to go over to the bar."

your coworkers' eyes widen, their mouths clamping shut as lewis dips his head, motioning for you to get up. his hands grip the back of your seat, tugging the chair toward him. rising to your feet, you take his hand, fighting to maintain a straight face.

once you were out of earshot, lewis clears his throat, "how about we ditch this and go out to eat? how does that sound? we could go to that one restaurant you have been begging me to take you to."

"are you sure?" you press, "i don't want to make you feel as if i dragged you all the way out here only to stay for--"

"don't worry about it love," the driver leads you toward the exit, carefully discarding his suit jacket, "here, you'll need this. it was a bit nippier than i expected out."

as he drapes the jacket around your shoulders, you can't help but feel your heart swell, bliss rippling in your chest. taking your clutch out of your grasp, he holds onto it, clicking his tongue.

"a beautiful woman like you should never have to hold her bag. let me flag down the valet, and then we can go out. just you and me, yeah?"

the corners of your lips twitch, curling into a meek smile, "i would really like that."

"then it's settled," fishing his phone out of his pocket, his eyes scan over the sign resting on the podium, dialing the number for the attendant, "just so you know, people may snap some photos while we're out. are you okay with that? is it going to bother you? if so, then we can just go back to your place and order some--"

"i think i'll manage," you can't help but giggle at his concern, "as long as you hold my hand, i'll be fine."

"oh my love," a hand drifts toward your cheek, cupping it. the pad of his thumb caresses your cheekbone, the driver's heart fluttering as you nuzzle into his palm.

"your celebrity boyfriend loves you very much. you know that?"

"i do," you nod, "and i love my celebrity boyfriend. oh so much."

lewis leans in, his lips nearly on yours. his eyes lock with yours, his nose studs glinting as your head instinctively tilts back, anticipating what was to come next. he catches the shimmer of stars bursting in your depths as the tip of nose brushes yours.

"i'm not sure how much longer your celebrity boyfriend can contain himself. especially when you're so fucking stunning. i can't bear it a second longer. i need you."

"then kiss me," you counter, "and if someone sees, oh well."

"oh yeah?" he taunts, "you want someone to see?"

"maybe," heat rises in your cheeks as his lips tease yours, "maybe it's time that people know lewis hamilton has a girlfriend."

a chuckle rings out, lewis bringing you closer as the valet turns around the corner, the car approaching closer and closer.

"oh my love, i think it's time the entire world knows."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[nuninho2000]

Harry is such an under-appreciated character, which is somewhat ridiculous given that not only is he the protagonist but he’s a well-written and multi-faceted character, with a lot of nuances, a compelling backstory and great dynamics with many of the main characters. Yet parts of the HP fandom will literally hate on him for anything; today I ran across a post which blasted a twelve-year-old Harry for not financially supporting the Weasley, ignoring the fact that, you know, he’s twelve and the fact that the Weasleys would in no way ever accept Harry’s money.

Harry overcomes a lot throughout his life, and this is even before the whole Chosen One crap was placed on his very young shoulders. For the first eleven years of his life, Harry literally never experienced love, support, affection or even proper care. He was often neglected, at times outright abused by the Dursleys, and I think these years and these circumstances shaped Harry more than the fandom tends to recognise. A lot of his stubbornness and refusal to seek help from adults would have stemmed from this, as he spent eleven years believing that adults couldn’t or wouldn’t help him. His generosity and caring nature also probably stems from this, having experienced neither in early years of his life, he has a desire to share both.

Harry also has a deep aversion to fighting and negativity, and unlike Ron and Hermione, he derives no pleasure from arguing or fighting. He gets genuinely upset whenever Ron and Hermione take their verbal sparring too far, often snapping at them and telling them to let it go. Harry spent so many years in a volatile environment, so many years where a single wrong word or look could produce an explosion, that his natural instinct is to avoid conflict and arguments, which is somewhat ironic given the argumentative natures of both of his best friends.

Harry is a character who doesn’t change much over the series. This isn’t to say that he doesn’t grow or evolve as a character. He definitely undertakes his own journey, and goes from an isolated and insecure young boy into a strong and heroic young adult. But who he is at his core never really changes. He holds onto his goodness, his self-righteousness and his “saving people” attitude until the very end. If you look at his characterisation in the first novel compared to his characterisation in the last novel, it is remarkably similar. He is still a person who will walk into certain death to save others, still a person who believes in bravery and doing the right thing, and even if his faith in those around him has been tested and stretched – and in some cases broken – his general belief in the good in the world prevails.

Harry is such a genuinely good person, like, there are few characters out there who contain as much goodness and forgiveness as Harry does. He is always genuinely outraged and upset at what he perceives to be wrongdoings, such as Snape’s unfairness and favouritism or Umbridge’s reign of terror. He also refuses to kowtow to authority if he believes they are in the wrong, such as when both Fudge and Scrimgeour try to sway him to their sides. Harry’s genuine goodness and belief in what is right, in what is fair is one of his defining character traits, and it amazes me that a lot of the fandom does not seem to see or acknowledge this side of him.

I have always found Harry to be quite an isolated character, and I believe that this too stems from his upbringing and his life with the Dursleys. Growing up in an environment where he received no support, where he had no friends and no family members who paid attention to him turned Harry into a very self-sufficient and solitary person, and if you look closely at his inter-personal relationships, it becomes apparent that all of his close relationships are with people who are also isolated and/or lonely in their own way.

Ron and Harry bond almost instantly when the two meet on the Hogwarts Express, both delighted to make one another’s acquaintance. Despite his large family, Ron is also a solitary person, not being particularly close to any of his siblings and often feeling fierce competition with them. Harry not having had a single friend before in his life is keen to make one, but even at this young age can distinguish between a genuine offer of friendship (Ron) and a friendship which may come with strings attached or an inequality within the dynamic (Malfoy).

Despite Ron’s occasional jealousy (which is nowhere near as fierce or as prevalent as parts of the fandom would have you believe) Ron and Harry’s friendship is an equal partnership, mirroring that of James and Sirius. Both Ron and Harry have a penchant for trouble making, and Ron does occasionally come across as somewhat callous and cruel, but both have a deep desire to do good and believe in bravery and heroics, all of which bonds them and cements their friendship. I think they recognise the loneliness and desire for close bonds in one another, and both give and take over the course of the friendship, providing one of the strongest friendships on the written page.

Harry’s friendship with Hermione is somewhat different. While again, he has bonded with someone who is quite an isolated character and he is close to Hermione and obviously cares for her deeply, his dynamic with her is neither as free or as easy as his dynamic with Ron. He and Hermione are close to one another, but they are both closer to and connect better with Ron than they do with each other, and this is evident whenever the two spend long periods of time together without Ron’s presence, such as when Harry and Ron have their falling out during GoF or when Ron leaves them during Deathly Hallows. When Harry is with Ron one-on-one it is still easy and fun, but when it is just him and Hermione, things are different, and it really does show how integral Ron is to the Trio, and how his presence balances the dynamic within the group.

Harry’s relationships with people outside of the main Trio also reflect this tendency to bond with isolated and/or lonely characters, as evidenced by his close friendship with Luna and even his romantic relationship with Ginny. Both girls are initially presented as isolated characters who gain friends over the course of the books. Luna in particular is a very lonely soul, and I think Harry’s fondness for her stems from him relating to this loneliness.

Even Harry’s relationships with the adults in his life follow the same pattern, as the four closest adult friendships he has – Sirius, Lupin, Hagrid and Dumbledore – are all with figures who are quite isolated. Sirius, of course, being incarcerated for much of his life and having lost all his friends has become an isolated figure, and his relationship with Harry seems to combine that of cool uncle and nephew with the dynamic of best friends. As much as Sirius does genuinely love and care for Harry, there is a part of him that does see Harry as a James substitute, but the same can be said for the way in which Harry views Sirius, as a surrogate parental figure, as well as someone who can provide a link to his parents.

Lupin and Hagrid both also provide this link in their own ways, Lupin more so than Hagrid, having been a Marauder and someone who was close to both James and Sirius. Harry’s relationship with Lupin feels somewhat like a mentorship which gradually moves into genuine friendship. His relationship with Hagrid, of course, is just beautiful from the start and develops into one of the deepest and most heartfelt relationship of Harry’s. Hagrid, too, is another somewhat isolated soul, spurned for his freakish size and odd attachment to dangerous creatures.

Harry’s relationship with Dumbledore really deserves its’ own meta, I feel like entire volumes could be written about the nuances, intricacies and levels of that relationship, but once more, it shows Harry bonding with someone who has had their fair share of isolation and loneliness, and who can identify with the pain and struggle Harry faces over the course of the series.

All up, Harry is just a wonderful character, rich, multi-faceted and very endearing. I have always loved Harry for his big heart, his desire to do what’s right, his stubbornness and the determination he applies to every task he undertakes. He really is a woefully under-appreciated character and I often feel that the fandom ignores him and overlooks how amazing he actually is, and that is a real pity, because they’re missing out on a great character by doing so.

it’s really interesting to me how so many people on this site can give such intelligent and in-depth analyses of every single hp character except for harry himself. too often i see him reduced to “whiny” or “emo” or the OOC film version of him, and that’s so sad to me because he’s actually really brilliant and funny and passionate and selfless and courageous beyond his years and you’ve been missing out if you don’t love harry james potter.

[secretmaniacc]

RIDE OR DIE

Parings: The salesman x Fem!oc

Summary: Two fierce recruiters, locked in a heated rivalry over who can secure the most players, strike an unusual deal: whoever wins the next recruit gets to drag the other out to dinner. But when tempers flare and egos clash, their “game” turns into a battle of wits, slaps, and simmering tension. What starts as a simple challenge spirals into something far more unpredictable—because in their world, nothing ever goes as planned.

Warnings: slow burn, language, violence, dom!salesman x baddie oc, teasing, work rivals, kissing, fingering sex, mentions of blood, slapping, maybe something else that I don’t remember.

Wc: 5.4k

A/n: this is my first post and idk how do you use tumblr and I can’t even add warnings cuz idk what should I warn about but I hope y’all can enjoy wtv the hell I wrote, English isn’t my first language so no attacking. Not proofread. This is so bad ik.

The dimly lit café hummed with quiet chatter, the occasional clatter of cups breaking the tension in the air. She adjusted her sunglasses, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she leaned forward, her fingers tapping softly against the edge of the table. The man seated across from her was sweating through his cheap dress shirt, his eyes darting nervously to the plain white envelope she'd slid toward him just moments ago.

"Inside that envelope," she began, her voice calm but charged with intent, "is the answer to all your problems. Every overdue bill, every phone call you're dodging, every sleepless night. All gone."

He hesitated, staring at the envelope like it might bite him. "I don't know... I mean, this doesn't sound—"

"—legal?" she finished for him, leaning back casually. She tilted her head, the smirk widening. "You'd be right. It's not. But when has that ever stopped you before?"

His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Bingo, she thought, watching him flounder. That reaction told her everything she needed to know.

"Think about it," she pressed, her voice dropping an octave, almost a whisper. "A few games. A few hours. And then you walk away with enough money to start fresh. No more debt. No more hiding."

He reached for the envelope, his hand trembling. But just as his fingertips brushed the edge of it—

A familiar voice cut through the air. "Amateur move, don't you think?"

Her eyes narrowed behind her sunglasses. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Only one person could manage to sound both smug and bored in the same sentence.

"Go away," she said flatly, her tone ice-cold.

But of course, he didn't.

"I mean, honestly," the salesman continued, sliding into the booth beside the man like he owned the place. "Laying it all out like that? Where's the finesse? The mystery? The intrigue?"

She finally turned her head, pushing her sunglasses down just enough to meet his eyes. "Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?"

"Not when I'm right," he replied, flashing her that infuriatingly cocky smile.

She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, and gave him a sweet, fake smile in return. "Right about what? Annoying the hell out of me? Congratulations, you've mastered the art."

The man between them shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting from her to the salesman and back again. "Uh, I should probably—"

"You're not going anywhere," she said sharply, cutting him off. She reached for the envelope and slid it back toward the man with deliberate slowness, her gaze never leaving the salesman. "You want to talk about finesse? Fine. Let's talk about your pitch. What is it this time? Another mysterious slap game in the subway? Real creative."

He laughed, the sound low and easy, and leaned back in the booth. "What can I say? It works."

"Until it doesn't," she shot back.

"Why don't we let him decide?" he countered, gesturing to the man, who looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

She turned her attention back to her target, her expression softening. "You want to trust him? Go ahead. But let me ask you this: When he disappears into thin air after taking his cut, who's going to be there to clean up the mess? Not him."

The salesman's grin faltered, just for a second, but it was enough to make her smirk.

"Fine," he said, standing abruptly and brushing imaginary lint off his suit jacket. "He's all yours. Let's see if your little sob story gets him to bite."

"Gladly," she replied, leaning back with a victorious gleam in her eyes.

But as he turned to leave, he leaned in close, just enough for his breath to brush against her ear. "Next time, sweetheart, try not to play so dirty. It's almost cute how hard you're trying to beat me."

She didn't flinch, didn't react, even as her grip tightened on the edge of the table. He chuckled softly and walked away, leaving her with the trembling man and the lingering scent of his cologne.

"You should take the deal," she said finally, sliding the envelope across the table one last time. "Before someone else comes along and makes it worse for you."

This time, he took it without hesitation.

As she left the café, she spotted the salesman leaning casually against a lamppost outside, twirling a coin between his fingers.

"You owe me," she called out, not breaking stride.

"For what?"

"For not strangling you in there."

His laugh followed her down the street, a sound that stuck in her head longer than she cared to admit.

Next day

She pushed the door to the briefing room open with a little more force than necessary, her heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor. He was already there, of course, leaning back in one of the chairs, his feet propped up on the table like he owned the place. The sight made her want to turn around and walk right back out.

The office reeked of stale coffee and carried the faint metallic tang of the envelopes they used to seal people's fates. Spotting their shared desk, she sauntered over and dropped into her chair, leaning back with a casual air. Her red-tipped nails drummed a steady rhythm against the table, a small but deliberate sound to break the silence.

"So," she started, her voice smooth but sharp enough to cut, "how many desperate souls did you con into signing today?"

"You're late," he drawled, not even bothering to glance up from the notepad he was scribbling on, "I've already got a head start."

She ignored him, tossing her clipboard onto the table with a loud thwack. "Four recruits," she announced, while sitting in the chair across from him.

That got his attention. He arched an eyebrow, finally glancing up. "Four? That's cute."

Her lips twitched, but she kept her expression neutral. "Better than your three."

The smug grin he'd been wearing all evening faltered for a split second, and the sight was immensely satisfying. He quickly recovered, sitting up straighter and folding his arms over his chest. "Who says I only got three?"

"I saw you at the station earlier," she shot back. "Your guy ran off before you could even give him the envelope."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," he said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. "He came back. Took the bait. Easy money."

She narrowed her eyes, trying to gauge whether he was bluffing. With him, it was impossible to tell. He could sell a lie as easily as breathing, and she hated how good he was at it.

"Let's see the proof, then," she said, gesturing to his notepad.

He hesitated, just long enough for her to pounce.

"Liar," she said smugly, leaning back in her chair.

"Fine," he admitted, tossing the notepad onto the table. "Three. But mine were quality recruits. You're probably scraping the bottom of the barrel as usual."

She bristled at that, her fingers curling into fists under the table. "Quality? The last guy you brought in was a drunk who passed out halfway through the first game."

"And he still made it further than your little college dropout," he countered.

"That dropout lasted three games," she snapped. "And he made us more money than any of your recruits ever have."

"Us?" He laughed, the sound low and mocking. "Sweetheart, there is no 'us.' This is a solo game, remember? And right now, you're losing."

The word sweetheart grated against her nerves, but she forced herself to stay calm. She wasn't about to let him see how much he was getting under her skin.

"Keep telling yourself that," she said coolly, pulling out a pen and jotting down the day's numbers on her clipboard. "Meanwhile, I'll be over here actually doing my job."

He watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he reached across the table and snatched the clipboard out of her hands.

"Hey!" she protested, but he held it just out of her reach, flipping through the pages with a smug grin.

"Let's see... Ah, there it is," he said, tapping the page with the end of her pen. "Four names. Not bad. But you forgot to include the part where they all looked ready to bolt the second you left."

She lunged for the clipboard, but he pulled it back again, chuckling under his breath. "Careful now," he teased. "Wouldn't want to make a scene, would we?"

She glared at him, her jaw tightening. "Give it back."

"Say please."

"Go to hell."

He laughed again, but this time, he relented, sliding the clipboard across the table. She snatched it up, smoothing the crumpled pages with deliberate care.

"You're insufferable, you know that?" she muttered, not bothering to look at him.

"And yet, you keep coming back," he replied, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smirk.

She bit back the retort that was on the tip of her tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her lose her composure. Instead, she focused on her clipboard, pretending he didn't exist.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, he broke it.

"You know, you're lucky you have me as competition."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why's that?"

"Because I keep you on your toes," he said, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head. "Admit it. If it weren't for me, this job would be boring as hell."

"Boring?" she repeated, her tone icy. "You think ruining people's lives is boring?"

"Don't get all self-righteous on me," he said, his voice low and teasing. "We both know you enjoy the thrill just as much as I do."

She opened her mouth to argue, but the words caught in her throat. He wasn't wrong, and they both knew it.

"Speaking of thrill," he continued, his eyes gleaming with mischief, "how about a little wager?"

She narrowed her eyes. "What kind of wager?"

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Next recruit wins."

"Wins what?" she asked warily.

He shrugged, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Bragging rights. And dinner."

She snorted. "You think I'd let you take me to dinner?"

"Who said I'd be taking you?" he shot back, his grin widening. "You'd be taking me."

The audacity of it made her laugh, a sharp, bitter sound that echoed through the sterile room.

"Fine," she said, standing up and smoothing her pencil skirt. "But don't cry when you lose."

"Don't worry about me, sweetheart," he said, rising to his feet and adjusting his tie. "Worry about yourself."

With that, she grabbed her clipboard and swept out of the room, her heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor.

Later That Night

The neon lights of the city cast a harsh glow on the bustling streets, illuminating the restless hum of nightlife. Cars honked in the distance, their headlights cutting through the mist rising from sewer grates. She stood near the entrance of a seedy-looking diner, a faint flicker of its neon sign sputtering above her. The air smelled of fried food and rain-soaked pavement, but she didn't notice. Her sharp eyes scanned the crowd like a predator hunting for its next meal.

She didn't need long to spot potential. It was always the same—the defeated ones, with slumped shoulders and darting eyes. They carried their desperation in their posture, wearing it like a beacon.

Her instincts honed in on a middle-aged man in a rumpled suit leaning against a lamppost. He clutched a briefcase to his chest like it was his last lifeline, his lips moving silently, perhaps rehearsing excuses or trying to summon courage to return home empty-handed.

Perfect.

Before she could move, a faint ripple of awareness prickled at the back of her neck. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"Stalking me now?" she asked, her tone sharp but low enough to remain unnoticed.

"Just observing," came his smooth reply, closer than she expected. "Wouldn't want you accusing me of cheating."

Her lips twitched, almost betraying a smile, but she held it back. "You can't cheat at something you're already losing."

"Keep telling yourself that," he said, and she could feel the smirk in his voice without even glancing back.

She pushed his presence to the back of her mind, focusing instead on her target. With a subtle breath, she strode forward, heels clicking against the pavement, the sound cutting through the ambient noise of the street. She approached the man with the kind of confidence that disarmed even the wariest prey.

"Rough night?" she asked, her voice soft and sympathetic, like the purr of a cat just before it strikes.

The man flinched slightly, his tired eyes meeting hers with a flicker of suspicion. "Something like that," he muttered, his voice hoarse and uncertain.

She tilted her head, her expression warm but unreadable. "Well," she said, slipping an envelope from her jacket pocket and holding it out to him, "what if I told you there's a way to turn your luck around?"

The man hesitated, his eyes flicking between her face and the envelope as if weighing the risks. Behind her, she felt his presence again, closer this time. The faintest shuffle of shoes on asphalt told her he was watching, and she resisted the urge to smirk. This one was as good as hers.

Just as the man reached out to take the envelope, a hand shot over her shoulder and plucked it from her grasp.

"Now, now," he said, stepping into view with that maddeningly smug grin, twirling the envelope between his fingers like a magician showing off a trick. "Let's not rush things."

Her jaw tightened, the air around her practically crackling with tension. "What the hell are you doing?" she hissed, her voice low and sharp.

"Just helping out," he replied, unfazed by her glare. With a deliberate slowness, he handed the envelope back to her, throwing in a playful wink that made her blood boil.

The man, caught in the crossfire, glanced between them, his confusion turning into hesitation. "Uh... Is this some kind of scam?"

"Not at all," he said quickly, his tone dripping with practiced reassurance. His smile widened, radiating a charm that seemed almost genuine. "We're just offering a little game. High stakes, high rewards. Interested?"

The man hesitated, his grip on the briefcase tightening. "What kind of game?"

"It's simple," he said, crouching and slamming the folded paper onto the pavement with a sharp snap. "You use your own tile and try to flip mine. If you win, you keep the envelope and some extra cash." He pulled a wad of bills from his pocket, fanning them out enticingly.

"And if I lose?"

He smirked, the gesture sharp and taunting. "Then I get to slap you. Fair trade, don't you think?"

The man recoiled, his skepticism deepening. "What kind of twisted game is this?"

"Just a little fun," the salesman said, his tone light but unyielding. "Besides, no one plays if they think they're going to lose. Are you scared you'll lose?"

She suppressed a groan. He always did this—pushing just hard enough to make them take the bait.

"Or, you take the envelope and walk away, no games required." She suggested.

Her rival's chuckle was low, almost teasing. "Where's the fun in that? And where's the money he so desperately needs, Let him decide."

The man glanced at the envelope, then at the money, and finally at the salesman's smirk. "Fine. I'll play."

Her rival's grin widened. "Excellent.", gesturing toward a nearby alleyway. "Let's make this quick."

She followed them into the dimly lit alley, her annoyance simmering just beneath the surface. He always turned everything into a game, always needed to prove he was one step ahead

He handed the man a folded paper tile, stepping back and gesturing for him to begin. The man crouched, his hand trembling slightly as he slapped his tile against the one on the ground. It barely budged.

"Not bad," the salesman said, picking up the tile. "But let me show you how it's done."

He crouched, his movements fluid and confident. With a sharp snap, his tile slammed down, flipping the man's effortlessly.

Without missing a beat, he straightened and grinned. "Looks like I win this round." He raised his hand, his smirk deepening.

The man flinched, bracing himself, but the salesman stopped short, hovering just close enough to make him sweat. Before delivering a slap that echoed through the alleyway like a gunshot. The man staggered back, holding his cheek with a mix of shock and indignation.

"Oh my—" she whispered, flinching

The salesman, unfazed and borderline proud, grinned down at the man. "another round?."

The man blinked, rubbing his face. "don't you think this was abit painful?"

"Wasn't this our deal?"

"Alright, I'll go again," the man exclaimed, determination etched on his face. He grabbed the colored tile with trembling fingers and slammed it down with force.

The tile on the ground barely budged.

Slap.

Slap.

Slap.

Minutes passed, and the man refused to give up, his voice hoarse as he repeatedly asked for another round. His face, now blotched with red and purpling bruises, told the story of his futile persistence.

Growing impatient with the drawn-out game and the waste of her time, she decided to intervene. Not only had her rival stolen her recruit, but he was also dragging this nonsense far longer than necessary.

"I'll go easy on you this time," she heard him say, his voice laced with mock compassion.

"Or," she interjected sharply, pulling a thick stack of cash from her pocket, "you let me take over and raise the stakes."

Her rival's brows lifted, amusement lighting up his face. "Feeling brave, are we?"

"I just like winning," she retorted, her tone clipped as she handed the cash and envelope to the bruised man. "I don't think you have a reason to continue this."

The man hesitated for only a moment before greed overtook him. He snatched the envelope and money from her outstretched hand, shoving them hastily into his pocket. "Thanks," he muttered, practically sprinting into the crowd and out of sight.

She turned, her eyes narrowing as they locked onto her rival. "Happy now? You scared him off."

He smirked, stepping closer, his movements deliberate and calculated. "Scared him? I think I made his night."

"Your ego is insufferable," she said, arms crossing over her chest.

"Is it?" he countered, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from her face with a maddeningly light touch. "Or is it just that you don't like losing?"

Her pulse quickened at the proximity, but she refused to show any sign of weakness. "I didn't lose. He took my deal."

His smirk deepened, his expression dripping with arrogance. "If that helps you sleep at night."

Before she could reply, he leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, velvety murmur. "The game's not over yet. Want to take his place?"

Her breath caught as his fingers grazed hers, sliding the blue tile into her palm before he pulled away. The motion was deliberate, calculated to unnerve her, but she refused to let him win that easily.

She exhaled sharply, tilting her chin upward as she crouched down. Focusing on the game, she slapped her tile against the ground with all the force she could muster.

The crack echoed through the narrow alley, but the result was disappointing—the tile barely shifted.

"Tough break," he quipped, crouching beside her, his voice a teasing whisper. "Maybe you should let me teach you a thing or two."

Her eyes snapped to his, sharp and unwavering. For a moment, the tension between them was palpable, an electric crackle in the chilly air.

"I don't need your lessons," she bit out, rising to her feet and brushing past him, her jaw tight.

"Alright then," he said with infuriating ease. He crouched effortlessly, his movements smooth as silk. With a single, sharp slap, his tile flipped hers with almost mocking precision.

Standing, he turned toward her, a mock pout curving his lips. "I guess I'll have to slap that pretty face of yours now. May I?" he asked, his voice dripping with a false politeness that made her blood boil.

Her jaw tightened, and she nodded stiffly. Before she could brace herself, his hand connected sharply with her cheek. The slap rang out in the alleyway like a firecracker, her head snapping to the side with the force.

Pain bloomed hot and fast, her body recoiling slightly as she stumbled a step back. She could already feel the beginnings of a bruise forming, the sting radiating from her skin.

Her chest rose and fell as she steadied herself. "Again," she demanded, her voice steely.

This time, she took her turn, and with a fierce slap of her tile, she flipped his. A slow, triumphant grin spread across her face.

"Your turn," she said smoothly, stepping closer.

His smug grin never wavered, even as he leaned in for his next move. The sharp crack of his tile meeting her tile.

he missed.

His tile flipped awkwardly, tumbling off-course and skidding out of bounds. A flash of annoyance crossed his face, but before he could recover, her palm came down with brutal precision. The slap echoed louder this time.

He staggered slightly, his face turning away as her hand left a bright, stinging imprint on his cheekbone. The smirk she wore grew darker, more dangerous. "Losing your touch?" she taunted, her voice mocking.

His jaw tensed, but he said nothing, merely resetting the tiles and motioning for the game to continue.

The game continued, the back-and-forth intensified, each slap a resounding echo through the narrow alleyway. The tension between them crackled like static electricity, thickening with every calculated strike. Her cheek throbbed, the sting from his earlier slap blooming into a vivid bruise, while his jawline reddened with the marks of her retaliation.

Then she missed.

Her tile spun wildly off-course, landing far from where it needed to be. The mistake was glaring, and he seized the moment without hesitation. His hand came down with brutal force, striking her cheek hard enough that the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

The impact sent her staggering, and this time, a trickle of blood began to run from her nose. She stood frozen for a moment, her fingers brushing against her upper lip. Crimson streaks stained her pale skin, a sharp contrast that only seemed to embolden her defiance.

She tilted her head back slightly, wiping the blood with the back of her hand, smearing it rather than cleaning it. When she looked back at him, her smirk was intact, as sharp as ever.

"What's the matter?" she teased, her voice biting despite the blood. "that's all what you've got?"

For the first time, his confidence faltered. His hand, raised for the next strike, but then froze mid-air. Her face painted with blood hit harder than any slap, and the hesitation in his expression was palpable.

Before she could press further, he stepped forward abruptly, closing the distance between them in one smooth, deliberate motion. His hand dropped from the air to grip her arm firmly, and he pushed her back against the cold brick wall.

The impact stole the air from her lungs, the rough texture of the wall biting into her back. Yet her smirk didn't waver. If anything, it grew sharper, her chin tilting upward as if daring him to try harder. His arms came up, caging her in, palms pressed against the wall on either side of her head. Her breath hitched at his closeness, but she refused to let him see her flinch.

His eyes flicked to her nose, catching the blood still trickling down. Slowly, with deliberate precision, he raised his hand.

She braced herself for another strike, but instead, his thumb brushed against her face. The unexpected gentleness of the motion sent a shiver down her spine, though she masked it well. His thumb wiped away the blood, his touch lingering a second longer than necessary.

He pulled his hand back, glancing at the crimson streak now staining his thumb. Without breaking eye contact, he reached down and wiped it clean on her shirt, the motion casual but calculated.

"Better?" he asked, his tone mocking, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

Her smirk dissolved into a sharp scowl, her voice snapping as she opened her mouth. "You—"

He cut her off without a word, his lips crashing against hers in a fiery, passionate kiss. The world around them faded as his hand ditched the wall completely, roaming over her body, pulling her impossibly closer.

For a moment, she pulled back, eyes wide with shock, breathless and taken aback as if the kiss had surged through her like electricity, igniting every nerve ending. What had just happened? How had everything shifted in the blink of an eye? But before she could fully process the intensity of her feelings, his grip tightened on her hips, anchoring her in place, and the heat radiating from him was undeniable, wrapping around her like a warm blanket.

Her heart raced, a wild flutter in her chest that felt like it could lift her off the ground. There was something magnetic in the way he looked at her, a primal pull she could no longer resist. The air was thick with tension, charged with unspoken promises, and just when she thought she might pull away entirely, the fire in his gaze ignited something deep within her.

With a soft sigh of surrender, she leaned back into him, allowing herself to melt against his body. He cupped her face, his thumb brushing along her cheek, as if memorizing the delicate curve of her features. And then his lips crashed into hers again, hungry and demanding, hungry as though he had been waiting for this moment forever. This time, he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping past her lips to dance with hers in a slow, teasing rhythm that sent shivers down her spine.

She gasped at the sheer sensation, heat pooling in her core as every ounce of tension from earlier evaporated in an instant. The taste of him was intoxicating—warm, slightly sweet, and utterly captivating. Her hands found their way to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him for more.

He pulled her closer still, his hands roaming over the small of her back, mapping every curve as if he were trying to memorize her with his touch, urging her to lift her legs around his waist. Instinctively, she obliged, feeling the strength of his body as he lifted her effortlessly. she wrapped her legs around his waist, instinctively urging him to lift her higher, to take her deeper into his embrace, their bodies fitting together perfectly—two pieces of a puzzle that had finally found their match.

The world around them vanished, a blurred backdrop to this moment where only they existed. He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing kisses down her jaw, throughout until he meets her neck, pausing to nibble at the sensitive skin just below her ear, igniting fire in her veins with each flick of his tongue and gentle bite. She could feel the tension in his body, the way he held her tightly as if he feared she might slip away. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her impossibly closer, their bodies pressed together in a way that felt electric.

When his lips began to trail again over her delicate skin, she hissed, "You can't leave more marks; they'll know."

He paused, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze, a teasing light in his eyes. "How would they know it's me?" he murmured against her skin.

"The cameras," she whispered, referring to the implanted devices on both their jackets that monitored their work. But just as the words left her lips, she felt his mouth curl into a smirk against her neck.

"Then we might as well give them a show and leave as many marks as I want." He falls back into her skin, his lips teasing the flesh between his teeth as he moves to mark her as his own. His lips pause at one of the pulse points on her neck, noticing how her heartbeat quickens and flutters. Was this typical?

He wasn't sure, but he finds himself praying it's a good thing. A chuckle escapes him as her hands grow desperate, pulling at the back of his head, stifling a groan. "Easy, girl."

"Remember when you said you'd never kiss me? That I wasn't worth it?" she teases, a playful smile flickering on her lips.

"Fuck, did I really say that? I don't recall," he replies, feigning shock.

"Just saying that because you can't make me come," she laughs softly against him, and he can't help the way a small smile curves his lips. His fingers slip underneath her skirt, pushing past the hem of her panties. He finds her wetness already coating his fingers. "Can't make you come yet you're so wet for me, hm?"

She bites her lip, allowing her hips to sway against his fingers as pleasure envelops her thoughts. Though he's unsure of what exactly to do, he has overheard other men discussing this, and he hopes it delivers as much pleasure as they say when he dips a finger inside her. She's loose around him, wet, eagerly sucking him in. He quickly adds another finger, finding his rhythm almost immediately and growing bold. He dares to let his thumb tease the edges of her clit.

He notices the way her nails dig into his shoulders, biting her tongue so hard that crimson might seep forth at any moment.

The salesman had kissed many women, been on the brink of sex, yet none had reacted the way she did. They were quick to show their responses, every emotion not hidden behind a curtain of embarrassment; yet now, despite the situation, she found herself shy about making noise. He allows another finger to push inside her, the pink velvet of her insides gripping him. He hears her gasp when his fingers threaten to curl, and he allows himself another smile. His thumb finds her clit again, and that's when her grip becomes lethal, biting her lip no longer serving as a guard for her moans.

"Please," she mumbles, whimpering.

"Please what, sweetheart?"

"I... I need you," she moans, surprising herself with her confessions to a man so dangerously psychotic, one who has killed and toyed with lives—this was something she swore she would never do. Yet here she was, becoming intimate with him, and his touch felt so gentle it was as if his past didn't exist. She can see the vein pulsing in his neck as he finally pulls his fingers out, his eyes fixed on hers as he moves his hand to his mouth, savoring her taste.

Her pupils dilate at the sight, skin warming before she realizes she's replacing his fingers with her tongue, pressing her mouth against his again. His hand falls to her waist.

Now every kiss deepens, an intoxicating blend of urgency and desire. She feels each heartbeat echoing between them. Every brush of their lips sends sparks racing through her veins, igniting every part of her being. It's primal and raw, yet intimately tender, as if they were revealing hidden parts of themselves that only the other could see.

Their lips finally part after what feels like an eternity, both gasping for breath. Foreheads resting against each other, they feel the warmth radiating from their skin, their hearts racing in unison. His eyes flutter open to find her looking up at him, a soft, teasing smile spreading across her face.

"You can put me down now," she breathes, her eyes dancing with mischief.

He reluctantly lowers her to the ground, still holding her gaze, trying to steady himself.

But as soon as her feet touch the ground, she kneels right at his crotch. "That's for not giving me a warning," she laughs, her sound teasing and light.

He winces, a mixture of surprise and discomfort crossing his features as he stumbles back. "Fuck."

She turns with a gleaming smile, beginning to walk away, glancing over her shoulder. "And now... I win. Dinner is on you," she calls back, her laughter lingering in the air.

"We are not done yet!" he calls out one last time, holding himself in pain.

[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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