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thebarneschronicles · 3 months ago

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Closer to Home

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Synopsis: As you settle into your new role as the team’s “girl in the chair,” helping Sam and Bucky with their missions, you find yourself increasingly drawn to Bucky's intense presence. His brooding silence is matched only by his watchful eyes, and despite his gruff exterior, your kindness begins to chip away at his walls. When Bucky insists on walking you home one night, clyou chalk it up to his old-fashioned sense of duty and think nothing of it. But as the night unfolds, you realize there’s far more behind his actions than just good manners, and your growing feelings for him may not be as hidden as you think.

A/N: This was supposed to be something else ENTIRELY. But it just unravelled and here we are! Please, feel free to let me know your thoughts about it! B xx

Closer To Home Masterlist

Your relationship with Bucky hadn’t started with fireworks or dramatic confessions—it began like any other normal relationship: after drinks and a movie.

It was a quiet evening, the kind that felt heavier after long hours at your desk. You were finally wrapping up for the night, shrugging on your coat and slinging your purse over a shoulder. The clock had just ticked past 10 p.m., though it hardly felt late to you. Still, your shoulders sagged under the tension of the day—hours spent poring over intel, trying to uncover scraps of information that might help Sam and Bucky on their next mission.

“You shouldn’t be walking home alone.”

You looked up to find Bucky leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed. His voice was gruff but not unkind, his blue eyes shadowed but steady.

“It’s just a few blocks,” you replied, already bracing for the argument.

His jaw tightened—a subtle shift, but one you’d come to recognize as the start of his infamous stubborn streak. “Doesn’t matter. My ma would haunt me if I let you.”

That earned him a laugh. “Your 'ma' sounds like quite the character.”

“She was,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It disappeared as quickly as it came. “C’mon, grab your stuff. I’ll walk you.”

You didn’t argue further, mostly because you were too tired to win, and partly because there was something oddly comforting about his protectiveness, even if it came wrapped in brooding silences and sharp glances.

Being around Bucky had taken some getting used to. You knew about him, of course—who didn’t? But nothing had prepared you for the sheer intensity of James Buchanan Barnes up close. His unrelenting stares, his quiet presence that somehow filled a room, and the way he seemed to carry the weight of entire worlds on his shoulders.

When you’d first joined their team as the “girl in the chair” (a term Sam insisted on despite your repeated protests that you were, in fact, a woman), you hadn’t known what to expect. Your days as a research journalist had been left behind in favor of a role that felt more like a sidekick to two superheroes. Never the hero, always the support.

“It’s not nothing, though,” Sam had told you once, catching you mid-eye-roll during a particularly grueling debrief. “You’re saving lives too, y’know. Every name, every address you dig up? That’s someone else’s tomorrow you’re protecting.”

Still, the job came with its own toll: exhaustion, migraines, and a constant ache in your wrists from hours of typing. But it also came with a quiet sense of purpose—and Bucky’s occasional company.

At first, his silences had been intimidating, his brooding presence almost oppressive. But you met him with unwavering kindness—bringing him coffee when he looked like he needed it, or letting him retreat into your office to escape Sam’s chatter. Slowly, the silences grew shorter, and the stares softened into something more watchful.

Now, walking beside him under the soft glow of streetlights, the quiet felt less like distance and more like understanding.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence, “is this a one-time chivalry thing, or do I get an official escort service from now on?”

Bucky snorted. “You’re assuming I’m doing this for you.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, grinning. “Who else is benefitting from my safe arrival home?”

He glanced at you, a spark of humor flickering in his eyes. “Sam’ll never let me hear the end of it if something happens to you. Man loves his lectures.”

“Ah,” you said, mock-serious. “So I’m saving you from Sam’s wrath. Got it.”

He didn’t answer right away, but his pace slowed slightly, his hand brushing the base of your spine as you turned a corner, like he was directing towards home. “Maybe I just like making sure you’re okay,” he muttered.

Your heart stuttered at his words, a quiet ache blooming in your chest, but you didn’t dare press him further. Hope was a dangerous thing, a fragile spark that had burned you one too many times before. It was safer to tuck it away, to pretend his words meant nothing more than what he’d said—a simple gesture of kindness, nothing deeper.

You were friends, after all... right? Or at least, friendly. He was kind to you, yes, but Bucky Barnes was kind in a way that felt carefully measured, like a soldier fulfilling his duty. He was a gentleman through and through, the kind who’d been raised to believe it was his responsibility to make sure no lady faced the dangers of the night alone.

“His mah would’ve expected nothing less,” you thought wryly, your lips tugging into a faint smile.

He was a man out of time, after all. Decades removed from the era he was born into, yet somehow still anchored there, even now. You wouldn’t have been surprised if the rules he followed were the same ones ingrained into him all those years ago. And maybe, just maybe, it was easier to believe that than to let yourself hope he cared for any reason beyond habit or honor.

“Almost there,” he said, his voice breaking through your thoughts. His hand hovered near your elbow, steady and sure, as if ready to catch you should you stumble.

The steps to your door loomed far too quickly for your aching heart, bringing an abrupt end to your time with the brooding soldier. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if your body was reluctant to leave his quiet, steady presence.

You paused on the final step, its height almost eliminating the difference between you and Bucky. It gave you just enough courage to look up at him, your fingers nervously twisting around the strap of your purse.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He dipped his head in a single nod, his icy blue eyes flickering down to meet yours. His expression, as always, was unreadable, cast in shadows under the dim streetlamp. “Anytime.”

The simplicity of his reply made your chest tighten. You nodded in return, swallowing hard as your heart hammered in your throat. Turning away from him, you fixed your gaze on your front door, willing yourself to move forward, to end the moment before it unraveled you completely.

Friends. That’s all this was. It had to be.

So why did it feel so wrong to turn your back on him? Why did it feel like you were forcing yourself to betray something deeper, something unspoken, simply by walking away?

Your hand was on the doorknob before you realized you’d stopped moving, the quiet war between your heart and your mind reaching a fever pitch. You squeezed your eyes shut, battling the urge that rose in you like a wave.

Don’t do it. Just go inside. Let him leave.

But the battle was already lost. Before you could stop yourself—before logic could wrestle control away from the reckless beating of your heart—you turned. Your feet moved without permission, carrying you back down the steps toward him.

It wasn’t a decision so much as a pull, steady and undeniable, the words slipping from your lips as if carried on a tide of longing you couldn’t resist.

“Would you like to come up for a drink?”

The words tumbled out unbidden, your voice trembling just enough to betray how desperately you wanted him to say yes.

His reaction couldn’t have been more Bucky if he tried. His eyes shifted, and you swore you could see every emotion flash through them—surprise, hesitation, something a lot like longing—before they settled back into the stoic mask he always wore. Quiet. Unimpressed. Broody. And yet…

“I wouldn’t mind a beer.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest, shaky with relief, and you motioned toward your door. “Well, come on then. I’ve got a six-pack that’s been waiting for some company.”

His presence filled the small apartment in a way that made your breath catch, the air somehow heavier, more electric. How many times had your silly, stubborn heart conjured up this exact scenario? Late at night, Bucky standing just inside your door, peeling off his worn leather jacket and tugging off the gloves that shielded both metal and flesh. Then, as if he’d done it a thousand times, he’d settle into a corner of your couch, legs spread, shoulders sinking back into the soft fabric like he belonged there.

“There's Heineken, Bud, and Corona,” you said, your voice only slightly betraying your nerves as you toed off your shoes and dropped your keys and purse by the door. “I think I might even have some whiskey stashed away somewhere. What’s your poison?”

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze trailing lazily around the room before settling back on you. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

Your stomach flipped, and you nodded, biting back the grin threatening to stretch across your face. “Sure thing,” you said casually, though you were certain the flush creeping up your neck gave you away.

You turned toward the kitchen, your heart doing an embarrassing little leap as you busied yourself rummaging through the fridge and cabinets. The clink of bottles felt absurdly loud in the quiet apartment, every moment stretching with the weight of his presence just beyond your line of sight.

“Nice place,” he called from the living room, his tone casual but laced with something warmer.

“Thanks,” you replied, grabbing two beers and popping the caps off with practiced ease. “I’d say make yourself at home, but it looks like you’ve already got that covered.”

When you re-entered the room, there he was—exactly as you’d imagined so many times before. His jacket was draped over the back of the couch, his gloves neatly set beside it, and Bucky himself sprawled out comfortably. His metal hand rested casually on his knee, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as his eyes met yours.

“Here you go, Mr. Barnes,” you said, forcing a steady smile as you handed him the green bottle.

“To your first visit,” you began, raising your own bottle in a toast. You couldn’t help the way your gaze lingered, taking in the sight of his broad frame on your couch, the casual way he sat, the sheer presence of him filling the space. Warmth pooled low in your belly, and before you could stop yourself, you added, “May it be the first of many.”

His smirk deepened at that, a flicker of amusement flashing across his features. He raised his bottle silently, going for a sip—but you stopped him, your hand darting out to rest on his.

“Wait!” you blurted, your palm lightly pressing against his larger one.

His frown was slight, his gaze shifting between your hands before settling on your face. “Why?”

“You have to look at me when we cheers,” you explained, your voice a little breathless, a little unsure of what you were doing but too far in to back out now.

His brow arched. “And why’s that?”

“Bad luck if you don’t. Years of it.” You shrugged, suddenly feeling the ridiculousness of your own words but refusing to back down. “I mean, I can’t even count how many years... Probably best not to risk it.”

For a second, you thought he might argue. But then he chuckled, a soft sound that sent a flutter straight to your chest. “God knows I’ve had enough of that already, haven’t I?”

You giggled, your laughter bubbling out, light and carefree. The fact that he played along felt like a victory, a small but monumental crack in his stoic armor.

With a glint of something softer in his eyes, he tilted his head toward you, his gaze locking with yours. “Alright, doll,” he said, his voice quieter now, warmer. “Let’s do it properly.”

Eyes steady on yours, he clinked his bottle against yours, the sound sharp and satisfying in the quiet room. And then, he didn’t look away—not for a second—as he took a slow sip.

You followed suit, the contact between your eyes and his making your heart race so fast you thought it might burst. The heat in his gaze was steady, grounding, and yet it sent a thrilling, electric charge through you that made your knees nearly buckle.

“Better?” he asked, his voice low, the faintest curve to his lips as he lowered his bottle.

“Much,” you replied, somehow managing to keep your voice steady, even as your pulse thundered in your ears.

The air between you seemed to shift then, heavier but no less comforting—a new tension that simmered beneath the surface. If Bucky noticed the way your gaze lingered on him, the way your breath hitched every time his hand grazed your knee as he reached for another beer, he never said a thing.

He was the perfect gentleman, as always. Even when you slid closer on the couch, settling beside him on the plush cushions - even though there were a whole three other seats available to you. Even when you turned toward him, resting your head on your palm, your eyes tracing the strong lines of his face while you rambled about the mission reports piling up on your desk. He didn’t even glance at your neckline when you leaned over him to grab the remote, though you couldn’t help but steal a quiet inhale of his scent—clean, warm, unmistakably him.

“Alright,” you said, breaking the quiet. “I feel like I’m torturing you by making you listen to all this. Do you feel like watching something?” Your tone was cheery, light, but your heart raced at the thought of sharing something as simple and intimate as watching a film together.

With your eyes fixed on the TV, you missed the brief hesitation in his expression—the flicker of doubt that crossed his face and quickly vanished. Yet, neither the guilt, the fear, nor the pain that lingered in his soul seemed strong enough to stop him from embracing what you offered so openly: a chance to simply be. For the first time in what felt like forever, Bucky seemed just a little less burdened by the shadows of his past, a ghost of his old self and a lot of his new one urging him to give in.

“What’s on Netflix?” he asked, his voice low and casual.

Your head whipped around so quickly you nearly gave yourself whiplash. “How do you know what Netflix is?”

His lips quirked into a rare, genuinely amused smile, the kind that made your stomach flip. “I’m old, but I’m not that old, doll.”

“You’re 106,” you shot back, arching a brow.

“And yet, I still know what streaming is,” he countered, the smile growing. “I’m not living under a rock.”

“Well, I am impressed, Mr. Barnes,” you teased, settling back into the cushions. “What else do you know about modern technology? Please tell me you’ve at least heard of TikTok.”

His expression shifted into something closer to a scowl, but the playful glint in his eye betrayed him. “I know about TikTok,” he said, sounding almost offended. “And dating apps. God, the horrors,” he added, shaking his head dramatically as he glanced at his phone like it was some sort of ancient relic.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound warm and genuine, filling the cozy space between you. But beneath the humor, your stomach twisted with an unexpected knot. Dating apps?

“What about dating apps?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but the curiosity in your voice was hard to hide.

Bucky groaned, slouching deeper into the couch as though the thought of them physically pained him. “I don’t know, doll. They just seem... unnatural. All these profiles and swiping left or right, like you’re picking a product instead of a person. Not my thing.” His voice held a certain distaste, and the casual way he said it made you wonder if he was speaking from experience—or just his own strong sense of principle.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the questions bubbling up inside you. Had he ever used them? Was he speaking from personal experience, or just from watching the chaos unfold around him? Your thoughts shifted uncomfortably, and you tried to steer the conversation back to safer waters.

“I get it,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s... kind of weird, honestly. It’s like shopping for a date, but with less... quality control.” You shot him a teasing grin, but the tightness in your chest was hard to ignore.

Bucky chuckled, the sound a low rumble that was soothing, even though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Exactly. I mean, if I’m gonna meet someone, I’d rather it be... I don’t know, real? Not behind a screen.”

For some reason, his comment made your heart stumble, a traitorous beat skipping out of rhythm. You quickly dropped your gaze to your beer, hoping the reaction wasn’t written all over your face. Was he hinting that he preferred real, in-person connections? That he’d rather... meet someone like that?

You cleared your throat, feigning casual interest to mask the swarm of uncertainty rising inside. “So, how would you go about it? Finding a date, I mean. Is Sam your wingman?”

Bucky nearly choked on his beer, shaking his head vehemently. “God, no! Can you imagine? He’s too busy being Captain America to care about my love life... except when he’s accusing me of flirting with his sister.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk, and your chest tightened with something sharp and unwelcome. Jealousy. You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to chase it away. “I didn’t know you liked Sarah,” you said, and to your horror, the disappointment in your voice was impossible to hide.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the shift in your tone. “She’s great,” he said with a thoughtful nod. Then his lips curved knowingly. “But not like that.”

The heat crawling up your neck to your cheeks was impossible to ignore, and Bucky’s sly grin told you he’d noticed. Your relief collided with your curiosity, the two tangling into a dangerous need to know more. “Oh,” you started hesitantly. “So... if not her, then who?”

He took another sip of his beer, the pause deliberate. “Had one date with the waitress from that Asian place we always order from. It… didn’t go well.”

Your brows furrowed. “And you haven’t tried again since then?”

“Not really.” He shrugged, leaning back in his chair, the movement deceptively casual. “You know how it is these days—apps, algorithms, everyone judging you by a couple of photos and a bio. And who’s lining up to date a former assassin, huh? People know too much, too soon. Real connections don’t happen that way.”

The self-deprecating edge in his voice made your heart ache. You tilted your head, studying the way his vibranium fingers tapped lightly against the beer bottle. “Maybe,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the nervous thrum beneath your skin, “you’re looking in the wrong places.”

His gaze snapped to yours, sharp and searching. “Oh yeah?” he asked, voice low, almost daring. “And where do you think I should look?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his question, his attention. “Maybe a little closer to home,” you murmured, eyes resolutely fixed on the beer bottle in your own hands.

The silence that followed was electric, charged with unspoken possibilities that hung in the air like static. His gaze lingered on you, steady and intense, and you could feel it even without looking up. It made your pulse race in a way you didn’t dare acknowledge.

The truth was, you weren’t sure if you were just caught up in the moment—or if there was something more lingering in his words, in the way he was looking at you now.

You wanted to ask. The question burned on the tip of your tongue, begging to be spoken. But a part of you hesitated, afraid of the answer. What if this was nothing more than friendly banter? What if pushing further shattered the comfortable connection you’d built?

“Closer to home, huh?” Bucky’s voice was a low rumble, breaking the silence but not the tension. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, and for a moment, it felt like he was closing the space between you. “And what does that mean, exactly? You got someone in mind for me, doll?”

There it was—that nickname. The one you pretended to hate but secretly adored. It sent a shiver down your spine, and you could feel the corner of your mouth twitch, betraying the smile you tried to suppress. His voice was so close it warmed you from head to toe. “I’m just saying,” you replied, forcing your tone to stay neutral, “maybe you’re overthinking it. Sometimes the best things are right in front of you.”

His lips quirked, his expression softening as if he’d caught onto something unsaid. “You think so?” Bucky asked, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful.

You dared to turn your head and glance at him, and the way his blue eyes locked onto yours stole whatever breath you had left. “Yeah,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I know so.”

The moment stretched between you, fragile and heavy with unspoken words. You swore he was leaning closer, his gaze flickering briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. And suddenly, the question burning in your chest felt inevitable.

“Bucky…” you began, voice trembling slightly, unsure of what you were about to say—or what he might say back.

“Yeah, doll?” Bucky’s voice was gentle, a thread of warmth in the charged air between you.

You hesitated, but the weight of your emotions was too much to carry any longer. “Is this a date?” you finally blurted, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself.

For a moment, his expression didn’t change, and then he shook his head slowly. “It’s not,” he said, his voice steady but quiet.

Your chest tightened, and the disappointment hit hard, like a blow you hadn’t braced for. You tried to mask it, but your face betrayed you, your shoulders sagging under the weight of the rejection. The ache in your heart grew with every second of silence that followed, the room feeling colder with each passing beat.

What you missed was the storm raging behind his steel-blue eyes—the internal battle he fought against his demons, the ones that screamed he wasn’t good enough for you. Wasn’t good enough for anyone. He’d carried those ghosts for too long to ignore them now. But he wasn’t blind.

He’d noticed the way your smile softened when it was meant for him, brighter and warmer than it ever was for anyone else. He’d seen how you fretted over him after missions, your hands fluttering with concern even at the smallest scratch on his skin. And he’d felt the hope radiating from you tonight when you’d invited him over, your words laced with a vulnerability you rarely showed.

Bucky knew. He’d known for a while. And that knowledge both terrified and thrilled him. Love, in any form, was fragile—he’d learned that the hard way. But tonight, sitting here with you, he realized he couldn’t keep running from the possibility of it.

He wanted you. Your laughter, your kindness, your stubbornness, your touch. He craved all of it. And maybe he didn’t deserve it, but for once in his long life, he wanted to try.

Bucky set his beer down, his movements deliberate, and leaned closer. His flesh hand brushed against the back of your arm and the touch sent a shiver up your arm.

“It’s not a date,” he repeated, voice low but filled with a quiet resolve that made your breath catch, hurt twisting at your heart.

Your brow furrowed, the downturn of your lips impossible to hide. “Heard you the first time…”

“This isn’t a date,” he pressed on. Then, with a small, almost shy smile, he added, “But it could be.”

Your heart skipped, his words hanging in the air like a lifeline. “Bucky…”

Cutting through your hesitation, his gaze locked onto yours, unflinching, steady. “If you want this… if you want me, I’m yours. I want to try.”

The vulnerability in his voice left you breathless, stealing any coherent thought you might have had. For the first time in what felt like forever, hope blossomed in your chest, warm and radiant. You didn’t hesitate this time, your lips curving into a soft, trembling smile.

“Is this because you’re afraid of the apps?” you teased, the quip breaking the intensity just enough for you to breathe. But your voice wavered slightly, and your eyes glistened with the tears threatening to spill. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll steal your virtue?”

Bucky chuckled, low and genuine, the sound sending warmth curling in your chest. “I’m not a damsel in distress, doll,” he said, his tone playful as his fingers brushed a strand of hair away from your face. The simple touch sent shivers down your spine, and you leaned into it instinctively.

“And you’re also not the big bad wolf you think you are,” you countered softly, your voice tinged with both affection and defiance.

“Well, technically…” His lips quirked into a lopsided grin. “I am the White Wolf.”

You rolled your eyes, the tension breaking into something lighter, something safe. “He jokes,” you said, shaking your head. “He could be kissing instead…”

His grin softened, and for a beat, he just looked at you, his hand still lingering near your face. Then, as if your words had given him permission, he leaned in, closing the space between you in a way that felt both inevitable and extraordinary.

“Guess I’ll take your advice for once, doll,” he murmured, his breath brushing against your lips.

The moment his lips touched yours, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you. His kiss was gentle at first, a question rather than an assumption, as though he wanted to be sure this was what you truly wanted. His warm hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your cheekbone, while his vibranium hand rested lightly on your knee, grounding him in the moment.

You sighed into the kiss, your hand instinctively reaching up to thread through the short hair at the nape of his neck. The movement drew him closer, and he obliged, deepening the kiss with a soft groan that sent a shiver down your spine. His lips were soft yet firm, moving against yours in a way that spoke of patience and restrained hunger, like he was savoring every second of this moment.

His vibranium hand finally moved, finding your waist with surprising tenderness. The cool metal was a stark contrast to the heat of his other hand through the fabric of your shirt, but it pulled you to the reality of him—both the man he was and the one he’d fought so hard to become.

When you parted briefly for air, his forehead rested against yours, his breaths mingling with yours in the small space between you. His eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and brimming with emotions he didn’t have to say out loud.

“Doll…” he whispered, his voice rough and full of awe, like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

But you weren’t done. You weren’t ready to let the moment slip away. Sliding your hand from his neck to his jaw, you tilted his face back toward yours, brushing your lips against his again, slower this time, savoring the taste of him. He responded immediately, his grip on your waist tightening as his mouth moved against yours with more certainty, more passion.

The kiss deepened, growing warmer, more insistent. Your bodies angled closer together, his presence consuming your senses. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, steady and strong, and the faint rasp of his stubble as it brushed against your skin only made the experience more intoxicating.

You weren’t sure how it happened—one moment you were pressed against the back of your couch, his hands and lips demanding your full attention, and the next, you were straddling his thighs. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as your harsh breaths mingled, the taste of his tongue intoxicating and impossible to resist.

For all his claims of being a man out of his time, Bucky Barnes knew exactly how to touch a woman. His hands were a perfect dichotomy: one warm and strong, the other cool and unyielding, but both equally firm and commanding. His touch left no room for doubt or hesitation, responding to every unspoken plea you hadn’t yet found the words for.

And his kiss? God, his kiss. You could write sonnets about the way his lips moved against yours, the way his tongue teased and claimed you, coaxing a need from you that you hadn’t known you were capable of. None of your wildest fantasies could compare to the reality of him, his body pressed against yours, solid and capable. The things it could do—what it was doing, what it promised to do—set your whole body alight with yearning.

You kissed him harder, deeper, needier, your hips moving instinctively against his. His groan rumbled low in his chest, a sound that only made you crave him more. But just as your movements grew more desperate, his vibranium hand clamped firmly on your hips, halting your rhythm. His flesh hand cupped your jaw, gentle but insistent, forcing you to break the kiss.

“Doll…” His voice was rough, laced with a warning that sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

You blinked at him, still dazed, heat crawling under your skin as you realized what you’d done. “Yes, I’m sorry, I know—I’m sorry,” you stammered, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

His breaths came heavy, his chest rising and falling against yours as his steel-blue eyes bore into yours. The hunger there mirrored your own, and the restraint in his grip only made you want him more.

Your lips quirked into a small, teasing smile, your own need warring with the desire to break the tension. “Seems like I really am trying to steal your virtue, huh?” you joked, your voice light but shaky as you turned your head to press a soft kiss to his palm.

His lips twitched, the faintest hint of amusement breaking through the hunger. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, his hand slipping from your jaw to trail gently along your cheek, his thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lips.

Your free hand wrapped around his vibranium one, your thumb tracing the grooves of the metal. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” you murmured, your voice soft but laced with promise as you leaned in, resting your forehead against his.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the charged silence stretching as his hands anchored you, holding you steady but never pushing. His restraint was palpable, and you knew without a doubt—if you wanted more, he would give it to you willingly. But only if you asked.

You wouldn’t, though. Not tonight.

Instead, you leaned in, brushing soft, sweet kisses against his lips, your movements unhurried and tender. Each kiss felt like a promise, an unspoken assurance that there was no rush, no need for anything more than this moment. It took superhuman strength—the kind he had—not to let it escalate.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your lips tingling and your cheeks warm. His eyes searched yours, and the way he looked at you—like you were the most precious thing in the world—made your heart swell. His thumb grazed your cheek, his smile soft and genuine.

“How about that movie?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, though his eyes betrayed a depth of emotion that made your breath catch.

You laughed, the sound breaking the last remnants of tension and filling the cozy space around you. “Alright, fine. Let’s find something to watch, then. Any preferences?”

“Anything but those baking shows Sam keeps trying to get me into,” he muttered, his lips quirking in faint exasperation.

A giggle bubbled out of you at the mental image of Sam dragging Bucky into a world of frosting, sprinkles, and delicate pastries. The idea was so absurd yet so perfectly Sam that you couldn’t help yourself. Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, your lips lingering just long enough to feel the faint rasp of stubble. “Deal. No baking shows.”

As the two of you settled back onto the couch, scrolling through movie options, the tension between you shifted again—this time, it was softer, lighter, wrapped in a warmth that felt safe and steady.

Bucky stretched his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers absently brushing against your shoulder as you leaned into him, your body naturally seeking his. And for the first time in a long time, you noticed something different about him. The shadows that usually haunted his expression seemed to have lifted, replaced by something quieter, something calmer.

Here, with you, Bucky wasn’t the broken soldier or the ex-assassin haunted by his past. He was just… himself. And in that moment, you realized that’s all you’d ever wanted him to be.

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usedpidemo · 3 months ago

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Savior (aespa Karina)

“Someone help me. Please!”

“Scream as loud as you can, no one’s coming to save you, princess.”

“That’s right. So just be a good girl and give us your money.”

“Help!”

It’s at this point where, against your better judgment, you stop dead in your tracks. The damsel in distress’s right behind you, backed into a corner by two bullies. Her possessions are strewn all over the floor, purposefully kicked out of her reach. There hasn’t been much physical harm done to the girl, but she looks to be the delicate type—someone who’s bound to crumble and break after a few hits.

Looking over your shoulder, the two students spot you and turn their attention against you immediately, recognizing you as a threat. “Hey,” says the first student, stepping forward to intimidate you with his burly physique. “This has nothing to do with you. Run along if you don’t want to join this loser over here.”

“Yeah. Don’t go around acting tough just cause you got two other guys with you. Just keep it pushing,” says the second thug, lankier in figure, in agreement with his partner.

Standing your ground, you steel your resolve, having no intention to run. In fact, it’s the complete opposite: you’re down for a fight. Your two companions also follow suit.

“So you wanna be a hero? You’re gonna regret it,” the first bully says, cracking his fists, ready to swing. “Oh, you’re so gonna regret it!”

That is to say, he’s the one who’s about to regret his life choices.

Like a raging bull, the thug lunges toward you, only for you to swiftly kick his legs from underneath, sending him flying across the hallway before he violently lands head first on the ground, most certainly giving him a concussion. He’s done.

The second bully tries to throw a follow-up punch, but you stop its momentum with one hand. Twisting it sideways, the bones crack loud, immediately followed by a screech of pain from his lungs. He drops to the floor in agony, holding his bent knuckle with his healthy arm.

“Oh—oh God—oh fuck—fuck—” Tears flowing from his eyes, he grovels in extreme discomfort, unable to stand before you. “What are you—”

“Now run,” you order, and he promptly complies, hopping off the ground, then fleeing in the opposite direction.

All that’s left is the girl. She had been watching the entire time. She’s overjoyed.

“Y-you saved me,” she says, tone relieved and her spirits held high. “How can I thank you—”

“Don’t push it,” you tell her, already walking away with your companions, waving her off. You don’t help her as she gathers her belongings. “Don’t get yourself in danger next time.”

Part of you already has second thoughts saving this girl. Jimin, the name written on her ID, is undeniably pretty, but you have nothing to gain from this encounter—or from her. She’s only studying in this university on a scholarship, and it shows in her appearance: she’s not the cleanest, nor is as well dressed as everyone else on campus. At best, you’ll probably get called into the office regarding this incident, as well as getting another target placed on your back by those bullies.

None of which are worth a drop of your concern. You can study anywhere else; you have the resources and the connections courtesy of your rich family, and the two companions by your side are your trusted bodyguards that have been with you since childhood. You can honestly live out your whole life without even lifting a finger. Generational wealth is the ultimate lifehack.

And yet, you’re in college at the behest of your parents, who spend more time abroad than at home. This is you going through the motions, looking after yourself.

After the next class, right as everyone’s packing their things and exiting, you spot her again. Jimin’s natural beauty is a lovely sight for the eyes. It’s only now do you realize you’ve shared at least one class with her. Maybe more; you’re too oblivious to the world around you to really notice. You only care about the bell that rings at the top of the hour so you can finally go home.

“Hey,” Jimin suddenly calls out to you, having noticed you glancing at her every now and then. You attempt to feign ignorance, but she approaches you and seizes your hand, catching you red-handed. “Can I speak to you, please?”

She sounds too nice to turn away. You’d be in the wrong to ignore her.

Still, you won’t fully look at her, the glint in her eyes blinding. You can only pray this is a brief exchange. “Sure. But make it quick.”

“I just want to say thank you—for earlier,” she says, her voice warm and sincere. She’s shaking your hand in appreciation; you allow her. “I’m not as rich as everyone else here, as you can see.” She looks down at her modest wear, apologetic about her appearance for some reason, “So—I don’t really have much. I’m only here on a scholarship—”

“Right.” You interrupt her, trying your hardest not to sound annoyed or bothered, though some of that impatience permeates through your filter. “Anything else you wanna say?”

Jimin becomes flustered, seemingly aroused by your low voice. A brief glance reveals her cheeks flushed red, her body trembling anxiously. She can’t have her way with words, either. “S-sorry. I just wanna say if you need help with schoolwork or anything, my services are available! My grades are good, I promise! That’s all. Again, thanks and see you around!”

Before you can even say a word or call her name, she already has one foot out the door, along with her belongings.

—————

One look at the student database proves her point: Yu Jimin, nickname Karina, might be what she advertised: an academic genius.

Her grades are mostly in the mid nineties across the board, if not low nineties. She’s only a year away from graduating—alongside you. The offer lingers on your mind, positively tempting.

“Sir, this just seems like a waste of money,” your one bodyguard turned hacker tells you, swiveling his desk chair around to face you. “There are more reputable tutors with better qualifications we can fly in from across the country if you really need a personal tutor. Also, your grades are good as they are. You don’t seem to be struggling with any specific major or subject right now. There’s no reason for this.”

“Yeah, and whose money are we spending?” you reply, annoyed at his admittedly sensible comment.

“What will your family say about this?”

“Did I ask to be enrolled in this university? This course? Besides, they’ve never shown up for any of my graduations! I doubt this will be any different in a year or so. Go find her number so I can contact her.”

Sighing in defeat, he eventually acquiesces. They have to. “Of course, sir.”

—————

The next day on campus, Karina’s seated at the dining hall with her friends. Her eyes can only focus on one thing, or in this case, one man: the person that saved her yesterday.

“You’re serious? Him?” Ningning looks concerned about her friend. She’s glaring at him with plenty of skepticism. They all know who he is. Not Karina, though. “That guy’s no good at all.”

“What are you saying?” she looks at her, puzzled at her comment. “He really did save me from those bullies. Don’t you believe me?”

“Yeah, but like—he’s not a good person!” Giselle frowns at the man, hiding the bottom half of her face behind her hands. “He’s a chaebol kid. He’s seriously no good! I’ve heard he gets into fights often; that's why he has bodyguards to intimidate anyone who tries to oppose him.”

“Rumor says he’s in cahoots with some crime syndicate—or at least his dad is,” Minjeong interjects, more trepid than anything. “That’s how he got his money. Who knows what kind of evil they might be doing!”

“But he was nice to me yesterday! If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have tried to save me, you know?” Karina stubbornly pays no heed, insisting her case to them, despite their growing frustration and fright. “You guys are overthinking this way too much.”

“It’s just so he can gaslight you into believing he’s a good guy. Please, Karina, he’s not what you think he is.” Ningning implores for her to listen, but to no avail.

“We’re not saying he’s truly bad, but there are signs,” Minjeong adds, agreeing with Ningning. “We just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Look—if he’s actually a bad guy, I’m running, all right? I’m ditching him right then and there, no questions asked.” Karina reassures them, hoping to calm them down right as the man approaches their table. “He’s coming right now.”

While the others silently avoid any form of contact or communication with you, hiding their not so subtle disdain, she happily waves. “Hi. Did you think about it?”

“Yeah,” you tell her, nodding. “I’m interested.”

“Really?” Karina’s eyes gleam at the opportunity. “What do you need help with?”

“Lots. I’ll tell you after class.” Knowing her friends are evidently uncomfortable with your presence, you simply walk past her and through the cafeteria door. “See you around.”

“Bye!” she waves at you again, delighted that you’ve taken up on her offer.

When it’s clear that you’re no longer in sight, Karina’s friends turn to her in utter disbelief.

“Please tell me you’re not going to—”

“I will.”

“Oh, God dammit.”

“Karina, please.”

—————

Later that day, Karina’s waiting by the campus parking lot, holding on to the promise of you showing up. It’s been almost an hour since classes ended and there’s no sign of you anywhere nearby. It looks like you’ll leave her out to dry, until—

“Miss Karina.” A man calls out to her from inside a luxurious car. As the windows roll down, she recognizes the driver as one of your companions. One of the rear doors automatically swings open. “Please step inside.”

Without a second thought, she enters the vehicle before it drives away.

During the ride, the bodyguard asks her a question. “Does Miss Yu have a drink preference?”

She’s slowly taking it all in, flustered at how you’re treating her so generously. It’s overwhelming at times. “N-no. I’m not really a drinker. W-where’s—”

“He has already gone ahead. He’s preparing the house ahead of your arrival. When we get there, you will change clothes before meeting him. At his request, I have been assigned as your personal assistant and driver.”

“Y-you? Assistant?” She can hardly believe it. “Wow…”

Karina is rendered speechless for the rest of the ride. She’s taken aback at her sudden change in predicament. It’s a Cinderella story through and through. The only missing element is some antagonistic force threatening to end this fantasy abruptly, but that’s the least of her worries. What’s more concerning is how she’ll compose herself before you.

Especially when she sees the scale of your house upon arriving. She’s never seen wealth this exceedingly open and grand.

There’s no time to admire the opulence, however. She’s brought inside hastily by your bodyguard. Inside, a team of stylists are waiting, rushing her upstairs and into one of the bedrooms for a complete overhaul. They’re careful to measure her hair, her size, her everything. Everything is done on the spot, with next to nothing in terms of personal input from Karina herself.

—————

You hear it. The gentle, careful steps of heels clicking. Karina’s ready. So are you.

Turning around to welcome her, you’ve got this whole speech practiced and memorized, with a card hidden in your pocket for good measure. Instead, you end up tongue tied; her presence proves overwhelming to the senses. You can only stare in awe. All black dress and matching heels aside, she looks like an angel descended from heaven. Without blemish, without any sort of imperfection. She’s unreal.

Any less of a person you are and you would have fallen to your knees on the spot, groveling on the ground when Karina walks forward, ignoring how nervous she is as you. She modestly smiles, carefully twiddling her fingers. She doesn’t recognize how pretty she is.

It becomes all the more embarrassing when Karina makes the first move. “I knew you were rich, but not this rich.” Her eyes are glancing around the expansive room, admiring all the little details, thankfully dismissing how speechless you are.

“Mhm,” is all you’re able to blurt out, unsure of what to say. In her sight, you’re her hero, her knight in shining armor that can seemingly do no wrong. Meanwhile, you’re overcompensating your lack of social skills by hiding behind a shallow enigma and as much vanity as possible. “Not exactly my money, to be fair. My parents raised me like this.”

You’re trying not to look anywhere in her direction—whether that be her pretty eyes, her warm smile, or her shapely figure in that body-hugging dress. It’s the only way you can function normally without completely falling apart.

“So—you’re gonna introduce me to them?” she asks, her tone saccharine and innocent.

“I wish,” you reply, sighing wistfully thinking about their absence throughout most of your formative years. She’s unaware; you’ll let the insensitive question slide. Only for her. So you immediately change the topic. “Let’s go outside. Our dinner is waiting for us.”

You reach out your hand to her, and she takes it without hesitation. In your mind, you’re already jumping around, performing cartwheels in celebration, with fireworks blasting everywhere. For the most part, you’ve been punching up, failing to impress girls unimpressed with your wealth and are far beyond your reach. Everyone else in that campus would kill to be in Karina’s position right now, but something about her caught your eye that no one has.

The purity in this girl’s heart is something else.

Outside, a table full of hearty food is set before you two, a candle lit at its center. Sitting her down on one end before joining her at the other, it’s only background dressing for conversation. She refuses to eat, struggling to make sense of all this. The appeal behind all this luxury is wearing off at an alarming rate.

“What’s up? Not hungry?” you gently ask, already making predictions of her answer. Your designated assistant for her is on standby for anything she wants.

“Not really,” she says, her eyes staring back, wide, accompanied with her innocuous smile. A direct attack on your heart. “I’m—here for tutoring first. I don’t know what this is all for.”

“Yeah. You are here to help me,” you tell her, your mind racing with a hundred different thoughts, already in a state of panic. “I’m just—” you swallow a sudden lump in your throat, “welcoming you since it’s your first time visiting.”

“Like, I think this is really cool! I appreciate what you’re doing, but I can’t afford any of this.” Karina’s trying not to put any more pressure on you, but it’s really doing the exact opposite: you’re already seeing signs of a terrible end. “I just thought you were nice because you saved me from those bullies, you know? That’s it.”

“Yeah. I know,” you reply, looking down as the awkward air between you grows larger and larger. See, she has a point: it was never about asking for help, nor was it ever about improving your grades. It was always about her. Something changed overnight. You simply don’t know how to directly convey those feelings.

“So—let’s just keep things between us simple,” Karina proposes. She rises from her seat, walking over with a hand on your shoulder. “I’m here to help you with whatever project, research, whatever—you only have to pay for my services. Is that good enough?”

“Wait. Karina let me ask one thing,” you say, finally mustering the courage to look her directly in the eye.

“What is it?”

“Your friends,” you rapidly blink, “What did they say about me?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you that.” Her answer is delivered bluntly, straight to the point.

“They think I’m a bad guy, right?”

“N-no,” Karina stammers. That’s where you catch her. “They never said anything like that—”

Suddenly dragging her by the arm down to your level, you whisper in her ear, “Don’t have to lie, princess. I’m not gonna tell anyone. It’s only between us. Promise.”

Karina’s unsure of what to do. She’s quietly keening, lightly sweating, looking around for an out. The points her friends made are starting to make sense, but there’s nothing substantial—not yet.

After taking a moment, she folds. “They think your dad’s working with a syndicate. That’s it! There’s nothing else—”

You lightly shove her away, immediately concealing your face in the opposite direction. You didn’t expect her to catch on quickly. Karina’s utterly shocked by what you just did to her, cupping her cheek.

Empathy overrides every other thought.

“Sorry. I just—” You immediately approach her with a handkerchief, immediately assessing the damages, what little they might be. Karina takes a step back, trembling with fear.

“So, it’s true after all.” Her eyes widen. Gone is that sweet innocence; taking its place is a heightened sense of panic. “You’re really a bad guy—”

“Wait, Karina.” You raise a delicate hand, your voice as calm and little as possible. “Please give me a moment to explain.”

“Go on,” she says, cautiously wary, readying herself to run at any given moment. “But say it quickly,”

Stretching your body out to pursue her, examining her every move, every muscle. It didn’t have to end up like this. Surely, there are safer, more inconsequential ways to explain yourself. What a first date you’ve gotten into.

“It’s—not exactly what you think,” you tell her. Out of all the things to begin your justification, you’ve picked the worst possible choice.

“Really?” Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t buy it. “What’s with the reaction, then?”

Hesitating, you’re scrambling to find a believable reason, only to find just one option: the truth. “I—well—your friends are right, but—my dad doesn’t have anything to do with criminals!”

“So it’s you who’s dealing with them?” she replies, her brows furrowing, glaring at you.

“It’s nothing really serious, though. And I’m not involved with anything either! Believe me, I’m not going to get you hurt!”

Throughout this tense exchange, you’ve both made your way back to the house, one big step at a time.

“Trust me when I say: the only reason why I helped you was because I didn’t want to see you hurt,” you continue, your voice cracking. “Goddamn it—this is why I shouldn’t have stepped in, fuck—”

“You did that because—” she pauses, “you cared about me? For real?”

“I guess so,” you say, nodding vehemently, both your hands still raised high starting to ache. “I don’t do that for anyone! My bodyguards tell me to ignore what’s happening, but I just can’t stand someone as pretty as you getting hurt like that.”

“Y-you think I’m pretty?” Karina blinks, coming out twinkling and doe-eyed at the sudden revelation.

Secret’s out. There’s nothing to hide anymore.

Pausing, you admit, nodding much less energetically, silently cursing yourself spilling your innermost thoughts so casually, “Well, yes. I think you’re beautiful. All the more now.”

Karina stops moving. Her wariness is turning back to more open and willing caution. ��So—this was really all for me.”

You continue to nod, this time in agreement. She still has so many questions. About you, your family, your income, your secret dealings. Clearly, her friends are onto something, whether by luck or by some past experience; not a hundred percent, but at least five to ten. It would be rash and irrational to completely trust every word you’ve said. No amount of kindness can possibly make up for the worry you’ve given her—

“Come here,” she says, lunging forward to wrap you in a sudden, tight embrace. Before you can comprehend anything else, her lips are pressed deeply against yours, sealing your fate with a passionate kiss.

That’s where it should have stopped. A better person would have pushed her away, taken things slowly, spoken her through the terms of engagement. Even Karina said it herself; this is a transactional relationship. But seeing as you’re taking lease of her back, as well as her waist, tasting her saccharine lips—it appears as if she’s reneged on her word.

You feel her tongue slip between your mouth, humming these incomprehensible delightful sounds your ears want to hear. It isn’t accidental; the taste takes you by surprise. Can’t show a little weakness, even if you’re close to buckling under the rapid growing pressure. The way she pours herself into the kiss, how she pushes you closer inch by inch—you can tell she’s wanted this. To be treated like a princess, to be treated right. It doesn’t matter if it’s coming from the wrong influence, the only thing she sees is your willingness to take her with open arms.

The only thing pulling you away from her is the ceaseless ringing from a phone.

Karina pulls a phone from her skirt pocket, her eyes tilting down, fingers moving with urgency, furiously typing on the screen. Her cheeks burn a rosy red, ashamed of having to put herself first in this situation. She’s smiling innocently at you, a sight you’ve grown to love even more. You understand if she tells you she’s leaving; you’ve already got her ride home on standby.

“Sorry,” she mutters, pressing buttons, hearing the ringer beep as the message is sent. “I’m still living with my parents, so—” Looking around, she’s shaking her arms loose. “I don’t think I can spend the night here, or come home looking like this—”

“Don’t worry about it,” you cut her off, confident, if not a little smug. “Neither of those things are gonna happen. I’ll get your ride ready and your clothes taken care of. But it’s still a little bit early,” you say, glancing at your watch, grinning at the time. It’s barely past seven in the evening.

“I told them I’d be home by around ten tonight,” she remarks, putting her phone away, her gaze returning to you.

“That’s all the time we need.”

—————

Like the gentleman she thinks you are, you escort Karina up the stairs, hand in tow, leading her to your bedroom. Once the door is slammed shut and tightly locked, you immediately drop the act, and you’re back to kissing her passionately again.

You can’t be any less patient. Only a few minutes have passed, and you’re already dreading the end. The feeling of letting her go, of having to go back to your normal life the moment she walks through that door. You can’t imagine interacting like normal students again. Most importantly, you can’t imagine being the bad guy in everyone else’s eyes.

Karina brings out both the best and worst impulses from you. Abruptly breaking the kiss, you shove her onto the mattress, issuing a simple command. “Take that dress off.”

It’s been the only thing racing through your mind ever since. This divine, angelic figure straight out of heaven—effortlessly shining, effortlessly wearing the simple piece like she’s meant to be a canvas to be painted and used.

Gracefully rising from the bed, Karina looks you dead in the eye. Taking one strap in her hand, she pulls it down her shoulder, then the other. Reaching around her back, gravity does the rest. The garment smoothly rides down her body, revealing inch after inch of her skin, until she’s reduced to only her panties.

Kicking the expensive fabric aside, along with her heels, Karina’s near naked presence demands worship.

“Fuck,” is the only thing you’re able to say, and it’s apt—fuck is the only thing you want to do to her. Hard. Fast. Without care for comfort or concern.

Your eyes have no fixed area to rest on. When it comes to Karina, every little part of her is a treat for the senses, whether it be her slim waist, her tummy, her slender legs. But nothing captures and retains the attention quicker than her well-endowed breasts. So huge, so pliable, you can only wonder in amazement at how she’s been able to keep them secret for the longest time.

“Something wrong?” Karina asks, snapping you from your mindless daze, her tiny voice a contrast to the sheer sexiness she’s radiating just by standing there in the nude. God, she’s so blissfully unaware that you’re oh so obviously focused on her tits only; it’s endearing and sweet.

“Nothing. You’re perfect, actually.” Try as you might, you can only linger on her chest, watching them stare back, inviting you to come closer. Her nipples are taut and rigid, ripe for the taking.

The comment makes her face blush brighter. “Thank you.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, your pants already halfway down, shedding them along with your boxers. You’re imagining how they would feel sandwiched between your cock; you can’t help it. You’re stroking yourself to hardness, made substantially easier thanks to the image before you. “Has anyone told you you have perfect tits, Karina?”

“I’ve heard it here and there,” she says, delivered so casually, like it’s something she hears everyday—as she rightfully should. “I guess people sometimes notice through my baggy clothing.”

Pumping your shaft till you’re fully erect, you rid yourself of the rest of your clothes. Button up shirt and coat thrown away carelessly and readily forgotten. Karina takes the hint and slips off her panties, putting you both on equal footing. Creeping toward her, you press your finger on her chin, nuzzling your forehead against hers, setting the mood with a quick peck of her lips. There’s so much you want to do, visualizing all the possibilities with a body like hers.

“I want to touch you,” you tell her, tone low, sultry. Your hand traces down her collarbones, pointing out where they want to be: on her chest.

“Go. Anything you want, but promise me one thing,” she replies, mimicking your inflection. Any request sounds so much hotter in her voice.

There’s zero hesitation. “Anything.”

“Promise you’ll pour all that cum deep inside me. I’ve been in relationships before. Just—give me a good fucking.”

“I will,” you say, kissing her passionately on the lips, your hands firmly pressed on her tits, watching Karina’s eyes close and open in slow motion. Going down, you leave kisses on her neck, collarbones, before reaching your intended destination: her chest. Burying yourself between her breasts, clamping down on her rigid nipple, forcing a sharp cry out of Karina’s saccharine lips. “I love these fucking tits, Karina. I love them so—so—much.”

“Please.” She coos up to the ceiling, grabbing you by the hair, pressing you further into them, intending to suffocate you—which is a demise you’ll happily go out on. Gasping, panting, struggling to keep herself steady, you both collapse onto the bed, allowing you to fully drink in her breasts. Darting your tongue, sucking on her stiff tits, sloppily leaving wet marks on her otherwise porcelain skin. “So—fucking—needy—”

Karina’s right. You’ve got her pinned down on the sheets like she’s prey, devouring her like a hungry animal. Giving her tits equal attention, going back and forth til you’re satisfied—which will never happen. Not with breasts as delicious as hers. Muffled by her bosom, you can only grunt and groan in appreciation, forgoing your ability to speak to keep satiating your unquenchable need. You love how her skin folds, how they crush in your hands. Squeezing them like your personalized stress balls, making her squeamish and erratic underneath you.

Meanwhile, she can only stick her head out, keening and mewling helplessly as you drown yourself in the heat of her breasts, without care for her personal comfort or yours.

It’s always been part of you—greed. It’s what you were raised on. How you selfishly desire something and will stop at nothing until it’s in your grasp, no matter how little it has in value or how many resources are wasted. Not Karina. She’s one in a million—a diamond in the rough. A treasure worth cherishing over everything else, and you’d give up everything for her without a second thought.

Kissing down her rather tiny figure, her tummy, until you reach the depths of her aching core, already in heat. Looking up at her, so wrecked, so utterly incapacitated, you sink further—and she cries out in pain and in pleasure.

Propping her thighs up in the air, spreading her legs that extra inch wider, Karina cries, cries, and cries. Your tongue sucks away at her sticky nectar, her quivering core, putting immense pressure on her most sensitive spots. Soaking up just how wet she becomes with each passing second, you’ll happily drown in her skin. You love how she clenches, how she throbs and moans a pitch higher with every pass, every lap of your tip against her pussy brings her ever closer to her end.

Had it been anyone else, you would have finished right there. Make them unwind and cum all over your face as you indulge yourself with their juices, then leave them out to dry right after. Instead, you muster up the willpower to restrain yourself, reemerging from the depths of her cunt, before kissing up the path you’ve marked along. You can never grow tired of admiring and worshipping Karina’s breasts.

Brushing loose strands of hair aside to get a look at her pretty face, glowing brilliantly even under duress. Whispering against her ear, you tell her, “Gonna fuck you right now.”

“Do it,” she says, breathless, gasping—and heaving—for air. “Please give it all to me.”

“Always.”

Slowly dragging your cock between her folds, your usually stiff expression gradually disintegrates upon vicious entry, unable to endure how tight she feels. The pulse and flex of her walls pulls you apart in every direction, her cunt threatening to snap you with one wrong move. Every little bit of resolve counts. Your fingers intertwine with hers, holding her down in place, even though she’s nowhere close to fighting back. In fact, it’s the exact opposite; she wants to be taken and used.

The cry of your name escapes from Karina’s lips, delivered like a call for help. A plea. It bounces around the room, echoing repeatedly in your head, the imagery instantly seared into your brain.

“You fill me so fucking well,” she says, breath hot and heavy, her jaw agape as you hover atop her head. Her eyes snap wide open, on the verge of tears, “Does my pussy feel good? Does it feel so tight around you?”

You’re struggling to keep yourself together, showing signs of falling apart. You’re breathing heavily, only nodding back in agreement. The inability to move your body, desiring to stay inside her warmth out of fear it’ll prematurely ruin the moment speaks volumes. It’s a clearer response than any word can ever answer.

Karina lightly rolls her hips forward, the friction far too great to remain still. You can only draw back in painstakingly slow motion, as if pulling a piece out of a collapsible tower. Even so, the feeling leaves you dizzy and lightheaded, the suffocating sensation quickly overwhelming the rest of your functional senses.

This little push is more than enough to set you snowballing further down. Thrusting back inside her heat, her fresh wetness allows you an easier passage in and out of her quivering pussy. Between calculated, deep breaths, you watch Karina take every inch of your cock without any resistance, letting these profanities and praises slip from her lips instinctively, punctuated by the growing echo of your skin slapping skin.

It becomes effortless rather quickly. The slide in and out of her heat. The pace more than enough to let all the ecstasy sink in. How she immediately relinquishes any semblance of control to you. Karina’s glued to the bed by your hands, her body rocking with every stroke, her tits jiggling in a hypnotic rhythm that captures your eyes. So perfect. So right.

Unknowingly, she’s driving you mad. A little bounce isn’t gonna satiate you at this point. One poorly timed blink and you’ll be punishing yourself for it. There’s no going back. You needed more of her.

As the bed violently creaks below, so does Karina’s tiny figure. As quickly as you’ve found the perfect rhythm to pound her, you just as quickly abandon it. Something about her brings out the best and worst in you, and you clearly see why. It’s the bounce—that damned ripple of her breasts, swinging up and down forcing your hips harder against her, threatening to break her. Her words turn to loud cries—of pleasure, of pain, and everything else in between.

“More—oh, baby, please—” she keens, her eyes still completely shut, her lips twisting and contorting, struggling to find her words. Freely offering herself to you no strings attached, she takes it—and takes it all. “Harder—I’m so fucking close—please—”

It’s a request you’re more than eager to oblige.

Taking purchase of her back with one hand, lifting her slightly, and grabbing her breast with the other, you’re hammering away at her hot cunt, gasping. Squeezing her flesh, hearing her whine, turning her usually pale flesh red while her arms find solace on your shoulder—anything to keep your rapidly dwindling resolve from dissolving entirely. The end is imminent; you can only delay it by mere moments, minutes at best.

Karina is so dangerously close, as she said—and as much as you hate to admit, so are you.

It’s a race that you don’t want to win. As much as you want to keep it together for longer, your body says otherwise. You can’t stop fucking her, no matter how hard you wish to try—and even if you did, why would you even contemplate the idea; your thoughts mostly comprise of how incredibly good she feels around your cock, how they pulsate and grip you with every thrust. Moving inside her is second nature at this point. You eventually lay her back down, only so she takes every inch of you when it eventually happens.

“Don’t stop—don’t ever stop—” she pleads, as if your own mind wasn’t enough to invalidate the idea. Her nails cling to your scalp and neck, barely hanging on for dear life. She’s trembling, uncontrollably jerking beneath. Even she herself doesn’t want it to end. “So good—oh God—”

A handful of thrusts later, Karina cums, with your cock buried in the crevice of her cunt.

Once again, her voice shoots up to the sky upon impact, screaming your name, her head tilted far back as the sheets allow her to. Jaw widely slack, her neck and collarbone exposed, she can’t stop trembling through her climax. Writhing in your grasp, she lets out a prolonged moan till her vocal cords flame out, her chest heaving for much needed oxygen.

It doesn’t stop you from pounding into her pussy, even as it overflows with her slickness. If anything, it only accelerates your own demise. The wetness overload coating your cock proves to be overbearing for what little spunk you have left.

“Me too, Karina—” you blurt out, hammering into her, gasping, bracing for impact as well. “I’m gonna—oh fuck—”

Your own peak overtakes you, rendering you speechless. Everything comes to a standstill. All you can do is bury yourself inside the absolute depths of her pussy, make her take every load, every drop.

Filling the air with a harmonious moan as it hits you, your cock throbbing achingly, full of all that repressed need, and then—release.

Spurt after spurt of hot, sticky cum you pour into her womb, not wasting a single drop. Karina cries and moans with every shot, while you can only groan a deep groan from your lungs. She takes it up, milking you of all your worth till you can’t anymore. Even as she drains you empty, you can’t stop pounding into her cunt, slowing your movements back to a grinded out pace till your orgasm dies, and so does your strength.

“That’s it—that’s all I needed—so, so good—”

Karina sighs, her fingers digging deep into your neck, dragging them across your shoulders, then sliding down your arms right after. She can barely open her eyes, only to find you slowly crashing into her, leaning your head to the side so you can rest beside her. Even your hips stop moving. You only have enough energy to wrap an arm around her tiny frame before you finally collapse under your own weight.

“You still have to take me home,” she whispers, mindful of your ear directly next to her, delivered in that oh so saccharine tone.

“I know,” you mutter through the sheets, eliciting a gentle chuckle from her. Karina’s the one coming out of this in a better state.

“Can you do something for me? Please?”

She didn’t need to say the word, but it certainly helps her case tenfold.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I need you to drive me home.” Karina dips her head at an angle to face you. “Not your bodyguards. You.”

Tilting upward to get a good look at her, you lift a curious eyebrow. “I don’t mind—but why?”

“I just—” she faces away, pausing, breathing heavily. She’s about to say something she’ll regret. “Think it would be safer, yeah? Besides, I wouldn’t wanna be caught by my parents just being dropped off by people in suits.”

“Oh right.”

“I mean this is nice and all but—” Karina stops again, lightly brushing your arm away. A reminder that wealth does not equate to relationship. “I think we’d be better off if we kept things strictly professional. You didn’t have to do all this. You were kind to me and that’s more than enough.”

You roll onto your back, staring up directly at the ceiling. You can only hope Karina is doing the same. She shouldn’t see how deflated you look—after you fucked her, no less.

“Karina, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

You don’t know exactly what to say. You’re only thinking about the what ifs and the what could, expecting the worst. So you look away, unable to face her a second longer.

Moments later, you feel the sudden tug of her embrace, a leg wrapped around yours. The softest kisses on your shoulder. You can feel her soft smile pressed against your neck. She’s cuddled up on you, intent on never letting go.

“Just keep being kind.”

—————

In the days ahead, it was about saving face.

Karina’s wish has seemingly been lost in translation and disregarded, as you’ve been putting distance from her. Any little sign that she’s around is your signal to leave. It helps when you have two extra pairs of eyes keeping watch and alerting you at once.

All this to reinforce the same statement you’ve heard from her friends: that you’re no good whatsoever.

Cautiously eavesdropping on their conversation through your unassuming bodyguards, you hear Karina’s distress over your earpiece, lamenting to her sisters about your absence in her life.

“I seriously don’t understand you. Are you deaf? Are you stupid?” says Ningning, vindicated about her stance. “He ghosted you. They always do that! Not just him! Believe me, I’ve been through worse.”

“Please trust us. Rina, we’re worried about you,” adds Giselle, her tone showing more empathy and concern. “There’s no use in worrying about a man after you did—that.”

“No no. I want to believe,” Karina replies, insistent on you, ignoring all the red flags being waved around. “He really appreciates the affection I gave him. I have to. He seems like a good person in heart—”

“Ugh—here we go again with that good guy shit,” interjects Ningning, frustrated at her friend’s stubbornness. You hear a powerful thud, presumably from a table getting slammed in anger. “He isn’t a good guy! God, Karina, this is why you get bullied—”

“Hey, Ning. Let’s not go that far,” Giselle interrupts, her tone low. “Everyone’s looking at us.”

Dead silence follows, seemingly lasting an eternity. And then—

“Good job, Ning. She left and you made us look bad in front of everyone else,” Giselle adds, breaking the vast stillness, huffing before the audio goes quiet again.

“All the girls have left the cafeteria,” says your first bodyguard, the one you’ve assigned to Karina the first time.

“That’ll be all. Great work,” you tell them over the earpiece before disconnecting.

You’re not hiding anywhere inside campus. In fact, you’ve been resting in the comfort of your own home the entire time. On your phone’s screen is Karina’s number, having been registered in your contacts since last week. Not once have you bothered messaging her, let alone call—yet you constantly return to it. With each passing day, the temptation to press that button grows stronger and stronger.

You place your phone down on the desk, as if that’s gonna change anything. Seconds later, it’s in your hand, still on those 10 digits. Calling to you, as if her very voice is somehow playing through those tiny speakers. It’s all in your head, yet it feels vivid through your senses.

It all but confirms your own feelings: you can’t move on, and neither can she.

You’re looking around, even though not a soul’s in sight, convincing yourself to turn back before you fall further down. Seeing as there’s not a form of opposition, whatsoever, you pull the trigger, consequences be damned.

In the few seconds between calling the number and her imminent responding, you’re hoping she doesn’t answer. That she sees her friends’ points, to prove that you’re in the right by leaving her to dry.

All it takes is a few key words.

“Hey. I missed you.”

—————

There’s a lot to take in, but first—you swallow your own pride. This is your own doing, after all.

Looking out the window from your couch, it’s already night. Last time you checked, the sun had only begun setting; that was four hours ago, apparently. Meanwhile, Karina lies flat on the bed, every part of her mindlessly used, mindlessly fucked. Her skin gleaming, blemished in a sea of fiery red and sticky white. Her clothes scattered all over the house, their purpose rendered obsolete the moment she walked back in. You were standing there—waiting, expecting. Along with her body, came a simple request, in her words:

“Take me like you fucking missed me.”

Delivered straight to the point, Karina is something else. She’s twisted and cruel in her own way. To make such a demand in the sweetest voice possible—you can only chalk it up to witchcraft. And to think she was the one who wanted to keep things professional.

Any intentions to study and help with projects and research was a complete lie—it was more of a roundabout way for you to get inside her, over and over again. If anything, her body was the primary object of interest.

All the ways you can fuck her, how she wants it—anything to get you to cum in her pussy. And that’s exactly what you did.

Spearing your hips against her frame, you find that Karina is so flexible, malleable to your every whim. How she complies without complaint or moment of hesitation, propping herself in whatever position your mind thought of in the moment, and there’s a few you were dying to try. On her fours, with her legs spread wide, on her knees, making an example out of her. So utterly shameless.

And God, she takes it all quite effortlessly, like it’s second nature to her. Milking you dry with her cunt, with her mouth, making you cum with some friction from her tits—everything is a little too easy. Taking just one look at her perfectly sculpted figure, it makes a lot of sense. Yet, Karina has to explain to everyone else why she can’t walk properly in the morning.

A week’s worth of repressed desires and wanton needs, completely gone in a few short hours. It may as well have been a year, maybe two, since you last met.

You can only watch from a distance, from your couch, as everything falls apart. Even a single second that you’re at arm’s length and she’d be burying your grave deeper. As if it’s gonna change tonight’s outcome.

Like a reanimated corpse coming back to life, Karina rises from the bed, assessing the damage. It’s quite a lot. She’s an absolute wreck.

“I think I may have gone too far in some places,” you remark, observing her take your cum into her mouth with her finger.

“I don’t believe that,” she says, taking another scoop and savoring the taste, flashing her pasty white tongue. You instinctively avert your gaze, much to her amusement.

“Christ—Karina, what happened to setting boundaries?” you ask, genuinely concerned. Even if it’s for one night, that’s all it takes for everything to snowball out of control. “I don’t think we can do this on the regular, even if I wanted to.”

“True,” she tells you, matter-of-factly, before stepping on the ground and pacing towards you, limping, barely recovering, “But I got nothing else except you.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? You’ve genuinely changed my life,” she says, propping her hands to her knees to lean forward. “No one bullies me anymore. Because they think I’m your girl. I’m your possession.”

The way Karina calls herself yours gives you goosebumps. Your eyes widen in disbelief.

“This is what you’ve done to me,” she continues, tracing a finger down her drenched core, splayed and ruined—your handiwork—before rubbing her slick against your arm, eventually pushing it between your lips. You allow her. Her voice turns a pitch lower with each sentence. “I can’t express how much I need you right now.”

Sinking further back into your seat, you slowly tilt your face towards her, greatly alarmed. “You’re scaring me a little, Rina. We really should—”

She places that same finger between your lips, now to shut you up. Pressing herself forward, straddling on your lap, she makes sure her cum-soaked tits are directly in view of your face, threatening to smother you between them. Her smile is the cherry on top, inviting you to relax the senses and let yourself go in that familiar lust once again. “We can talk about this—on the other side.”

And before you know it, Karina’s riding you hard, with your face buried deep between her chest, worshiping her. You had no chance.

The next time you gain awareness, you’re back in bed, cuddled beside her. With her back against yours, she’s soundly asleep, despite the repeated calls from her phone and your supposed agreement to have her home by ten.

It’s already half past midnight.

“Goddammit, Rina,” you mutter, eliciting a light shudder as your hot breath tickles her skin. “I can’t.”

“Just for tonight,” Karina tells you, as if you aren’t gonna be doing this again tomorrow—and the next night, and the one after. “My parents aren’t home,” she adds, clearly lying through her teeth.

“We seriously need to talk about this,” you tell her, rolling out of bed, scrambling for a fresh pair of clothes from the nearby closet. Meanwhile, Karina remains lying on your bed. She has no intention to leave. You have to reiterate again, “What happened to setting boundaries?”

Even the simple act of propping herself up draws your attention, more so in the nude, especially when she’s glistening in your sheen. The question amuses her; look at her teasing expression, ready to fire back. “You’re the one who called me here. So—”

“Jesus, Karina,” you sigh, working around the clock to get everything in order. Car’s ready, her clothes are in the wash. God willing, she’s actually telling the truth. “Why are you like this—”

She laughs—heartily.

—————

The next day on campus, you make it official. Sort of.

Karina’s friends are seated across the hall, their wary, foreboding gazes singling you out of the whole room. Intentions aside, you have no fight with any of them; it’s nothing personal. After all, it’s her choice. You’ll let them judge. You’re on your own for this one; you’ve told your bodyguards to leave you alone so as to make yourself look approachable in their eyes—even if there’s a negative chance they’ll ever buy it.

Then she enters the room, giving each one a kiss and a hug, as if they’re about to part ways for a long, long time. They’re overreacting; it’s not as though you’ll whisk her away and isolate her in some lonesome high castle.

You get a good look at her when she finally walks over. She’s wearing the new clothes you gave her last night. She makes your heart race with delight.

When she takes her seat directly opposite yours, you can’t help but silently remark, “They really don’t like me.”

She lightly chuckles. “Trust me. I’ve tried.”

“Yeah, I’m not asking them to like me,” you tell her, smiling from ear to ear, reaching out your hand, which she accepts. “I’m just—hoping they’ll see me one day as you do.”

“Sure they will. I believe deep down, you’re really a sweet guy.”

You lower your head, unable to face her, but your face tells it all.

“Just to be clear, you’re not gonna make me actually sign a contract?” Karina asks, puzzled about the need to meet up on campus specifically to set your boundaries. The truth is, anywhere else that wasn’t school would be a distraction.

“Of course not,” you say, baffled at the idea yourself. “Dad usually did the paperwork, and that seems really weird.”

“So is having sex shortly after saving the damsel in distress,” she says, smirking through each word, mentally patting herself on the back for that remark.

Shaking your head in disgust, she laughs at your annoyed expression. That never gets old.

“Right—so what are we then?” Karina leans forward, grabbing your stretched out hand, her eyes widening. She’s looking to kiss you—at least that’s what her face is doing.

Ruminating through your next words carefully, occasionally giving the corner behind her a glance, her friends running through your mind, you reply, “Let’s just say I’m your benefactor for now. I don’t really want anyone to get surprised, and let’s just say, I’m not ready to handle everything just yet. But I want to stay close with you.”

“So we’re friends?”

“Yeah, if that’s how you want to see it.”

“Then there’s no need for this. Aren’t we already close?”

“Well I’m giving you money and clothes, in addition to letting you come over to my place once a week, so—”

Karina tugs your hand forward, interrupting you. “I don’t really need any of this. I just want you to treat me like anyone else. Like a friend. Just do that.”

You end up choking on your own words. Even when she’s admonishing you, Karina remains gentle in tone. And she knows how to bring the conversation around gracefully.

“So, what do you say we go out and have a snack later? After class?”

With a lovely face and smile like hers, you’d be foolish to refuse her offer.

As the bell rings, you’re nodding in agreement when everyone stands up in unison, heading off to their next class. Karina leaves to regroup with her friends, but not without giving you a kiss goodbye as she walks through the door. You can only stare back—smiling.

Then you get a notification on your phone. A text from an anonymous number, seemingly demanding something urgently in all caps. Something about delayed shipments, but that’s the least of your concerns right now.

Paying no heed to the message, you’re cancelling your plans for today to make room for your first date with Karina.

—————

(A/N: Thank you for the commission! Was supposed to drop around Christmas, but then the holidays got busy, and then literally the day after Christmas, my dumbass just had to get food poisoned and hospitalized. Oof. Just poor timing all around, damn.

Fun little prompt, I was feeling a little edgy writing this, not gonna lie. Definitely left some clues for when I wanna revisit it. Karina is unfathomably hot, and I'm starting to like aespa a lot lately. They've probably had the best year of any girl group, and it's well deserved. Thank you for reading!)

#kpop smut #aespa smut #karina smut #aespa #karina

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stylesispunk · 3 months ago

Text

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.”

+++++++++++

Tags 💌: (if you want to be removed feel free to tell me. I'm super shy when it comes to tags. By the way I couldn't tag everyone)

@greenwitchfromthewoods @joeldjarin @picketniffler @sptbear @bambisweethearts @immyowndefender @nobodyssfool @behomewhenthestreetlightscomeon @idkwhylou @jasminedragoon @ro-nahime-things @hduuc56 @mamustreads @itsafullmoon @tuquoquebrute @ccmoonshine

#marcus acacias x reader #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius x f!reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x reader #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius fic #marcus acacius #gladiator 2 fic #gladiator 2 #gladiator 2 fanfiction #pedro pascal #marcus acacius smut #general acacius x you #general acacius

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buttercuparry · 7 months ago

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It is deeply sickening how even privacy has become a luxury for palestinians who are fundraising on this website. Since October 7th, Gazans have had to document their own genocide at great cost to themselves for no fault of their own; they have had to risk their lives to show you the bombings; they have had to record themselves bleeding.

They have had to show the tremendous personal loss they have suffered and their grief of it - all so that the Zionist narrative wouldn't be the only thing that gets peddled around in the digital space. But it seems like the more the months pass, and the atrocities keep mounting - the more people in the online space become desensitized to the suffering, and in fact are convinced that they are owed these documentation to even begin to care ( it has become especially clear after the recent smear campaign that put the entire demographic under horrible scrutiny ).

It is honestly so disgustingly voyeuristic to me- this demand to be allowed into someone’s grief so that you can be convinced that they too are of flesh and blood, to demand that they put their suffering on display for your judgement on their authenticity, to put the burden on THEM to do the work of breaking you out of your easy apathy towards their suffering.

For months, my friend Siraj Abudayeh ( @siraj2024 ) has tried to protect his and his family’s privacy. For months he has talked of Gaza and given you updates as is his capacity as a journalist. He thought that this would be enough for the people to understand just how much his family has to fight everyday to survive. But it seems like that didn't really cut it for a lot of users on tumblr, because his fundraiser stagnates every 12 hours when his updates stop circulating around tumblr.

So as much as it pains him to share this with an apathetic audience that may very well scroll past this post- he has agreed to talk a bit about his precious son, Amir, who has fallen sick with an infectious skin disease.

So don't you dare ignore this!!

You have demanded that Siraj perform; that he prove that he is a real person with a real family to protect- so here is Siraj with a story about his son. It is a reflection of how desperate he feels to willingly give up the privacy he fought to protect for months. So you better pay attention now!

Siraj's son Amir is a stubborn boy. It is impossible to move him from his position once he is convinced of something. This also makes him competitive and Siraj is proud to say that Amir had been on his school’s swimming team. “First level in the swimming course,” Siraj tells me with obvious pride. Amir has an exceptional ability to memorize too- quickly moving through his lessons and thus almost always having a place in the school celebrations of outstanding students.

Amir is stubbornly kind too. Amidst the bombings - this little boy didn't think of only saving himself. He carried his cat Jimmy all the way from the North of Gaza to the South. In Siraj’s words: He did not leave Jimmy for a moment, not even to take his shoes off, when it tore after hours of walking.

The two month old cat died a month into their displacement - with no food available, Amir had to watch his beloved pet waste away, desperate and yet unable to help in anyway. Tell me now, is this horrifying tidbit sufficient documentation of Amir’s unchilding? Is this enough?

Or do you also want to know of the shock Amir received on learning that his cousins have been martyred? Will you make Siraj describe this in all of its horrifying detail too? How his child has lost so much of his childhood to this war when he should be studying, going to school, and playing with his brothers and friends instead?

Their books, their school, their pet, their toys have all been lost in this genocide. Do they have to lay out all the indignities they are facing at your feet, do they have to lose the litle privacy they have left in that cramped, pest-ridden tent of theirs to convince you to not turn the other way?

Tell me what will finally be enough to make you pay attention?? What would be enough to convince you that Siraj’s survival fund is as much an emergency as all the other evacuation funds ?? I will ask him to share and we can all lay it out for you, because apparently some of you need a record of all that suffering presented to you like its a portfolio to give a fuck.

Siraj is tired, his wife Halima is too. Amir and his siblings have lost so much of themselves during these past 10 months. None of them are the people they used to be, and it is something they will carry for the rest of their lives!!

So please!

Please if Siraj has performed enough for you, then fucking donate to his campaign.

He has been fundraising from June!!! He has talked to hundreds of people and has bonded with enough of them to be considered a personal friend of theirs. Many have even agreed to share his story and many others have offered to hold commissions and raffles for him- but despite this, he still hasn't even crossed the halfway mark of his campaign yet!! What can a handful of friends do? When the mass of tumblr population isn't convinced of his suffering!

Amir is in constant pain right now due to the infection- and his brothers are beginning to show similar symptoms as him. They are all very unwell.

The money would go to helping Amir and his brothers survive!!

I can't tell you how frustrating it is to see this everyday when i personally know just how much Siraj sacrifices to make his presence known here- from braving the 3km route when he can get caught in crossfire- all so that he may have a hotspot connection at an exorbitant price. It burns away the money that might have gone into acquiring food and water.

WE ARE RUNNING OUT OF TIME!!!

SIRAJ NEEDS TO GET TO 40K WITHIN THIS WEEK SO THAT WE CAN BEGIN TO WORK TOWARDS THE LATTER HALF OF THE CAMPAIGN.

THIS IS URGENT. SIRAJ NEEDS TO MOVE ONTO HIS NEXT GOALS AS SOON AS POSSIBLE TO GET HIS KIDS TO SAFETY!

PLEASE DONATE ANY AMOUNT YOU CAN SPARE, THIS CANNOT WAIT.

Every MINUTE, every SECOND we delay meeting his goal, it costs siraj and his family more than some of us will ever understand.

Please help him out. It is the least we can do right now-> vetting at 219 on Hussein's spreadsheet.

#free palestine #free gaza #all eyes on rafah

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flowersforthemachines · 3 months ago

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Some facts about Neve (and Tevinter) gathered from the banters

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Bellara, Davrin, Harding, Lucanis, Emmrich, Taash. I'm also planning a post about just the Lighthouse some time later

About Neve:

General:

Neve isn’t rich, and her best coat is a gift from a grateful tailor after she saved his warehouse from an arsonist

Neve’s coat is woven with enchantments to resist fire and lighting

Neve has never done blood magic. She is against it on principle and judges those who use it

Neve doesn’t seem to like entertaining extreme hypotheticals since she reacts to Harding’s questions like “What would you take with you to a deserted island?” with asking why she would end up in such situations in the first place

Neve wouldn’t want gems on her leg, because she thinks they would get stolen within a day of working in Minrathous, and she generally prefers to keep a low profile while on the job

However, she still considers saving up for a new, fancier leg to have more fashion choices. She likes Taash’s idea of getting a ruby inlay for it

Neve never visited Rivain before joining the Veilguard, though she now finds its beaches charming

Ever since she was a baby, Neve was stubborn and asked too many questions (and hated unanswered questions as well)

Neve likes Qunari food but thinks it’s very spicy

Neve likes seafood

Neve doesn't drink tea

Neve isn’t really close with her family

Neve once tried to use a wisp-repelling artefact the Veil Jumpers found to get rid of the wisps in her room, but it only attracted wisps from the entire Lighthouse

Neve isn’t interested in exploring the mysteries of the Lighthouse because she has enough mysteries on this side of the Veil

(If Rook chooses to save Minrathous) Neve sends civil engineers to assist in Treviso

On work:

Neve didn’t want to be a detective when she was a child (not as if in she didn’t like the idea, she just didn’t consider it), though she didn’t have any dream career either

Neve got into detective work by picking up odd jobs and building a reputation of being good at finding things. Eventually, she was hired to find someone’s brother, a case nobody else wanted to pick up, and her career took off

Neve agrees that she is cynical and married to her job, but doesn’t consider herself ‘serious’

Neve allegedly has a system for sorting her papers (Emmrich and Rana are sceptical about its existence)

(If Neve becomes Dock Town's protector) Elek is implied to visit the Lighthouse again multiple times. Taash mentions seeing him poking around the library. Neve explained that he thought he could grab some fade-touched items to sell, and told him to run the plan by the Caretaker (one would think they did not approve)

On life in Minrathous:

Neve was born and raised in Minrathous

Neve has never been inside the Archon’s Palace

(If Neve chooses to become Dock Town’s inspiration) Neve doesn’t regret letting Aelia live because she got information on Venatori out of her, and her death wouldn’t change the past

(If Neve chooses to become Dock Town’s inspiration) Neve gets to take a break for once in her life because Rana keeping an eye on the Dock Town actually helps

(If Neve chooses to become Dock Town’s inspiration) People gossip about Neve and Rana after they start their agency :)

Neve describes the rain of Minrathous as "cold fingers down your neck", but she misses it now that she's away from the city. The sound helps her fall asleep

Neve’s entire apartment could fit inside villa Dellamorte’s dining room

One of Tevinter papers referred to Neve as "Dock Town dirt-chaser," and to Emmrich as "sinister foreign necromancer”

A Tevinter paper called The Minrathous Herald once wrote that Neve should be exiled. The same paper called Shadow Dragons “traitors to the Empire”

Neve never runs out of ink because she's on good terms with Minrathous ink sellers

There is however one banter where she runs out of ink (I think it was with Davrin). Make of that what you will.

On the Shadow Dragons:

Neve didn't know Dorian personally until she joined the Shadow Dragons

Neve figured out the Viper's identity even before joining the Dragons. Her not revealing it to the public is one of the reasons he recruited her

Tarquin calls Neve a pain in the ass

Relationships with companions:

Neve calls Manfred ‘Fred’ (he seems to like that)

Manfred learns to say Neve's name (likely only happens if you revive him at the Necropolis, though I am not sure)

Neve introduces Lucanis to a spice shop in Dock Town

Harding describes Neve’s tastes in coffee as “made of gutter water filtered through an old sock”

Lucanis once showed Neve’s coffee to Viago. He found it “unsettling”

Davrin thinks drinking Neve's coffee is worse than the Joining

Neve spoils Assan (but denies that accusation)

Neve is rather quick to consider questioning corpses with Emmrich’s help for her cases

Neve is very apprehensive about lichdom and the perspective of Emmrich eventually turning evil (just like Emmrich isn't thrilled about her taking over the Threads for similar reasons)

Lucanis is concerned about Neve taking over the Threads. Mainly, about how much they are paying her

Neve has multiple banters with Taash discussing her relationship with Lucanis. Taash initially thinks of it as some sort of predator-prey dynamic, but Neve says she is not into that and explains that they are taking it slow and cautious. They both went through a lot of pain in their lines, which they tend not to show for different reasons

Neve's relationship with Lucanis is also more than she usually looks for with people

Neve takes Taash to Hal’s fish fry stand. Taash loved it :)

Taash offers Neve help on ladders in case she may need it/it gets stuck on steps due to being hook-shaped, mentioning they knew a Lord of Fortune who lost a hand and whose shoulders hurt while climbing because of it. Neve seems to appreciate the gesture, even though she can handle herself

Neve thinks Taash is nice to work with, offering help without being overbearing like some people are

Neve asks Taash to teach her Gold Thief (a Lord of Fortune dice game), so she can play it with the Shadow Dragons, and then subsequently gets beaten by the Viper

On Tevinter:

Fashion is important in Tevinter because a good outfit lets people know you are under the protection of someone powerful

There aren’t many mages in Docktown, which is one of the reasons the government doesn’t care about it

The big red cat near Halos’s stand is named Ferdinand

Stains on clothes can be cleaned with magic

You can get pineapples anywhere in Minrathous

Neve calls the magic used for the lights in Minrathous a party trick, but Emmrich considers it a high-level enchantment because of its quality and duration

Tevinter doesn’t regulate the charms sold in the market (which is why there are a lot of scammers who sell fakes)

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #neve gallus #taash #lucanis dellamorte #veilguard spoilers #datv banters #emmrich volkarin #meta #references #flowers.txt #mourn watch #flowers blogs

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daycourtofficial · 23 days ago

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Tell me I’m the only, only, only, only one - part six

Pairing: Eris x Azriel x reader | WC: 4.2k | warnings: general angst, mentions of dizziness and nausea

Summary: you wake up only to find out you were unconscious much longer than anticipated, leading to multiple needed confrontations

Author’s note: I’ve been a bit MIA lately 😅 just throwing this out in the void before going through my dms/inbox. I’m soooo excited for the next part

Previous part | Next part | Masterlist

You didn’t need to open your eyes to know how bad your head hurt. It felt impossibly heavy, practically glued to the pillow beneath you. You weren’t entirely sure your neck could hold up its weight anymore. You groaned, not really certain where you were. You combed through the last things you remembered, all of it a blur of blood and exhaustion, none of it clear.

“Do you want to tell me what’s been going on with you?”

A low female voice greeted you, receiving only a grunt in response. Thinking was hard and it only caused the throbbing in your head to worsen. You weren’t entirely sure who was talking to you or why, but you focused all of your energy trying to remember what happened.

All you could remember was blood and pain, a tiredness that you carried in your bones. There was arguing and arrows and Eris. Slowly more and more came back to you until you sat up, wincing at the sudden change, nearly nauseous from the movement.

“Azriel? How’s Azriel?” Your eyes cracked open to find your room around you, albeit slightly cleaner than when you had left it. The still room was a sharp contrast to how you felt inside. Nesta was sitting in a chair next to your bed, a book in her lap, a finger marking her place in it.

She didn’t look happy to see you, nor did she seem to care that you were awake.

“He’ll be fine, thanks to you it would seem.”

You groaned, falling back onto the bed. The suddenness was something you had not learned from when sitting up. Now the room was slightly spinning before you shut your eyes tight, hoping for some reprieve. You rubbed your eyes harshly until you saw stars.

“It would also seem like you almost burnt out saving him.”

Burnt out.

It was something they warned all healers, magic or not. There is a breaking point. A point of no return. It’s happened to many healers over the centuries, especially during times of war, when they don’t quite know their own limits.

Something all healers learn is the whereabouts of their magical limitations, where they need to stop before doing serious damage to themselves. All healers were taught not to place someone else’s life above your own. It’s drilled into your heads, one of the first rules of practicing the healing arts.

But you had done it. You had placed Azriel’s life above your own without even a second thought.

The pained look that was on Eris’s face was enough to keep you from crumbling from that realization.

For hours, you placed Azriel’s healing above yourself. You made the choice over and over again, choosing him over yourself. You made the right call. You would do it again. You could handle a broken bond, but not a dead one.

Maybe this one sided devotion was proof enough you were making the right decision.

“I’m sure you have a better understanding than I do of how stupid and reckless that is, and yet you still did it.” Nesta’s voice wasn’t the happy, soothing voices you usually hear patient’s families spoke with after they wake up. If you heard someone chastising a patient after waking, you’d chew their heads off. Instead, you stayed quiet, just watching Nesta as she continued on.

“For weeks now, I have sat idly by as you spiraled into self-destruction, but I can’t do so anymore.” Her voice cracked with each word, betraying the anger she was trying to inject into each word. “You are my friend, and I care so much about you. I’m worried about you.”

Her concern cracked at your heart. She crumpled into herself, bringing a hand up to her mouth. She looked uncomfortable, like her body had been glued to the chair and was finally unfolding itself from strange positions to find comfort.

“I’m fine, Nesta.” You were groggy, nauseous, and a bit heartbroken, but you’d be fine. Azriel was alive, you were going to be mateless, but you’d be fine.

Her eyebrows pinched together, a look of annoyance crossing over her features. You weren’t sure if it was over your words or interrupting her.

“I haven’t been there for you as I should. I thought you needed space, and now you’re here.” She spat out the last word, but you knew she wasn’t talking about being confined to your room.

“How long was I out?” You had to stop Nesta’s spiraling and get a handle on the situation. Madja wasn’t here to tell you what had happened, but surely you could parse out your state from a few questions Nesta should know the answers to.

“Four days.”

Nesta must be wrong. Surely there was no way you were incapacitated for four whole days. That was ridiculous. But you looked over Nesta, taking in the purple bags beneath her eyes, her hands fisting into the fabric of her wrinkled dress.

She wouldn’t lie about that.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” And you hadn’t. You hadn’t thought of anyone except for Azriel and Eris for several hours, all of your attention on the two males. When you weren’t examining Azriel for his condition, your gaze would end up floating to wherever Eris was.

But now neither of them are here, just you and Nesta.

“You didn’t scare me. I was terrified. I thought you were gone, thought you wouldn’t wake up.”

“Nesta, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Wasn’t that bad?” She repeated your words with a venom that had you recoil, preparing yourself for the strike. “You were wailing in Cassian’s arms in the foyer. You were inconsolable until you passed out. Madja’s been here nearly every hour to check on you.”

Shit. If Madja was making hourly rounds, you were in worse shape than you thought. Hourly rounds meant you must have been practically knocking on death’s door.

“What happened out there? What happened when you were with Azriel and Eris?” Nesta was practically pleading, desperate for some kind of answer. She was like a dog, a scent stuck in her nose until she nosed her way to the truth. You wanted to break, tell her everything.

Until you’re struck by the memory of Eris’s hand, pushing through Azriel’s wings, finding you. How tight his grip was, he warm his skin had been.

“We were ambushed. Azriel took the brunt of it. We healed him and came straight back here.” You absentmindedly rubbed at your wrist

“But you were gone for hours. You should have winnowed back.”

“Eris winnowed us somewhere. He was in bad shape, so I fixed him. How’s Azriel?” You needed to know more about his condition. Nesta said he’d be fine, but did that include any long term effects? How much had your healing helped him?

“He’s resting, but he’ll be fine.” She crossed her arms, her fingers tapping on her arm, not telling you much more than she already had. You were sure this was her punishing you, by leaving you in the dark on Azriel.

“If he wasn’t fine after you nearly killed yourself to save him, I’d resuscitate both of you to kill you myself.” You hadn’t realized you forgot to respond until she chastised you.

“Nesta-“

“You both were gone for hours. It was supposed to be quick. None of us realized until Rhysand couldn’t get through to either of you.”

You blinked, surprised at that. Eris must have had some form of protection put around the cabin that stopped Rhysand.

Interesting.

“And now you’re telling me next to nothing.”

“I just woke up. I can hardly recall it all myself, okay?” A lie. You remembered all of it clearly. The splintering wood, having to carefully remove the arrowheads, all of the blood gushing from him, Eris’s quick remarks.

“Did you fuck him?” The question was quick and unexpected, and you nearly snapped your neck with how quickly you looked at her.

“Who, Eris?” She didn’t move, didn’t give away any slight movement. Still as a statue as yiur heart began beating faster.

“Yes, Eris. You reek of him these days. I won’t tell the others, but I need to know.” His name on her tongue sent a rush through your body, your jaw ticking in annoyance.

“Yes Nesta, I fucked him while Az was bleeding out.” The barb was quick on your tongue, this conversation raising your heckles and irritating you more than anything. Nesta’s eyes hardened for a flash, a mischievous glint in them before she softened ever so slightly, her voice turning from admonishing to conspiratorial in a manner of seconds.

“Do you think he’s a selfless lover?”

“No.” The response was too quick, too ready on the forefront of your mind, something that didn’t go unnoticed by your friend. “I imagine he’s selfish in every aspect of his life.”

“So you imagine it?”

“Nesta.” Her name was sharp from your mouth, a knife slicing across the room. She took a more defensive stance, approaching your bed. A knowing smirk overtook her features for just a moment before it quickly contorted into one of concern and annoyance.

“Mother’s sake, tell me something, anything.” Nesta was pleading at this point, uncaring at the vulnerability and guilt she was sure was all over her face.

“I can’t.”

“You can tell me anything. Are you in danger?”

“No.”

“Well, I don’t know! You’re avoiding everyone, you're being self destructive, you’re spending a lot of time with Eris of all fae. What am I supposed to think?” She was pacing now, her footfalls back and forth across your floor, an anxious rhythm that only dug the secret deeper and deeper inside of you.

“Nesta, I can’t tell you.”

“I’m not accepting that.”

“What?” Her concern was shifting into nosiness. You clenched your hands in frustration, nails digging into skin harsh enough to leave marks.

“It’s not good enough.”

Rage was coiling inside of you, a ferocity nipping at your fingertips begging to be let out. You had to swallow down a growl from slipping out, the territorial feeling nearly consuming you.

You had to stall her. Get her out of here before you exploded before her.

“Give me a month to figure things out. I’ll be honest with you then.”

“A week.” You sighed through your nose. Of course Nesta was going to barter with you. Your left hand felt warm. A small trickle of blood was about to stain your sheets, no doubt.

“Two weeks.”

She looked to the window, her face blank as she thought over your offer. She was taking this almost too seriously, as if it were hostage negotiations or preparing for war.

“Fine. Fourteen days from now you’re telling me everything.” She pointed a long finger at you, the agreement weighing the air down. You felt a shift in the room, uncertain of the magical perimeters of your verbal agreement.

You released your hand, grabbing the pillow behind you. You didn’t care about the blood as you held the soft material to your face and screamed.

Members of the Inner Circle trickled in throughout the day, each one wanting to see for themselves you were awake and had all your faculties about you. It was sweet, but by the time you had seen Cassian and his boisterous laugh, your head was pounding so hard it made the soft lights in your room appear blinding.

Feyre had come in a few hours after Cassian, boxes loaded in her arms as she came into your room. You were a bit groggy, having just woken from a nap in the hopes it would tampen your migraine.

It half worked.

“What is all that?”

The boxes shuffled in Feyre’s arms, ringing and tingling with each step.

“Well, I wanted to bring some jewelry to look over for the gala in a few weeks.” You had completely forgotten about it, had forgotten that one of the days you were incapacitated was a scheduled day for you, Feyre, and Mor to go dress shopping.

“Thanks, Fey. Sorry for missing-” she shushed you, not letting you finish your apology. She spread the boxes across your bed, gently lifting the lid of each one to reveal exquisite necklace after exquisite necklace. Each one contained more vibrant jewels, shinier than the last.

The eight boxes practically blinded you with the light coming in. Feyre noticed the squint in your eye and quickly closed the curtains.

“They're gorgeous, but I haven’t even picked a dress.”

“Maybe you could pick a dress after you pick the jewels. Black goes with everything, so..” she trailed off, sitting in the seat next to you, her back straight. She watched you eagerly, her eyes flitting between you and the pile of jewels before you.

“Are you wearing any of these?”

“No - Rhys surprised me with some onyx pearls. Want them on full display.” She reached a hand up to her throat, as if feeling for the necklace. It was pretty easy to figure out exactly what Feyre meant - skin, and lots of it, on display. She was much quicker to adapt to fae views on modesty than you had anticipated.

“Oh, well in that case.” You sat up a bit straighter, moving slowly to avoid as much pain as possible. Each necklace must have been worth a pile of gold marks.

A few of them looked quite similar - chunky gemstones of varying colors set in different metals. One necklace did catch your eye. You kept looking over to it, the other ones looking dull and lifeless in comparison. Deep red stones perfectly set to resemble Night Court jasmines. The dark red nearly looked black until the light hit it, refracting rays of red. The stones branched out, weaving around the neck to create multiple flowers connected by leaves.

You couldn’t stop looking at the necklace, your hand gently rubbing across it.

“Do you like that one?”

Feyre had a knowing look as she watched you, but you didn't turn to see it.

“Yes. I do.”

A few more visitors came and went - Madja (again), Rhysand, Mor. Each one not the shadowsinger you wanted to see. Maybe it was better to wait. Build your strength up a bit before shattering your heart.

Rhysand and Mor could both tell your head wasn’t with them. Rhys accepted it, leaving you to your thoughts, but Mor lingered, her never ending stories an attempt at distracting you. The attempt half worked - at least now only every other thought was about Azriel.

But most of the other ones were about Eris.

Your friends tried to help clear your mind, but all your thoughts whirled and swirled with fire and shadow, bright and vibrant colors immediately snuffed out by the darkness.

Everyone told you Azriel was fine. But where was he? You felt unsettled, unable to truly concentrate without seeing him.

You glanced over to your bedside table, the book on broken mating bonds practically laughing at your turmoil.

You went over what to expect again, trying to see if you can recall all the symptoms and long term side effects of the broken bond, repeating them to yourself like a mantra.

It wasn’t until the next day you saw Azriel. He had gently knocked on the door before coming in, each movement slow and unsure, as if approaching a wild animal.

“I had heard rumors you were awake. Wanted to check for myself.” He stood with the door to his back, as far away as possible from you. One hand on the knob, but his body was angled right at you.

You couldn’t think of anything to say, only stare at him outright.

Azriel looked beautiful, like always, but he carried a tiredness with him. His wings weren’t as high as they usually stood, his shoulders were caved in a bit. His shadows were slithering in every direction, all trying to reach you, but held back by some invisible tether.

He looked miserable.

“If you don’t want me here, I can go.” Azriel’s voice was soft, an echo in the dark woods late at night. A salvation or a new fear.

“Have you visited while I was asleep?” You didn’t want to tell him how much you wanted him here, how much you still thought of him.

So what if you were going to stretch out the last few minutes of your bond.

“Madja wouldn’t let me. She had Cassian and Mor practically guarding the door day and night to ensure I stayed put until completely recovered.” He scoffed as he said it, as if he were nothing more than an animal incapable of decisive thought.

Or they didn’t think he was the coward he had been for the past few weeks. They thought him capable of seeing you.

And yet here he was. Despite his self-loathing, his inability to make a decision, to speak, to do anything his mates need him to.

He wanted to be the male his mates needed.

“I wanted-“ he began, searching the room for his next words, as if they would be written out on your wardrobe or the painting behind your head. He tightened his hand into a fist, the scars nearly turning white as he looked at you head on.

“I wanted to thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. It’s my job.”

“It’s not your job to nearly die saving me.”

“I would have done it for anyone else.” The second the words left your lips, you knew Azriel wouldn’t believe them. He always knew when you were lying somehow, as if the mating bond gave him some unfair advantage to your heart and motivations.

Azriel only nodded, not fighting you on the lie. You watched him suspiciously, watched his chest rising and falling, subconsciously counting his breaths.

“Are you tired?”

He looked anguished, like he carried a deep hunger and no meal was enough to sustain him, let alone nourish him.

“No.”

“Nesta said you needed more rest.”

“Nesta lies when it suits her.”

An awkward silence settled over the two of you, weighing you down further into the bed. You took a deep breath, propping yourself up on your elbows until you reached a sitting position. You knew what you had to do, what you had to say. It wouldn’t get easier the longer this went on. Azriel moved to your side, moving pillows to give you a proper cushion and to help prop you up.

“We should talk, Az.” He looked over you, the pillows abandoned as all of his attention was focused on you. You held your hands in your lap, wringing them for every ounce of courage they contained to get through this conversation. Your stomach churned with dread, the thread around your heart trying to stop you from saying what you had to.

“When you were injured, because of me, I decided it’s not fair to you or me to keep dragging this out. We should end things.” You looked at your hands, proud you had gotten the words out without stuttering or breaking. You swallowed harshly, your throat dry, but you couldn’t bring yourself to reach for the water on your nightstand.

Quiet surrounded you, a stillness you hadn’t expected from this conversation. There were no shouts or sobs, no frustration sitting in your chest. No relief or songs of praise at being free.

Just silence. Like you had made him incapable of thought or feeling with those words.

“Is that what you want? Or is that what you think I want?” His words startled you, and you finally looked up to find a layer of rage coating his face. He had come closer while you were looking elsewhere, finally being in the room, allowing himself in the narrative.

Finally taking charge.

“Isn’t it? What’s the point in having a mate who doesn’t want you?” Your words had an immediate effect on him, the male before you rubbing his hands on his face. One of his shadows hooks around his fingers, trying to pry them away, to make him seen. Another one swirls his ear, and you can’t discern it, but you hear a light buzzing from it.

He sits in the chair next to your bed before quickly getting back up and grabbing one of your clammy hands.

“I have not been good to you or Eris. This is hard, okay? No one has ever had this happen and I didn’t want either of you hurt.”

You scoffed, trying to pull your hand away, but he held it tighter. The textured grooves of his skin were more prominent as he held you. “Bit late for that.”

“Please. Please, give me more time. Give me a chance. Maybe we can figure something out, some kind of arrangement.” He was desperate, a pleading voice you had never heard from him. Was this how criminals of the Night Court looked to him, pleading at the ends of their lives for just one more chance?

“An arrangement?”

“I don’t know, okay? I’m not sure what to do when I have two mates who I care about who also hate each other and they both currently hate me.” He paused, chest heaving. His hazel eyes looked so lost, so unsure. “Not to mention someone out there knows about us or about us being out there. I haven’t been able to figure it out, haven’t been able to figure any of this out.”

The end of his sentence tapered off into his spymaster voice. A tone full of obsession and getting to the root of things, a dogged voice of determination.

“Please, let me take care of you. If not as your mate, as your friend. I care so deeply about you and you are where all my thoughts have been the past few days.”

“What of Eris?” Azriel used to recoil at the mention of his other mate, his name so foreign on your tongue. Now he showed no change, almost happy to hear it.

“He’s popped in now and then. He’s angry with me for getting hurt.” The mention of it sent you back there. A large, heavy body nearly crushing you in an effort to save you. Hoe you had felt him slump into you, his body giving out, unable to hold himself up any longer.

“Is he upset you shielded me?”

“Eris would be more upset if I shielded him. Autumn males are incredibly proud creatures.”

“As proud as Illyrians?” Your question brought a smirk to his lips, a twitch you knew he couldn’t suppress. You hadn’t seen it in a few weeks, but it felt more like a lifetime since you had a chance to see anything other than impassiveness or pain on his face.

“Almost.” He chuckled, lighthearted and free. A rarity you didn’t take for granted. His smile melted, a more serious, solemn expression overtaking his face. His hazel eyes were a shade full of desperation you knew a little too well.

“Give me time. Please. I’ll handle Eris. Just don’t - don’t reject the bond if you have an ounce of hope this could work. That’s not a sadness I wish to see you carry.”

“Why are you talking to me about this now? You’ve been avoiding this for weeks, Az.”

“I was afraid. I thought if I acknowledged it, I'd be hurting Eris. But I hurt both of you anyway. And I need-” the words die on his tongue, an awkward pause as he searches for the right words without being too vulnerable. “I need to- I needed to.. I don’t know how to do this. To be the male you both need. But I’m here now. I’m here.”

“Are you here because you have to be?”

“No. I want to be here. Let me be here. Let me try.”

Something about him cracked you open inside. In the weeks of this turmoil, the constant push and pull, the uncertainty, Azriel hadn’t looked so open, so vulnerable, so pained. If you spent long enough, you were sure you could map out every regret on his face.

Two roads laid before you. To end it all now, cut off any further heartache. Or you could try, allow Azriel time to figure something out.

He cared for you, you knew that deep inside of you.

With each passing second, your earlier resolve to end things became weaker and weaker, your heart winning the argument with your mind. Perhaps Nesta was right: you were self-destructing. Or was it the mating bond, so loudly swirling in your chest, determined to see itself recognized, even if it meant leading you overboard into frigid waters?

“You may stay. One condition.”

Azriel’s face relaxed, but he still seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, your words only lifting a few pounds off the load.

“You can’t leave at any inconvenient time, can’t just leave or shut me out because things get hard. I am your mate, and if you don’t treat me as an equal, or someone of importance… I’m gone.”

“Of course.” A light tingle gripped you again, less powerful than the magic that had floated around during your deal with Nesta. This time it was more like a light wind disturbing settled dust, spreading it across the both of you. Azriel’s skin almost brightened with the promise, breathing new life into him.

It suited him.

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#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel x you #acotar writing #azriel x y/n #azriel angst #azriel x eris x reader #azriel x reader x eris #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x y/n #eris x reader #eris vanserra fanfiction #eris x you

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chosove · 2 months ago

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*tw!!! daddy kink!!! + a lotttt of size kink stuff!!! fem bodied reader*

I know he gets such a like…almost ‘selfish lover’ rep but in my humble daddy issue biased opinion, toji would 100% talk you through it like…

Everyone already finds him so intimidating, if not from his stature and general appearance, its his gruff voice and combative personality. He doesnt even mean to do it, he just always has that trademark scowl on his face that makes people afraid to say excuse me in grocery stores :(

Not you though, you still served him with your bright smile as he checked out of the store. You asked how he was and giggled at his flirty response of ‘why, ya wanna make my day better?’. I mean…other than his kids he never had people willingly make small talk with him, let alone laugh at his old man jokes.

Godddd he just gets so flustered when you look at him with your big doe eyes and say have a fantastic day :(

Thats why when he sees you on the dating app megumi downloaded for him (against his will), he feels his heart skip a beat. I just know he’s all nervous, thinking how dirty he is as a self proclaimed ‘old man’ finding such a pretty young thing attractive- i mean you could literally be his daughter. All these worried thoughts flitted through his head while he tried to decide, not realizing his thumb was just a littttttlllleeeee too close to the screen as he accidentally matched with you.

Oh.

I mean it was an accident for him, but was it an accident for you? It couldnt be if you were texting him already, a message reading “hey there stranger :)” popping up on his phone.

And when you liked his simple response of “Hello.”, responding with “anything i can do to make your night better, toji?”, that couldnt just be a typo or misclick, right?

You made him feel like a teenager again, the butterflies he felt only becoming more intense when you asked him to come over n’ tell you in person :( he nearly jumped out of his skin trying to get ready, hands fumbling with that pinstripe button-up he’d been saving for something special (gumi’s grad or….i guess his first date in forever). It was only at times like this he wished he had someone to call to help him chill out.

Maybe after tonight that’d be you though? He hoped so at least, and even when you pulled him into your apartment, pushing him on the couch while he stuttered about getting to know each other first, he knew you were the girl for him.

It did take a while for him to actually get up to your speed- he didnt wanna break you or anything. You were just so, so desperate for him, tugging at his shirt while you grinded your clothed cunt against his beefy thighs, filthy words coming out of your mouth only making it harder for toji to take it slow with you.

“God you’re so big toji, feel like even jus’ your fingers can split me in half.”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you, knew you’d treat me better than all the guys my age. Ya gonna fuck me right toji? Please?”

“C’mon toji…know you wanna breed me, bet it’ll only take one time for me to give you a baby. D’you want that daddy?”

It was no later you said that word that he was picking you up, throwing you onto the tiny mattress your studio apartment held. Yeah, he definitely wasnt getting out of this alive- but neither were you judging by the way his big hands began to unbuckle his belt, unzipping the pants you so graciously left a giant wet stain on, the outline of his cock in his boxers making your mouth water.

“See what ya do to me, pretty?” His deep voice spoke, one hand giving his throbbing dick a few much-needed strokes while he stared down at you like a wolf. “Nothin’ to say anymore, hm? C’mon, i liked hearing it all.”

He hadnt even pressed himself against you before you let out a whine, his hands resting themselves on your sides already being enough to make your hips jump. If it weren’t for the fact he was now intent on hearing more of those pretty sounds from you, he’d have let out a whine himself from how soft your skin felt against his worked hands. And when he slowly pulled your panties down your thighs, clenching his jaw at the sight of strands of wetness sticking to your pussy, he nearly came in his pants.

“Poor girl, bet this sweet pussy hasnt been treated right in forever hm?” The question nearly brought tears to your eyes, both from the truth of it and from the fact he began to thumb at your glistening cunt, the rough pad of his finger being the exact pressure you needed on your pulsing bundle of nerves. “T-toji i might cum alr-”you began, but you werent able to get your sentence out before his hand came down to slap against your cunt.

“What happened to my good girl from earlier? Y’know not to call me toji, little bird. Whats my name?” He whispered against the shell of your ear, fingers covered in your wetness now coming to play with your hard nipples.

Clinging to his shaggy hair like it was your lifeline, you nearly cried out as you came undone for him, the desperate moan of ‘thank you daddy’ falling from your lips. He smiled as you writhed below him, your body convulsing while he let you ride what would be the first of many orgasms that night.

#chosove #jjk drabbles #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #toji drabbles #toji x y/n #toji x you #toji smut #toji x reader

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xothatnerdykid · 5 months ago

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read your mind

You’re a newly minted pro-hero with a quirk that lets you to read the mind of anyone you touch. So imagine your surprise when you accidentally read a certain stoic, brooding hero's mind and find out he doesn't hate you like you thought, but rather, something dangerously close to the opposite.

Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead x fem!reader. NSFW but not very explicit. 5,002 words.

“Your form was sloppy,” he says in lieu of a greeting.

You used to cringe when he’d tell you things like that, become sheepish and apologetic. Now, after months of knowing him, you'd simply smile and quip, “Awww, you watching my saves on the news again?”

You hated bumping into him. He was the reason you tended to leave mission briefings early: the ever-stoic, perpetually unimpressed Pro Hero Eraserhead.

As a relatively new hero working in the same city, you were thrilled at the chance to learn from someone as experienced as him. But your excitement quickly dimmed the first time you met as you noticed his gruff demeanor and critical, scrutinizing gaze.

You knew he was tough on everyone, but there were times when it felt like his criticism was directed at you more than anyone else. And no matter how hard you tried or how much praise everyone else gave you, he always found something to correct.

So, for the sake of keeping your self-esteem intact, you’ve resorted to treating his criticism like a game, teasing him back whenever he dropped one of his classic deadpan remarks. It was either that or crumble under the weight of his seemingly endless disapproval.

But today, all you can muster is a grunt in response, head throbbing from fatigue and chronic sleep deprivation.

“That’s my line,” he says flatly. Because apparently, someone always has to be the cheeky one between the two of you.

“Can we just…” You rub your temple, wincing as the pain spikes. "Can we just not do this today?”

“Are you feeling alright?” His voice loses a bit of its usual sharpness as he steps closer, eyes narrowing in concern. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine,” you huff, waving him off. "Just tired. We can't all function on only ten shots of espresso a day."

"Seven actually. I'm not a maniac. And you don't sound fine."

You roll your eyes, feeling too drained to banter with him. "I said I'm fine. Can you spare me the lecture?"

You mean to walk past him when you feel his hand wrap around your wrist, startling you. Suddenly, there’s that familiar buzz in your mind — your quirk activating with the skin-to-skin contact. The headache momentarily takes a backseat as his thoughts flood in.

Is she really okay? She looks like she’s about to collapse.

Why does she always push herself so hard?

You look up at him, eyes wide and unblinking.

He yanks his hand away as if he’d been burned, the flood of his thoughts abruptly cut off. His dark eyes flicker with something—surprise? Guilt? He takes a step back.

“Sorry,” he mutters, his voice rougher than usual. “Didn’t mean to…”

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. How are you supposed to respond to that? All this time, you thought he was just cold, that he only ever saw your flaws. But just now, he…

He was worried about you?

“I—” you start, but your voice falters. He’s still staring at you, his expression carefully guarded again.

“I’ll see you around. Feel better." His voice is clipped, betraying none of the thoughts you just heard. The words sound so casual, so dismissive, that for a moment you wonder if you imagined it all.

You want to say something to break the tension between you, but you're suddenly nervous. Your heart races, pounding with the weight of this new knowledge. Before you can compose yourself, another hero calls his name, and he mutters a quick response before leaving.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You promised yourself you were going to avoid him like the plague.

Later that day, when you were tossing and turning in bed, still overthinking your last encounter — you promised. You even came up with (what seemed to you) a solid game plan: You were going to focus on hero work so much that you won’t even have the time to think about him, much less see him.

But the mission had gone from bad to worse in a matter of minutes.

What was supposed to be a simple recon had turned into a full-on chase through the streets when the criminal you'd been tracking for weeks unexpectedly showed up at the deal you were sent to bust. Orders be damned, you vaulted over the rooftop ledge and ran after them.

You leaped across buildings, adrenaline spurring you on. Your mind was focused, heart pounding in rhythm with your footfalls. You’d chased this villain twice before, and both times, they’d slipped through your fingers. You weren’t about to let that happen again.

The villain was fast, but so were you. With each bound, you closed the gap, watching as they darted into a narrow alleyway below. This was your chance. Your heart surged as you prepared to drop down and cut them off.

Suddenly, a figure descended from the shadows, blocking your target from your sight. Your stomach dropped.

Of course it was him.

"Stay back. This is too dangerous for you to handle alone.” His voice was firm and authoritative. Even with the goggles on, you could feel his dark eyes trained on you with that same stern expression you’d come to dread.

"Dangerous? I've been on this case longer than you have!”

You stepped forward but so did he.

“I said stay back,” he warned you. “Don’t be reckless. He’s already evaded you twice, and now he’s cornered. Desperate villains do desperate things.”

“He’s getting away! You’re ruining my chance to finally catch him!”

“And you’ll get yourself killed,” Aizawa snapped. “I’m not going to let a rookie run into a trap.”

Anger flared in your chest. You knew he didn’t respect you, hadn’t from the start. Always criticizing, always watching with that disapproving scowl. You try to push past him, but it’s no use. He’s stronger than you, and maybe even more stubborn.

“Wait here and let me handle it,” Aizawa growled, his voice low and commanding. His scarf moved like a serpent around him, a silent warning that he wouldn’t hesitate to use it if you pushed any further.

You clenched your fists but did as you were told. Much to your frustration, the villain was apprehended quickly after that. You watched from the rooftop, fuming as Aizawa cornered them with ease, his scarf tangling around the villain's limbs like it was second nature. Within minutes, the situation was over, and backup arrived to escort the criminal away.

You stayed put, your heart still racing with the adrenaline of the chase and the frustration of being sidelined once again. The cool night breeze did little to calm your heated emotions. It wasn’t fair. You’d been so close, only for him to swoop in like you were some rookie who couldn’t handle their own mission.

Now, you watch as he finishes giving his statement to the police and then make his way towards you.

You cross your arms tightly, readying yourself for whatever critique he’d throw your way this time. But when he stops in front of you, he doesn’t say anything right away. He simply takes off his goggles and looks at you.

His silence is almost worse than his usual condescending remarks. When he finally speaks, his voice is gravelly, strained. More measured than you expected.

"Are you okay?"

You blink. "I…I'm fine," you answer, maybe a bit too defensively.

Aizawa's eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think he’s about to call you out for your tone. But he just stares at you, his expression as unreadable as ever.

You shift on your feet, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. The silence stretches between you both, heavy and awkward, until he exhales and rubs the back of his neck.

"Good," he mutters, his voice softening just slightly, but there’s something behind his eyes—a flicker of something you can’t quite place. His hand lowers back to his side, and as it brushes yours for the briefest moment, something happens.

Skin contact.

Before you can stop it, his thoughts are bleeding into yours, loud and clear.

I should’ve handled that better. She probably thinks I hate her…

Dammit, I don’t want her to hate me.

Your breath catches in your throat. A rush of emotions flood your mind: frustration, concern. Genuine fear.

She doesn’t need to prove herself to me. She’s already good enough. More than good enough.

Heat floods your face, your pulse quickening. He… cares? Before you can process it fully, the connection snaps. A sudden coldness washes over you as your quirk is forcibly erased.

Aizawa’s eyes lock onto yours, his irritation visible in the sharpness of his gaze and the tight line of his mouth.

"I…I didn't mean to," you tell him, your voice barely above a whisper.

Something like uncertainty flickers in his expression, and his hair falls down in waves as he shuts off his quirk, too. His jaw tightens but his brow furrows as though he’s trying to decide what to say.

“I...know you didn’t,” he finally says, his voice low and rough.

You flinch, guilt bubbling up in your chest. “I’m sorry,” you murmur again, dropping your gaze to the ground. You didn’t want to invade his mind, but now you couldn’t unhear what you’d discovered.

Just like before, he turns to leave.

“Wait—” you blurt out, reaching for him instinctively. You don’t know what you’re going to say, but you can’t just let him leave like this. Not again.

He pauses, half-turning to glance at you over his shoulder. Your heart is pounding in your ears. The words are there, but they feel jumbled in your throat, tangled up in the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling through your mind.

“I—I didn’t know. About any of it.”

Your eyes search his face for any sign of what he’s thinking, but his expression remains impassive. You fight back the urge to touch him.

“I thought you couldn’t stand me,” you admit in a small voice.

Aizawa heaves a sigh. His hand rises to pinch the bridge of his nose, and for the first time, you notice how tired he looks; exhausted, worn down in a way that makes him seem more human, less the untouchable figure you’ve always seen him as.

“I’m not trying to be hard on you,” he says after a long pause, his voice softer now, the anger draining away. “But you don’t always think things through, and that’s dangerous. You’re talented. You don’t need to prove anything to me or anyone else.”

His words surprise you, and you look up, meeting his gaze again. There’s no scowl, no biting critique, just honesty. You swallow hard, feeling an odd mix of warmth and discomfort settle in your chest.

Before you can think better of it, your hand moves instinctively, brushing against his arm. You freeze, realizing what you’ve done, but this time, he doesn’t pull away. And though he has every opportunity to, he doesn’t erase your quirk either.

I’m too close to her. The thought is faint, hesitant. She’s already in my head… and it’s getting harder to push her away.

Your breath catches in your throat. He’s not just frustrated with you — he’s frustrated with himself.

You pull your hand back, not wanting to intrude further.

You don’t know what you expect to see on his face; surprise maybe, or even anger. But for the first time since you’ve met him, you see something warmer in his eyes — something that sends a flutter through your chest.

Aizawa takes a half-step closer and your pulse quickens at the proximity. Then, in a voice so soft it’s almost a secret, he murmurs, “Don’t make me worry like that again.”

“I won’t,” you manage to whisper, your heart caught in your throat.

He takes a step back, as if remembering himself, and his usual stern demeanor slips back into place.

“Go home. Get some rest.”

You nod, still too flustered to speak. The warmth of his touch lingers long after he's gone.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It’s well past midnight, the city quiet except for the soft hum of distant traffic and the occasional sound of wind rustling through the streets. Your patrol route brings you to the edge of a quiet park, where you catch a familiar figure standing in the shadows, keeping watch.

“You really like brooding in the dark, don’t you?" You smile at him from over your shoulder, though your usual sarcasm is gone.

“It's my favorite pastime,” he deadpans, but you don't miss the way his dark eyes hold yours a beat too long.

“Right,” you snicker. “The city’s most stoic hero. I bet you even scowl in your sleep.”

Aizawa’s lips twitch, the tiniest of smirks threatening to break through. “You can’t prove that.”

"Oh?” You smile sweetly, batting your eyelashes for good measure. “Something tells me I can.”

His gaze sharpens slightly, and for a moment, you’re sure he’s about to call you out on your teasing. But instead, he steps closer, his tall frame looming over you.

“You’re bold tonight,” he says, his tone somewhere between amused and intrigued. “Careful, I might start thinking you’re actually enjoying my company.”

You bite your lip to keep from smiling any wider. “And what if I am?”

He steps just a fraction closer, and you can feel the heat radiating off him in the cool night air. His voice is low and smooth when he says, “Then I’d have to wonder what it is you think you’re getting yourself into.”

The air between you thickens, the playful banter now laced with something a little more dangerous, a little more exciting.

“You know, I could buy you a coffee sometime,” you offer, hoping to diffuse some of the tension, keep the conversation light. “To say thanks for helping me out with that last mission.”

He pretends to mull it over but, before you can react, he reaches out and grabs the coffee cup you’re holding. He takes a deliberately long sip, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin tingle.

When he lowers the cup, he meets your gaze with a half-lidded look that sends your pulse racing.

“Consider it done.”

Your face feels impossibly warm now, and you’re sure your blush is painfully obvious, but you manage to keep your voice steady as you quip, “An indirect kiss? Maybe you’re the one who needs to be careful, or else other people will start getting the wrong idea.”

With a low laugh, he hands the cup back to you, and the subtle brush of his fingers against yours sets off another wave of his thoughts.

I wonder if she realizes how much I want her.

Your breath catches.

For a split second, you think you might’ve misheard it, but the heat in Aizawa’s gaze as he watches your reaction tells you otherwise. The cup is back in your hand, but your fingers are numb. Your focus is entirely on him, his thoughts still rattling around in your mind.

His lips twitch again. “You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden,” he teases, his voice low, almost a purr. “What’s going on up there? Something I should know about?”

You swallow hard, trying to gather your composure. He’s looking at you like he’s daring you to admit what you heard.

You take a deep breath and decide to play along. “Oh, nothing. Just wondering if you always flirt this shamelessly.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see how you’d react.”

Your heart is racing now, fingers trembling around the cup in your hand. His gaze is dark and intense. Unwavering. He's looking at you like he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you and he’s enjoying it.

Your quirk had always been a double-edged sword; sometimes it revealed things you wished you hadn’t known, and other times it brought clarity to situations that seemed hopelessly opaque.

This time, it left you with a dilemma.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs, as if sensing your thoughts. He’s close enough now that you can feel the warmth of him, his presence overwhelming but not uncomfortable. “Since you’re already in my head…why stop now?”

Your breath hitches. His invitation is dangerous, yet impossible to resist. There are a dozen reasons why you shouldn’t — you work together, it’s an invasion of privacy, you hated his guts just a few weeks ago — but the temptation is too strong, his presence too intoxicating.

Hesitantly, your fingers brush against his once more, and his thoughts flood in again, more intense and vivid this time.

She’s braver than I thought. I like that.

I shouldn’t be doing this. But damn, I can’t stop thinking about her. The way she looks at me…

“Good girl,” he cooes, his voice a low rumble that sends a flutter of excitement through you.

You feel lightheaded, dizzy with the weight of his thoughts, the tension between you at a boiling point. You swallow hard, trying to regain some semblance of control, but the way Aizawa’s eyes are fixed on you — dark, intense, hungry — it’s making it hard to think straight. He wants you to know. He wants you to feel what he’s feeling.

And you do.

You feel everything.

His desire is a palpable thing, hanging in the air between you, electric and heady. You can see it in the way his gaze lingers on your lips, the way his breath hitches ever so slightly when you lean in.

“Hardly seems fair. I don't get to know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.” His voice dips lower, enough to send another wave of heat crashing over you. “Are you going to keep me guessing?”

Your voice wavers slightly, but you manage to respond, “I’m not sure you’re ready for what’s in my head.”

He chuckles, a dark, low sound that makes your stomach flip. “You might be surprised.”

You can barely breathe as he brushes the back of his hand against your jaw, his thumb pressing lightly on the corner of your mouth. You feel his thoughts ripple through you again, even stronger this time.

I want her. God, I want her so badly…

Your knees feel weak, and it takes everything in you not to lose yourself completely in the moment, in him. The tension between you feels unbearable now, as if one wrong move could send you both over the edge. And you’re not sure how much longer either of you can hold back.

Aizawa smirks, just a hint of satisfaction flickering in his expression.

I could kiss her right now. It would be so easy.

The thought lingers between you, thick and heavy, and you can’t tell if it’s yours or his anymore. All you know is that just the idea of his lips on yours is making your entire body hum with anticipation.

Aizawa watches you carefully, as if waiting for your reaction. He knows you heard him, and he’s not backing down.

You swallow hard, the weight of his gaze pinning you in place. “Go ahead then,” your own voice sounds small and distant to your ears, but it’s enough to tip the balance.

His lips are on yours in a second.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if he’s testing the waters, but it quickly deepens as the tension that had been building between you finally breaks. His other hand slides around your waist, pulling you closer, and you feel his thoughts rushing through you again.

God, she tastes even better than I imagined.

Your knees nearly buckle, and you can barely focus on anything except the way his lips feel against yours — firm, warm, demanding yet tender. He’s kissing you like he’s been holding back for far too long.

When you finally pull back for air, your heart is pounding, your breath shaky. Aizawa’s forehead rests gently against yours, his eyes half-closed as he catches his own breath. His thumb brushes lightly over your cheek, a small, affectionate gesture that has you smiling up at him in a tizzy.

“Still think I hate you?” he murmurs, his voice low and full of heat as he slides his hands into the curve of your waist.

You laugh softly, pulling him closer by his scarf. “I think I might need a little more convincing.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The days that follow your little late night tryst at the park are deliciously unbearable.

It’s as if you don’t know how to be around him anymore. There's tension during training sessions. The gym hums with its usual energy, but you can’t focus. Not with him in the room. You’re sparring with someone, half-heartedly dodging and throwing punches, but your mind is elsewhere, replaying the feel of Aizawa’s lips on yours, the heat of his body pressed against you.

Across the room, he’s speaking to a group of trainees, the same unreadable, stoic expression in place. But there's a flicker of something else in his eyes when they briefly meet yours, a look only you recognize.

Your opponent lands a hit on your shoulder and you nearly stumble. You grit your teeth and bring yourself back to the present moment. When the sparring session ends, you grab a bottle of water and try to catch your breath.

He walks over to where you’re sitting off to the side, seemingly doing the same. His voice is low enough so only you can hear. "You're distracted."

You flush, struggling to keep your expression impassive. “And what if I am?”

“Focus, or I’ll have to give you some private training later.”

His words are a promise, dripping with intent, and your blood sings. You can’t find a response quick enough before he’s already pulling away, leaving you flushed and even more distracted.

It’s not much better during night patrol, when the city streets are dimly lit and mostly empty. Although the two of you are supposed to be overseeing different sectors, you know when you turn a corner into a dark alley that he's following silently, closely behind.

You walk deeper into the alley, pretending to scan the area, but the quiet crunch of his footsteps has your heart racing. Just as you’re about to turn back, a hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you into the shadows, away from prying eyes.

You open your mouth to say something, but he’s already on you, crashing his lips against yours.

“You’re making—it hard—for me—to concentrate,” he murmurs between kisses, each word punctuated by the soft graze of his mouth against yours. His hands press against your hips, pinning you gently yet firmly to the wall, and a wave of heat spreads through you.

Suddenly, an image flashes in your mind: him trailing his mouth downwards until he’s on his knees, hooking your leg over his shoulder and eating you out. A thought that isn’t your own.

“You’re one to talk,” you shoot back, though there’s no real bite to it. If anything, your voice is barely steady. “You’re supposed to be patrolling your own area.”

He runs his fingers along your jaw. "And let you wander into dark alleys alone?" He leans in, lips brush against your ear, nibbling. "Not a chance."

He crooks a finger under your chin and tilts your head up, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, his teeth and lips lingering just enough to make you gasp.

I want to taste you. All of you, he thinks. I want you to make a mess on my face, on my fingers, and then lick it clean.

You grab a fistful of his hair and tug. He presses you harder against the wall, and it’s dizzying, intoxicating—

Until the sharp crackle of comms cuts through the haze.

“Report. Any activity?”

You both freeze, breaths mingling, still pressed close. His eyes flick to yours, and there’s a hint of amusement dancing in them.

“Nothing to report,” he says, voice calm and collected as if he hadn’t just been kissing you senseless a moment ago.

You look up at him, dazed and wanting, heart pounding. He tilts his head at you and you realize they’re expecting a response from you, too.

“N-no activity here either,” you manage despite the tightness of your throat.

The comms fall silent once more. Aizawa is looking at you through half-lidded eyes and a self-satisfied smirk. You hate him as much as you really don't.

“We should get back to our routes before someone decides to check on us," he murmurs.

“Oh, so now you’re concerned about protocol?” You arch an eyebrow at him, though you’re sure your flushed cheeks betray any semblance of teasing bravado.

"For now." He leans down to brush the shell of your ear with his lips. "But if you keep looking at me like that, I might just break a few more rules.”

A few days later, you find yourselves seated across from each other during a mission debriefing. The room is full of other pro heroes, but it might as well be empty for all the attention you’re paying to anyone else.

Your thoughts scramble every time Aizawa's knee brushes against yours beneath the table. He, on ther hand, is the picture of composure, listening to the debrief with his usual detached focus.

This meeting’s dragging. I can think of better ways to pass the time with you.

You try to focus on the mission details, but half way through, he moves his hand atop your thigh and you shiver.

How long do you think it’d take if we just slipped out, right now?

You steal a glance at him, and there’s the barest flicker of amusement in his eyes when they meet yours.

You force yourself to look down at your notes, but your mind is elsewhere, his presence impossibly distracting. Fuck it, you think before you slide your foot up his calf.

He sputters a cough, a rare crack in his usually unshakable composure, and you feel a surge of satisfaction. Under the table, his hand tightens on your thigh, his grip firm, almost possessive, and the thrill of it has you biting the inside of your cheek.

Keep doing that and I won’t be responsible for what happens after this.

As the meeting draws to a close, everyone rises to leave, and Shota gives you a barely perceptible nod toward the hallway. You follow at a careful distance until you reach his office, entering a good few minutes after he does so as not to arouse suspicion.

He backs you gently against the door as he locks it behind you, his gaze pinning you in place. His eyes are dark and stormy, with that half-focused look you’ve come to love so much. When he speaks, his voice is soft, a murmur meant only for you. “You’re going to get us caught, you know that?”

You smile up at him sweetly then tip-toe to give him a soft, lingering kiss. "You’re the one who can’t seem to keep things professional,” you coo, your fingers tracing along the collar of his shirt, teasing.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Is that so? Funny, I don’t remember you objecting."

“Of course not,” you confess breathlessly, head thrown back in pleasure as you tug at his hair. You can’t make out the sound of your own voice over the blood thumping in your ears. “Do you know how many times I’ve imagined us doing inappropriate things in your office?”

Your words seem to snap the last of his restraint.

A low growl escapes him, and before you know it, he’s gripping your hips and lifting you just enough to press the hardness of his length against you. You gasp. His mouth finds yours with a raw, pent-up hunger that has you clinging to his shoulders, heart racing wildly.

“And here I was, thinking I was the only one losing sleep over this,” he murmurs between kisses, tugging your bottom lip gently between his teeth.

He pulls you flush against him as his tongue explores your mouth, and you trail your hands down his chest and the ridges of his abdomen just as eagerly. You grind your hips down on his erection and he lets out a deep, guttural groan, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants, his warm, rough hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. “You’re lucky we’re alone.” His tone is half-warning, half-promise, and you can feel his heartbeat racing beneath your hands.

"I know somewhere we wouldn't have to worry about being interrupted," you tell him breathlessly. “My place. Tonight. If you’re up for it.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle, thumb brushing over your lower lip. "I'll clear my schedule.”

#gnawing at the bars of my enclosure for this man #aizawa shota #bnha shota aizawa #shota aizawa x reader #aizawa x reader #mha aizawa #bnha aizawa #aizawa sensei #eraserhead #aizawa imagine #aizawa shota imagine #aizawa shota x you #aizawa shota x reader #aizawa shota x y/n #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #aizawa shouta #aizawa shouta drabble

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sicksorrows · 2 months ago

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more nanami hcs & scenarios !! nsfw & sfw

nanami kento who would shove his fingers down your throat while you're fucking, just so he could hear you struggle.

nanami kento who would cook dinner for you every night. if you ask to cook, he'd make you do the very minimal tasks.

nanami kento who dominates you in bed and acts like a submissive man when you finish having sex

nanami kento who would listen your favourite songs and save them to a secret playlist dedicated to you.

nanami kento ROLE PLAYS. (as much as I hate the thought of professor nanami) he would totally do any type of roleplay: teacher/student, boss/employee, pet/owner, doctor/patient, celebrity/fan and yeah you get it. also he would NOT break character at all.

nanami kento who would take pictures of you before you both head out somewhere

nanami kento who fucks you out of pure jealousy when he sees you talking with someone else, even if its just for a second

nanami kento who changes personalities when hes around you

nanami kento who seduces you to bed instead of going at it right away, he loves foreplay and would savour his time with you before getting to the good part

nanami kento who would stroke your hair and hum your favorite melody while you both lay in bed before you going to bed.

nanami kento is an experimentalist idc how much times im gonna say this he is an experimentalist he would literally try anything and would be willing to do anything to you he. is. an. experimentalist.

nanami kento who kisses your forehead every morning and waits for you to wake up so you could brush your teeth together

nanami kento who would pick up the phone even if hes fucking you, he would try to challenge you to stay quiet as he talks to the person on the other side, while also hitting every right spot.

nanami kento who would cuddle you after he's finished a long day of work.

nanami kento loves semi public sex. thats it. no explanation

nanami kento who remembers every single thing about you, if you were to ask him he would answer in a heartbeat

nanami kento who would use you as a stress reliever whenever hes angry.

nanami kento who would constantly talk about you to others and saying how proud he is to have someone like you

nanami kento who loves to dirty talk

nanami kento who would help you understand something without making you sound dumb. even if you both can't understand something he would try to learn it quickly before telling you

nanami kento who would wrap his biceps around your neck as he takes you from the back

nanami kento who's obessed with an unusual attribute of yours, something only he likes

nanami kento who cries during sex

nanami kento who fell in love with you at first sight

you could tell which ones I was excited to write about lol, and if u rmr the other hcs post I made, some of them may be mentioned so sorryyyy anyway some more detailed (ish) extras below !!

extras ++

nanami would definitely fuck you with music in the background, but he'd put it on low just so he could hear your sounds echo through the room. he only thought putting music would make the setting more fitting but he never really wanted to hear someone else when he has you in front of him.

more explanation on the crying during sex, he would have happy tears as he fucks you. its tears of gratefulness that you're there in his life and he's glad to be with someone like you.

he would definitely jerk off to your face when he's all alone and though he seems like an honest person he'd never actually tell you that he did that to your face just so you dont feel uncomfortable.

a really really odd thought I have is pervert Nanami.. now hear me out I know perverts are gross and all but nanami would honestly suit the roll really well. cat calling as you walk by him, staring you up and down in a subway. taking secret pictures of you and getting off at them later. basically being a total creep in general!

stalker nanami. once he finds his new obsession, hes hooked, and he knows you're the one. its dumb but he would first follow you to your house. thats all he needs and hes got it. he would follow your every move, try to break in and steal your things, and eventually "accidentally" create some coincidences so he could get closer to you. basically joe goldberg shit (besides the murdering part)

shower sex! shower sex!!!! he would hold onto you, very carefully, just so you dont slip as he takes you in so perfectly. he would go slow at first but when he can't control himself anymore he would quicken the pace and go FAST.

he loves hearing you say his name and would practically keep bugging you so he could hear you say his name multiple times. or while you guys are having sex he would keep begging you to call his name out, on every thrust btw.

he doesn't share.

though,,, I do see him as a voyeur. he would definitely get off at you masturbating to yourself or listen to the sounds of you doing something sexual, whatever it is.

I said he doesn't share but the thought of him getting jealous at the sight of you getting fucked by anyone else but him is what's so SJNFOSOSJ like imagine he comes home one night and hears sounds from your room and, of course curious, checks out what's going on and sees you getting fucked by another man!!!!!!! ughh the look on his face would probably be soooo hotttt

he's extremely kinky idc what you say he has the most weirdest kinks too and im not complaining.

recording during sex!!! fuck, thats actually so hot.

says I love you on every thrust

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fawnindawn · 1 month ago

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Here We Go Again (Voices In His Head) - jason todd x reader

- you knew dating jason meant you would face trials, but an argument takes things too far. (angst to happy ending, i swear!/jason says mean things but he'll make it up to you <3)

When you first started dating Jason, he warned you many times that he had issues. There were some he told in short, quick breaths. The origins of scars he can't uncover to you, blood under his nails he can't quite be rid of, anger that never truly goes away. There were some you discovered yourself. He can't sleep with a blanket because it makes him feel suffocated, he flinches when there's construction in the neighbourhood, he shuts down and goes silent suddenly because of a patrol gone wrong.

"Don't shut me out, Jay."

He's been avoiding your gaze ever since he returned. You don't know what went wrong since his return from patrol, but there's that haunted look in his gaze, that clench in his jaw that shows its something he can't easily wash away.

"You won't understand." His voice is a cutting knife, with the carrying assumption heavy in the air. You never will. His eyes convey what hurts you most, the utter belief when he spits those words to your face.

Then why was it that you could read him like a book?

"How will you know if you won't let me try?" Your voice breaks, and you wish he could just let you in to prove him wrong.

There is a resigned expression on his face, filled with pity and self-hatred. You want to stop those thoughts that corrupt his will to find happiness, to see faults in every action he commits. To think the burden to save Gotham is on his shoulders because he's the only one that dares to do what others can't.

"You think I can't handle it." You know it's wrong to assume but when silence and vague words are the only companions you have in this conversation, you can't help but think it. "I was born and raised here too, Jason. I know what happens on our streets, I know that everyday, you try your best, but what ever happened today-"

"-Is nothing you have ever seen." He snaps, cutting you off as he finally looks at you, fire in his eyes. "You hear these things, from the news- from me, but you've never seen it for yourself. The children who died for nothing, those who deserve to die that rot in their mansions like pigs. Everything that's hidden from the public eye that continues to worsen every single day that I fail. That is why you'll never understand."

Flashes of everything the two of you have been through together, feels like it's being pushed further and further away. "What's the point then? Approaching me, letting me love you, and pushing it all away? Breaking what we built?"

He stares, watching you like you're out of reach. HIs fingers twitch, and his mouth nearly speaks the words needed to stop this fight. To bring you back into his arms. I love you. That's why.

"I don't know."

A beat. Then another. The silence stretches throughout your home, and of all the answers in the world, he chose the one dagger to stab you in the heart.

"You are afraid." You mutter, numb and empty. If he wants to treat you as an outsider to his life, you can't stop him. "You don't think I understand that you're pushing me away because you think it will protect me from your pain, but I do. I know you, Jason, and that doesn't stop me from loving you."

You see the flinch in his gaze, and the regret ready to pour out of his mouth.

"But you win." Your mouth tastes bitter with the admission. "I give in. I surrender. If you are determined it will end this way, I can't help you. Not till you see it for yourself, that the only reason I'm leaving is because you gave me no other choice."

Your feet move out the door, out of the home you share, and he doesn't stop you.

Six months pass like time is a fragmented concept, leaves curling and falling down the pavements, colouring the city a murky brown. It's a funny thing, how someone so deeply ingrained into your mind, fades from the city as if he never existed. As if he was a conjuring of your own imagination, you start to wonder if the phantom sting in your heart is the only evidence left of your time with him.

You do your best to ignore the betrayal that creeps up your throat on days when you swear you spot his shadow lingering near bus stops, or on your walks home, only to be reminded that he doesn't care enough to even show up to your door. You swallow back the sobs that threaten to escape you at night, you bury him in the back of your mind and you try to sleep, knowing that he used to lay his head beside yours at night.

It's late, and you're still tossing and turning, trying to fall asleep when you hear a knock at your window. You pause in your fretting, frozen to what couldn't be- Yes, it's that familiar, steady knock, three times on the glass which you both agreed to. It's been months. He can't possibly be here. Still, your body is a traitor to your mind, rushing at the familiarity, with a sickening hope towards your window. The familiar red helmet greets you, as well as the crimson blood staining his jacket.

When he slips in, you hate how your mind works in clockwork routine, grabbing the emergency kit as he slides down the wall, gripping his wound. The quiet has never rung so loud, deafeningly thick with questions raised in the air.

"It isn't fair." You spoke through the thick of the silence. "Coming to me because you know I'll open the door. After being quiet for months, after everything-"

"Six months, eight days, twenty hours." He cuts you off. His helmet is laying beside him, and you have a clear sight to a smile so wounded, and eyes so resigned as he looks at you. "If we're to be exact."

Your steps falter, and you starting to lean towards the possibility that you're hallucinating him, too tired from work, too tired to push away your vulnerability when it comes to him. Yet, even with a tired blink and a tightened grip on the metal box in your hand, he's still there in your view, and you've already kneeled down in front of him, taking in the blood on his hands.

You don't respond, because what is there to say to the revelation that he's kept track of the very day you turned your back on him. Instead, you lift his shirt to assess the wound. It's not one worth coming all the way to your apartment in the freezing cold, merely a deep scratch that gashed his skin, but nothing he couldn't take care of himself. An excuse, a lure, or maybe you're just thinking too much whenever it's about him.

Your eyes snap to his, questioning with your gaze. He knows he's caught, but he doesn't seem to care.

"I've been an idiot. A major dickhead." He breathes out, eyes lingering over your features, frantically taking all of you in. It's a hungry, desperate look that contrasts everything you've believed in the past months of torture. That he's forgotten you. "That day, I chose every possible wrong decision to hurt you, when you were the one I wanted to see most."

He clenches his jaw before he speaks again. "A child died in my arms that day."

Your eyes widen, and you feel guilt consume you for leaving him alone that day. "Jason-"

"No, I know what you're thinking, but don't think for a second about apologising when I didn't communicate to you properly." His gaze is serious as he continues. "My behaviour was awful, when you had only wanted to make sure I was okay, I pushed you away."

He looks at you, gaze softening. "You do understand me, and I was so afraid of feeling seen by you the same way I see myself, that I pushed you away. I lost you, and you were damn right to leave for the way I treated you."

You're silent, his confession too much, too sudden, too him. You had thought with time, your memories of him, the anguish in your heart would fade. Having him in front of you, carrying that same weight in his gaze that tells you more than words can speak, you can't deny just how much you've missed him. Tears leak out from your eyes, and you're sure you look a horrible mess, but he only wipes your tears gently.

"My biggest regret is that I should've ran after you. No, I shouldn't have even let you go without telling you that I love you." His fingers are shaking as he caresses your face. "I may be right about being broken, but that shouldn't have excused me from making myself the right man for you."

"I don't deserve your forgiveness, or your love. You can treat me like absolute shit, and I will take it all. But I will work every single day, till my last breath, to make sure you never doubt that you are loved, because you deserve to know that if anything I know about love, it is you."

"I love you. And no apology will ever be enough to change the fact that you didn't feel it from me." His voice is so raw, so choked with anguish, and this might be the closest semblance to tearing his heart out for you. "Will you still have me, if I promise you that if you ever feel like I screwed something up, you can shoot me in the head?"

You choke back a laugh through your sobs, hitting him in the chest, and he grabs hold of your hand, a warm, steady grip as he brings it to his lips and presses the softest kiss onto your skin. You steady your breath, before you finally speak again. "If you ever screw up, I promise you that you'll face much worse that a headshot."

He smiles, practically aglow as he leans in, nose brushing yours. "Make that a promise, sweetheart."

"And we're going to have a proper talk when you're all patched up, got it?"

He nods diligently, and your heart delights at the sight of him so obedient. "Anything you want." He drawls.

You see his eyes flicker to your lips, but he's holding back. Waiting for you.

"Are you going to kiss me?"

Your teasing words barely leave your mouth before he kisses you. It feels just like the first time, sweet and desperate, and you swear you can feel his promise sealed upon your lips. That this time, he won't let go.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #dc x reader #batfam x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #redhood x reader #jason todd angst

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nor-ay · 2 months ago

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Our first masquerade ball - (unrequited love story)

Shadow Milk Cookie thinks that you are... Odd. Different, if you will. It’s in the way you roll your eyes at White Lily Cookie, in the harsh tone that slips out when you find someone annoying, or in the way that you always seem to be out of place. But don’t get him wrong; he certainly enjoys that. He thinks that you have great potential to be his right hand. He just needs to give you a little push on the right path. Sweet talks to you a little until he gets in your good graces and WHAM, controls you like a puppet. It's a win-win situation; he gets to have you on his team and breaks your friend's spirit.

At least, that is what he initially thought, but that changes when you accept his gift and lie to your supposed friends. You lie to Pure Vanilla Cookie, and that has him clapping and laughing like a king entertained by the best jester there is in his kingdom. He almost can’t believe it! There is no need for him to break your perception of Pure Vanilla Cookie or the nature of Cookies. You already have resentment towards them.

…

You think that Shadow Milk Cookie is testing you. That has to be the only explanation for the gifts and fever dream. It’s not like it bothers you, but when you look at Pure Vanilla Cookie, you feel guilt growing and wrapping itself around you. He’s not deserving of this whole situation… Shaking your head, you try to push all these thoughts away. You’re not evil—

Apple Faerie Cookie’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Cookies! Let’s go to the top of the Spire!”

“I sincerely hope we’ll find what we’re looking for!” You find Wizard Cookie’s reply relatable. You’re tired too. And desperately wanting to get out.

“I bet you will! Now, shall we?”

“Um…you guys can go ahead, I have to go, I mean, I forgot something.” You hate how your voice sounds so suspicious! Cringing at yourself, you try to smile.

GingerBrave is looking at you strangely, and Pure Vanilla Cookie is unusually silent. Strawberry Cookie is the one to break the silence. “Really…? Are you sure?”

“Yeah! I mean, what's wrong? I’m sure you all can live without me for a bit, right?” You try to laugh, but it sounds forced. When did you become so awkward around…your friends?

Wizard Cookie frowns “Well, the way you—“

“All right! [Name] Cookie, I trust you; I’m sure you’re going to do something helpful! Just be careful.” GingerBrave without realizing it, saves you from being interrogated. And again, your lungs fill with guilt. You find it harder to breathe and the smile on your face falters. You’re not evil.

“Can you not—ugh, never mind.” Wizard Cookie gives up. And you internally thank the witches for it.

“Right. Thank you. And- please…be careful on your journey.” Ah, this is what you’re doing now. You don’t feel part of them. You never did. Not even with the five ancient heroes. You were always more of a confidant. Hearing Pure Vanilla’s worries, comforting White Lily Cookie after discovering her other half. Playing along with Golden Cheese Cookie, helping out Dark Cacao Cookie and Holyberry Cookie with their tasks. You never felt like you belonged. And so you grew resentful.

You turn around and go in the opposite direction. Silence is the only thing you hear while going down the stairs, and you have to blink quickly to stop the tears from falling. You were not lying before when you said that you forgot something. When you arrive at the same spot where you woke up hours ago, the doll is still there. Sitting down, you pick up the mini-you and hug it tightly. Closing your eyes, you confess to no one. “I don’t know what to do… I miss when things used to be easy… I don’t want to hurt them. I’m just, so so so sick and tired of the same things over and over again…it’s like I’m trapped in a loop.”

…

You don’t know how long it’s been since you parted ways with GingerBrave and company. But, unexpectedly, the doll in your arms starts moving on its own. So you let it go, waiting for its next move.

Clap

A Colombina mask appears in front of you. It’s beautiful. You smile, thinking it’s a bit ironic. Perhaps even mocking that he gives you a mask. Is this his way of telling you that you’re two-faced?

Nevertheless, you still put on the mask and follow the doll through some large hallways. Arriving at a luxurious ballroom. “How did we not see this?” You ask, completely in awe. The tiles on the floor are so white that you can see yourself reflected on them.

“Well… I had it hidden, of course; did ya forget that you’re in my domain, mhm?” It takes you a second for your brain to register who answered.

“S-Shadow Milk Cookie!?”

“Awe…are you really that surprised to see me? Well? Go ahead!” You notice how he’s also wearing a mask similar to yours.

“Uh…ah-“ You don’t know what to say. Sweat begins to collect on your forehead. You begin to panic. You have to say something!! But, what can you say that he doesn’t know already?

Before you can think of anything to say, you hear Shadow Milk Cookie groan, as if annoyed. “Ughh right, I’m going too fast, this is a masquerade ball, you’re not supposed to know who I am.”

“O-kay, let's start over!” You watch dumbfounded as he claps twice and the ballroom fills with different puppets who are dancing and talking to each other.

You watch all this and can’t help but laugh, and, oh, it feels so freeing to be able to be as loud as you want. Everything is so out of the blue that you just can’t help it. Shadow Milk Cookie seems to be interested in what is making you laugh so much. “I’m sorry…this just doesn’t make any sense, and I love it.”

He smiles, seeming pleased. “Now, THIS is the type of audience that I like! Alrighty! Let's get to it.” He closes the distance and takes your hand. He runs cold, you shiver at the contact.

You feel relaxed, and that should make you worry, but, as Shadow Milk Cookie gives you a twirl and spins you around the ballroom, you can’t. The giggles don’t seem to stop coming out and your eyes are all teary from all the laughter. Your hands are tightly grasping his shoulders and it doesn’t surprise you how agile he’s on his feet. It’s so easy to let him guide you.

“Awww look at you! You’re enjoying yourself so so so much! Aren’t you going to ask me where are your frieeends?”

“Well…,” you start—

“Oh, wait, WAIT, don’t tell me! You finally realize that it’s not with them that you belong? Especially that dreadfully, painfully, unbearably Pure Vanilla Cookie?” You can’t fully read the tone in his voice; it seems playful, but the hate he has for them inevitably seeps in.

“That’s right,” Your smile wavers as you revert to your natural state of being. “It took me a long time, but… I’ve finally understood who I am and what I want.” A sudden bravery fills your heart as you finally ask him- “Please, take me with you!” You surprise yourself by the loudness of your voice.

Have you always been that desperate to escape your life?

“…” His eyes blink several times and it feels like the whole ballroom has grown silent. You start to feel self-conscious and—

His laugh fills the whole ballroom, and in just a second, Shadow Milk Cookie dips your body back dramatically. You grip onto him like a lifesaver and- and you’re out of breath. “Perfect,” you hear him say. His voice is lower than you’ve ever heard. “Alright, since you asked so nicely…you’re with me now!”

“Huh, so…”

“Oops, looks like I have to go, feel free to explore my humble domain, hehe!”

He’s gone in the blink of an eye. All the puppets that were dancing vanished too, all left behind in the ballroom was the mini-you doll and your racing heart.

“…Did he lose track of time?”

Okay!! I actually struggled a bit with the dialogue. In my mind, there were so many different things about what Shadow Milk would say in certain situations! But, I’m happy about how it turned out. I hope you enjoyed it too!! AND, this is important, the story is going to be on hold until we get episode 8 of Beast-Yeast. It’s not like I can’t improvise, but if I continue, and then they release ep 8, I know that I’ll end up rewriting everything, and I don’t want to do that, to be honest.

Besides that, I’m already thinking of writing Shadow Milk x reader with a trope that I really enjoy!! Orr some headcanons (maybe nsfw, still unsure about that).

@notboomm @fyodors-belovedxoxo

#shadow milk x reader #shadow milk cookie x reader #nooray updates #crk x you #crk x reader #no use of y/n #unrequited love story

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zyafics · 3 months ago

Text

ANGRY GOD | 02

MASTERLIST (Series)

Pairing — S2!Rafe Cameron x (F)Reader

Summary — Rafe always struggled with being the only person in his head. When he meets you on the balcony of Tannyhill, everything changes. As sweet and kind as you appear to be, you turn out to be a reflection of Rafe and his dark thoughts. A burnt soul. A perfect companion. But as much as he wants you, as much as you deserve each other, something stands in the way: your relationship with JJ.

Content — angst, suggestive themes, cheating (not on each other), minor blood kink, rafe does coke, reader smokes cigarettes, toxic dynamic, obsessive and psychopathic behavior, and subtle dubcon.

Word Count — 3.9K

lıllılı Deja Vu and She's Mine Pt. 1 by J Cole

Dedication — to @cybersunnie who read it first and gave me lovely feedback, ily my southeast asian bestie <3

Rafe looks for you everywhere.

Ever since that fateful night, he had searched every room and crowd for a glimpse of your face. Most times, he doesn't find what he's looking for, and a lump of frustration curls up his throat. A wasted effort, he tells himself, to look for someone who isn't his, but he does it anyway.

He's never been good at letting go of things that belonged to him.

Tonight's bonfire is on the beach. The firepit is surrounded by keggers lined neatly along the edges, and the salty tang of driftwood smoke hangs in the air. Flickering embers roared to the sky, while the drunken crowd moved in scattered clusters, their laughter coalescing with the music as they stumble over their steps. Rafe can't help but scoff at the very sight.

He had snorted a couple of lines before his arrival. Nothing calms him down quicker than strips of white powder that substitute for dopamine, but it still isn't quite the replacement he's looking for. It may make him feel lighter, unable to feel the depth of his soul sinking like an anchor to the bottom of the ocean floor, but it's ineffective. Riffled with the knowledge that there's something better for him out in the world, something that mirrors the use of a drug, something that can save him.

You.

Rafe sips on the beer he's been nursing for the past half-hour—coke and liquor are a hangover's bitch—and his eyes survey the mass of people in futile efforts. Everyone has arrived, including those Pogue friends of yours, but there are still no traces of you. Once again, Rafe believes that you've decided to forgo the invite to forget him.

Until he finds you off in the distance.

In the corner of the world, sitting on the shore and counting waves, with your legs drawn to your chest and your arms draped across your knees. Parties have always been a troublesome endeavor for you, rekindling old memories you want nothing more than to forget, but you always find yourself succumbing to one. It's a nasty habit you're unable to break.

You had slipped away—from the masses, from your friends, from JJ—for some peace on the edge of the earth. No one seems to have noticed your missing presence. At least, that's what you believe.

Something settles at your side, darkening your solace with its thick presence, and you turn to discover Rafe. He sinks into the empty space beside you, cold brew in hand, and refuses to meet your gaze. Your heartbeat skips, alarm bells activating and cautioning you to leave, but you choose to stay.

Silence engulfs the air and despite the heavy bass reverberating through the air and the flurries of chatters from Kooks and Pogues alike, none of that seems to matter. As always, with Rafe, it feels like you two are the only people remaining on Earth, spinning on its axis, waiting.

It isn't like this with anyone else.

"You've been ignoring me," Rafe announces flatly. His stare set to the horizon of the coastline, watching waves flatten into the salt-soaked sand inches away from his feet.

"I haven't," you defend, a little too quickly, wincing at the projection of your voice. "We just haven't been going to the same places."

He scoffs dryly, "Because you've been ignoring me."

You shake your head softly, but Rafe doesn't acknowledge the gesture. You doubt he cares. It mirrors you in that aspect, knowing exactly how his mind behaves—believing his version of events to be the only correct reality. Nothing you do, or say, will change it.

It's hard to talk to someone who's stubborn.

It's worse when the person knows you too well.

Because in some ways, he's right. Several invitations to various functions have been sent, but you've opted out of attending any of them. Partly because you don't want to be in that environment. Mostly because you're afraid of facing Rafe. You had assumed it'd be an easy facade to maintain—just as the rest of your friends suspected you simply weren't into parties—but Rafe sees directly through you, like glass.

He resists the urge to look at you. Fearing if he does, he'll never stop. It isn't enough for him to be within your proximity, he wants to have you, and it's a debilitating feeling to know he can't. Blood coats his senses, and he realizes he bite his tongue too hard.

Yet, he feels the heat of your stare on his profile. Your eyes sweep over every feature, every twitch of muscle as if you're committing to memory the days you haven't seen him. Pride finds him in that regard—to know he consumes your thoughts as much as you consumed him.

He begs to be wanted.

He wants you to beg for him.

"Your bruises are healing nicely," you say softly, admiring the faded damning colors of his assault to the healing yellows that smother his skin. "That's good."

His resolve breaks and Rafe turns. The corner of his lips lifts. "You would care, wouldn't you?"

You blink in surprise, but Rafe takes it as some protest of resilience. You won't admit it, as much as you want him, as much as you need him, and the anguish seeps into his bones. unable to detangle itself from skin. "Of course I do," you stutter a reply, "I patched you up."

"But it isn't the only reason," he presses, "Is it?"

His eyes meet yours, and it rivals the first look he's ever given you. Full of scorn and disdain, Rafe had once wanted nothing more than you to be out of his sight. Now, he can't have enough of it.

It evokes honesty in you. "It isn't."

Rafe grins, taking any small victory as a celebration.

You can't take it, deciding to break contact to reach into the pockets of your shorts. You fish out the lighter and a small box of cigarettes before torching the end of the stick and inhaling a sharp breath. Nicotine slithers into your system, calming your raging nerves.

Rafe watches with amusement. He had always hated a woman who smokes. It was unorthodox, dirty, and not someone he sees himself with. But when he watches the way the puff of smoke exits your lips, the calamity smoothening your features, he's never wanted to kiss you more.

“You smoke?” Rafe asks as you lower the cigarette to your side. The butt of the blunt brushes against the grains of sand.

“Yeah.” You say timidly. “It’s a bad habit I can’t break.”

"Interesting."

"What?"

"Didn't take you as a smoker," Rafe confesses, but something in his statement reeks of judgment. As much as you hate the need to be validated by others, something about Rafe leaves you desiring acceptance.

You scramble to form an excuse. “I only do it when I’m nervous.”

“I make you nervous?”

You don't respond, but you're sure the split-second expression on your face revealed it all. Pressing your lips together, you rip your gaze from Rafe to look back to the ocean currents, raging and coursing through the tides as if a storm is brewing. You hoped this respite would dissolve the tension in the air, but it doesn't.

Thick and hot, you can't decide if it's the heat of the firepit against your backside or the idea of Rafe's close—too close—proximity to you. Your truth. The persona you've carefully crafted on the verge of collapsing.

Rafe finally understands why you don't go to parties. Even if you don't explicitly state it; it's him. The way he can read you, understand you, and make you feel. A parallel of himself in you that feels like a reflection against a pond. It scares you. It terrifies him. Yet he can't get enough of it.

You clear your throat, taking another puff of your cigarette, before returning your gaze back to him. "You left your own party again."

Is this what you want to talk about? Rafe would rather push past the small talk, but he entertains it nonetheless. At least it's something to keep you close. "It's not my party."

"Right." You hum, inhaling a nicotine-saturated breath that hisses and chars the end of the blunt. "But you left it all the same. Shouldn't you be with your friends?"

"I could ask the same about you."

"I asked you first."

"Is that how you want to play it?"

Rafe cocks his head in challenge, armed with the mockery and condescension of his dripping tone. But it's not aimed at you, but rather for you. A provocation that asks: one of us is lying here, who will it be?

"You're baiting me," you announce, digging the burnt end of the cigarette into the sand to extinguish it. "It's not going to work."

Rather than take offense from your blatant callout, he scoffs out a smirk. His perfect teeth glistened underneath the moonlight, which can almost be read as fangs.

"Smart girl too," he muses, more to himself than you, before taking a swing of his beer. Directing his line of vision towards the darkened horizon, you watch him swallow with a bob of his Adam's apple. "I was looking for you."

"Me?" You repeat. "Why would you be looking for me?"

"Don't act dumb, princess. It's not cute."

Silence stretches among you, and the only soothing sound of this moment is the cascades of water meeting sand. Your heart doubles its tempo, reconciling with Rafe's words before he pierces the quietude with another confession. "They don't care."

This time, you don't play dumb. You know exactly what he's referring to. Rafe made a bold accusation that his friends don't care about him, and you have a sneaking suspicion that he is right.

From what you heard from your own group, no one is friends with Rafe. Not really. All they want is to get out of his way, to avoid being the receiving end of his wrath. Rapport is the closest method towards that settlement. A falsehood for security. He had come to the bitter realization on his own; that no one is real with him except you.

You don't take the time to be frivolous and reassure him with meaningless consolation. You cut straight to the chase.

"Then why come?" You ask, not knowing if he'll respond. But what you don't know is Rafe would answer almost anything if it came from you. "Why attend something when none of these people care about you?"

The instantaneous reply is a howling wind from the ocean, breezing over your skin and raising goosebumps on your arms. But you remain still. Unsure if Rafe will answer, you wait until he admits, "It's better than being alone."

All the air leaves your lungs.

Your heart pumps like it's about to burst.

Because Rafe confirms what you’re thinking.

And you feel the same way.

You're certain you're in an exact predicament but you don't have the courage to voice it. The Pogues only tolerate you because you're in this relationship with JJ, but you have a sinking feeling that it's just the novelty. Something short and fleeting. Something false.

You entered it under the assumption that JJ understood you—a burnt soul recognizing a companion. But that's proven to be completely untrue. JJ may have faced hardships, but his entire network is built on camaraderie. You never had that. Neither did Rafe.

Maybe that's why you gravitate towards him.

Maybe that's why you're afraid.

"Why are you here?" Rafe prompts, turning the spotlight back onto you.

You lick your lips, suddenly dry. "The Pogues invited—"

"No, don't give me that bullshit," he snaps, but his tone lacks the bite. All it demands is truth. "I mean, why did you come this time? You've been avoiding me for a reason."

You scoff. "You know."

A cruel smirk carves the corner of his mouth, framed with an innocent dimple. "I want to hear you say it."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you're a liar, princess. Just like all of them."

Fire ignites in your chest by his accusation, reminding you closely of that night at Tannyhill, and your hands squeeze into tight fists. Sucking on the inside of your cheek, and licking the residual nicotine sticking to your gums, give you a minor boost of confidence. "I thought if I didn't, they'd stop inviting me."

You exhale a blow of air, similar to your cigarette, but a heavy weight lifts off your chest. You don't turn to meet Rafe's eyes, but you feel the heat of his stare.

Rafe grins, self-satisfaction ripples through his features in unparalleled triumph. "Just like me."

"Don't be a dick," you declare.

"I'm not trying to." He says. "It's just ironic."

"Ironic how?"

He takes a second to answer, lingering on the moment by sipping on the rim of his beer, letting a slow, singular drop fall from the corner of his mouth. "Because every party I've seen you at, you're always escaping it."

You shrink under this observation, nails buried into the sand to find grounding. "I needed a break."

"All the time?" He taunts.

You say absolutely nothing. And Rafe chuckles dryly. "The girl who always leaves the party. The boy who needs it. We'll make a good couple."

You lift your head. "Is that your criteria for a relationship?"

"No. But I'll take any excuse to have you."

Your breath stutters in your throat. From your previous interaction with Rafe, you concluded that he cuts through the drivel. But it's different this time around. Now, it riffled with the knowledge of knowing you, of wanting you.

Rafe always had a single-minded ambition, the type to chase after his goal until he captured it within the palm of his hand. That's you to him.

Morals be damned. As long as he has you.

To be wanted like that terrifies you. With your heart palpitating in your chest, you feel the urge to rebuild your walls. To add that familiar and safe space between you and him. "Rafe..." You trail off in warning.

Instantaneously, as if he can read you, he knows why.

Frowning, Rafe says, "Hm. Forget you're with Maybank."

You don't think that's entirely true.

"I should get back," to him, but that part remains unspoken.

Rising from your seat, you dust off the sheen coat of sand under your thighs before motioning to leave. But Rafe snatches your wrist. His grip is firm but loose enough for you to slip out, only begging you not to.

You look down, however Rafe refuses to meet your gaze. In fact, he avoids it, opting for the dark coastline that rivals the turbulent feeling in his chest. "Why are you with him?" He whispers against the wind, his tone seeping with vulnerability. "Why are you with him when you can be with me?"

You don't know how to answer that. "He was nice to me."

"I can be nice to you."

You shake your head. "It's not the same."

"Why not?" Rafe asks wretchedly, lifting his head to finally meet your gaze and you read how broken he truly is. Your chest tightens. His icy blue eyes warmed with desperation, and his grip around your wrist tightens, like a beggar seeking approval.

For a moment, you considered lying. It's the easiest way out. But there's no one here but the two of you. No one to perform to. No one but an audience who knows you soul-deep. How do you lie out of this one?

"I think you need me," you whisper. "I don't know how to be needed like that."

If you were anyone else, he'd feel insulted. To insinuate he needs someone—anyone—to function implies he's weak. That he's dependent on another. But Rafe hasn't felt this sense of gratification in years. A kinship that emerges from a soul recognizing a burnt soul. He can't lose that.

"Neither do I," he answers, almost pleading. "Let's try it out."

"Try what?"

"Us." He urges. "You and me."

You shouldn't, but you can't help but consider the proposal. It's awful, especially knowing you're in a committed relationship—as committed as you can be—and you try to build excuses and logic on why this couldn't work. Why it shouldn't work. But all of them fell flat.

"You hate me."

"I didn't know you."

"You called me a bitch."

"I'm sorry," he says sincerely.

"You called me a liar," you accuse, unmasking the sting from the label.

"You are," Rafe insists without missing a beat. "But I'll take it."

You chew on your bottom lip, gnawing on the raw, broken skin until you taste iron. "I don't know," you admit, voice low, chest heavy. "I don't know if I can save you, Rafe."

This time, he doesn't have a response. This time, he's rendered speechless. It's a confessional—what he truly desires from you is redemption. To possess a mirror that resolves him of his own sins.

His fingers loosen around your wrist.

"I have to go," you say softly, taking a step towards the exit.

But it isn't quick enough.

Rafe grabs you again and gives you one last tug, forcing you to land on his lap. Before you can move, he grabs the nape of your neck and pulls you close, forehead pressed against his, chest meeting the other.

You feel the rapid thumping of his own heartbeats.

"One taste," Rafe murmurs, his eyes on yours and they're pitch-black, all dissolved of his color. "Just one taste and I'll let you go."

"One?" You ask meekly, your heart threatening to spill.

"One." He confirms, reeking of the same desperation he's always been ashamed of revealing. But he doesn't care anymore. "And you can go back to Maybank and do whatever the fuck you want."

You search his face, trying to read him, but nothing but pure primal instinct coats his rugged features. He wants you—in a way that's so animalistic, he's actively holding himself back from taking more. A sick satisfaction curves up your throat at being desired by such capacity.

"Okay."

Rafe doesn't give you a moment to retract your consent before he drags your mouth down to his, silencing every pounding thought with a kiss.

Instinctively, you steel your spine from the assault before slowly unwinding. From all the venom and vile words spilled from Rafe's tongue, his mouth is surprisingly soft and tender. His kiss is rich with desire, gripped with desperation, and it pours all his silent confessions into one. Your heart has never raced so frantically but has never been this calm.

You want this.

Logic and reason chip away when you feel how warm Rafe is. How he laps over the broken piece of your bottom lip like worship, how he craves you with the depravity of a man receiving his last meal, licking you clean until you're nothing but bones.

It's intoxicating. Where has Rafe been all your life? Why haven't you done this sooner? Your mind can't find a proper answer until a slow, nauseating reminder strikes your drunken and lustful state. It's because you're taken. It answers. You're committed to someone who isn't him.

Pulling away, you breathe, "Rafe—"

"Not enough," he declares roughly, dragging your back and stealing another kiss. It's as if it's the only air he's willing to take. He demands it—it's his.

And yet, for all your stream of moral consciousness, there's little resistance.

You allow him to take you. Devour you. To suck on your bottom lip until a metallic tang is shared between you, and to feel the warm liquid ooze onto your tongue like sacred waters. He tastes so good, and Rafe's hands fall from your arm to your waist, tugging you along until you're centered on his lap. With an automatic roll of your hips, he groans, and you feel the growing erection form in his jeans demonstrating his obsession with you.

It's just one. But one kiss turns into two and three, and suddenly you can't stop. Nothing has ever felt as right as this moment with Rafe.

Pulling back a second time, your murmur against his swollen lips. "This is a bad idea."

"This is the best goddamn idea I've ever had," he breathes into your mouth, his hand straying to cup a handful of your ass under your shorts. "You taste better than I imagined."

"What do I taste like?"

"Mine," Rafe answers breathily, before cupping the back of your neck once again and aligning your mouth to his.

Addiction. Rafe is certain that's what this is. The way you rock against him, the way your body molds into his—like a perfect puzzle finding its match—he can't help but believe in fate. It infuriates him that it took him this long.

But even in a perfect moment, the illusion quickly shatters by a grating voice from the distance. Rafe wants nothing more than to ignore its bugging nuisance, but you can't seem to.

Because it's your boyfriend.

You rip away from Rafe to discover JJ's silhouette approaching the shore, searching for you. Panic zigzags through your chest and you swiftly leave Rafe's lap, brushing away any criminalizing evidence of your infidelity.

"That's one. We're done."

When JJ arrives, Rafe doesn't move. He doesn't even make a gesture to conceal the situation as JJ's eyes dart between the two of you, trying to piece together what you were doing with the Kook in the first place.

But no one reveals a thing. Not even you. You quickly apologize for leaving the party and fumble a flimsy excuse for Rafe's presence. And JJ's birdbrain accepts it, causing Rafe to scoff at the fool you're with.

When he takes your hand, leading you back to the party, you quickly accept—dragging yourself into the same space you beg to break from. And doing nothing but leaving Rafe behind.

He could leave now. After all, he came out to the shores searching for you. But there's a calamity that comes from being out here. Seeing the waters, watching the crashing of the waves. It allows him to truly think—away from the noises, away from the people, away from all the meaningless distractions.

Rafe swipes his thumb across his bottom lip, feeling the buzzing sensation left behind from your kiss, and collects a single droplet of blood. It must've spilled from you, or his bitten tongue, he doesn't know for sure. All he does is slip it right back into his mouth.

And for the first time throughout this entire night, Rafe grins. A real one. A devious one. Because he's coming to a familiar conclusion.

You parade among the people who don't give a damn about you, who don't know a single truth, and pretend you fit in their world. But you don't. You're a liar.

But as Rafe remembers the taste of your hot lips on his, the way your body fits in with his, the taste of your blood on his tongue—he realizes, so is he.

Because there's no way that is the last time he'll kiss you. That he has you. No. He had one taste and it wasn't enough.

Rafe is coming back for more.

Whether you like it or not.

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