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almostempty · 1 month ago

Text

run (marcus acacius x f!reader)

wc: 2k | other fics | rating: 18+ | ao3

summary: general acacius hunts you in the woods for ‘training’ then fucks you, duh [inspired by this post] tags/warnings: explicit, pwp, primal play, size kink, raw creampie, idk what historical accuracy means, darker marcus, no mention of lucilla

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ “It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.”

You tell yourself through hoarse breaths. Your lungs burn. Every muscle screams at you to stop. You push forward.

All you can do is run.

If it were real, you would hide. You’re smart—confident you’d outthink him.

But he’s going to catch you.

The pounding of blood in your ears nearly drowns out the steady rhythm of his footsteps, closing in. The tiny hairs on your neck raise a moment before it happens.

A hand wrenches you back.

You collide with him, shoulders slamming into his broad chest.

His barking laughter rolls across the sky as he digs his fingers into your slick, overheated skin.

“Too easy.” His voice booms, but his heavy breathing contradicts the sentiment.

“I’m sorry,” you pant, gasping in air so deep your ribs might crack.

He doesn’t release you. Instead, he studies you for a moment—assessing. Calculating.

Then, without warning—he shoves you forward.

“Run.”

You stumble, but recover fast enough to hit your stride before he comes after you again.

The purpose of this so-called training makes no sense to you. Soldiers train with weapons, endurance drills, and formations. But you are not a soldier.

Your body is not being conditioned for war—it is being conditioned for him.

Other servants have whispered about the General and his private exercises.

He led troops through heavy weapons training, cavalry drills, long marches. But privately, he had to be sharper, faster, stronger. You’d heard that he wrestled men into the dirt until they couldn’t stand again. That he trained with foreign gladiators, learning their weapons, their fighting techniques.

And that sometimes, he hunted.

That was the part you never understood. The rumors were vague, but the pattern was clear. A servant would be chosen. A beautiful one. They would be taken away for days. Weeks.

And they never returned to their old tasks.

No one dared ask what happened to them.

Some whispered it was an honor. Some believed they were given riches, sent to estates far away. Others, more cynically, assumed they were cast aside when he was done.

But you don’t feel honored. It wasn’t a choice. You were given orders.

You traveled with General Acacius into the forest, leaving his campsite and guards behind. You had just begun to think you were far enough from camp that no one would hear you scream—

That’s when he stopped you.

That’s when he finally spoke to you. Not with an explanation.

Just:

“Run.”

And now—“I’ll give you something to run from.”

The words echo in your skull. A chill streaks down your spine—so icy you shiver despite the heat licking at your skin.

Your tongue feels dry when you force yourself to ask:

“Are you going to kill me?”

His teeth flash, white against sun-bronzed skin, before he laughs again. A sharp, wicked sound.

Then the smile fades, slowly.

“No,” he says, voice dropping low. His fingers grip your chin, tilting your face up. Giving you time to absorb the hunger in his gaze.

“But the next time I catch you will be the last.”

The forest stills. Even the birds seem to quiet.

His voice drops to something darker, heavier.

“The next time I catch you, I will have my way with you. You will be mine to use. And nothing will stop me.”

Heat blooms in your cheeks, curling hot in your gut.

You should be afraid. You should fight.

Instead—your mind betrays you.

Vivid images flood in, unbidden—his body pinning you down, his strength making you helpless.

Your gaze flickers—the sheen of sweat on his chest, the muscles shifting beneath his skin, the thick veins along his forearms. The breadth of his shoulders.

You’ve heard the rumors.

You know how these hunting sessions end.

And you’ve heard that the General’s cock is as massive as his ego.

It’s a game.

It was always a game.

The ones before you played it too.

And none of them returned.

Your voice comes out steady, but just barely.

“Understood.”

His eyes narrow.

“You think this will be a reward.”

Your skin prickles at the disdain in his tone.

Before you can react—his hand is on your throat.

Not tight, not squeezing—just enough to make you feel it. His fingers press against your pulse, slowing the flow of blood. Your body reacts before your mind can.

The reality of his overwhelming strength lights a fire deep inside you.

But the last flicker of self-preservation rises, whispering a warning.

How depraved are his desires, that he must bring you here, alone, to the foot of a mountain, to chase you into the trees as the sun creeps lower and lower?

You shudder at the thought—and he sees it.

And he is satisfied.

“Run.”

You take off before he can launch you with his arms.

Adrenaline gives you an edge, but it’s not enough. Not against him. Every step you take feels too loud, your own breath deafening in your ears. You cut left, thinking you’ve outmaneuvered him—until a low chuckle reaches you from behind.

Too close.

He’s playing with you.

You clamber over obstacles, acting on pure instinct, guided by the fear of being hunted.

He crashes through everything you use to create distance, but he’s more than brute strength.

He doesn’t just chase—you feel him stalking. He lets you think you have a lead, lets you trip and scramble, and then—he’s there.

Always there.

A shadow at your back. Patient. Inevitable. Dragging out the moment before he takes you down.

You’d be embarrassed that a man so much older than you has better stamina, but this is his whole life. In peak physical condition, he trains, he fights, he wins.

And he’s coming for you.

Time means nothing as the woods grow darker. Dusk adds danger, reducing visibility, and before frustration can boil over—he’s on you.

He tackles you into the dirt with a grunt. You yelp.

You claw at the dirt, scrambling for freedom. But he’s never letting go of you now. One firm grip on your waist, and he flips you onto your back.

You kick and twist—a desperate, instinctual bid for freedom. Useless. He absorbs every struggle, every contortion of your body, and then he takes.

He lets you feel it—how much stronger he is, how little choice you have now.

He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t think. Just tears at your tunic, baring your skin to the moonlight.

He doesn’t admire. He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t need to. He grips you too hard, pins you down with the sheer force of his body. A beast. A predator. And you—his willing prey.

His mouth twitches to something like a snarl.

“Nowhere to go now.”

“I submit,” you nearly squeak.

He’s vicious, unrelenting. One hand traps your wrists overhead while his teeth graze your throat, hovering where your pulse beats loudest. Your only option is surrender—tilting your jaw to offer him more.

He marks you up, sinking his teeth into your flesh. Bruises bloom on your neck, shoulder, chest. His other hand claws at you, squeezing too hard, digging into your muscles until you cry out—a sound tangled in pain and pleasure.

Everything is amplified. The weight of him atop you. The hard ground beneath you. The low noises in his throat. The breeze in the trees.

It’s not emotional, but it’s raw. Charged. Selfish.

The way he gropes your tits—he’s not a commander of men—this is primitive. Carnal. Unrestrained.

He doesn’t care for modesty or impressions. He’s caught you, and he intends to use you. Just like he warned.

And, fuck, if he doesn’t want you bad.

His ferocity delights you, even as you writhe and arch beneath him. Knowing, at his most unfiltered, when he’s driven by lust—he wants all of you.

It clouds your mind and sends an overpowering wave of heat to your core that nearly hurts.

As if he can smell the wetness between your legs, he looses a strained hum. The sound buzzes between you, vibrating through your bones, and you squirm—all discomfort and unspent energy, feverish with need.

The thrill of the chase still courses thick in your veins as he positions you roughly on your hands and knees.

He wastes no time. His cock is out, heavy, hot. You press your thighs together instinctively, but it’s no use. His hands are relentless, forcing you open, making space for himself. He drags the thick tip along your slick folds, savoring the way you stiffen.

“Still fighting?” he murmurs. “Good.”

Then he thrusts, and whatever resistance you had is only a memory.

He works in shallow strokes at first, forcing you to stretch around the girth of him—but patience isn’t his strength. He slams in deeper, faster, splitting you open with a sharp, brutal thrust that chokes a ragged moan from your throat.

His grunts grow rougher, more strained. You don’t know if it’s ecstasy or frustration bleeding into the noises—your cunt is still gripping him too tight, refusing to let him all the way in.

You have no concern for volume, wholly enraptured by the pace he sets, each thrust pressing deeper into you.

Soon, he’s shoving his fingers into your mouth, quieting you manually, reducing you to a set of drooling holes for him to fill.

Finally, he buries himself to the hilt, and you forget how to think.

His thrusts turn severe, dragging raw cries from your throat as you push back, desperate for more.

For the first time, he hesitates, peeling off of you and sitting upright behind you. One hand yanks your hips into his lap, and you don’t slow down—can’t.

Flesh ripples from the impact as you bounce against his cock, your body finding its own rhythm, lost in the mess of heat and slick between you.

His groan is guttural. His fingers bite into your hips.

“So tight. I thought you were a virgin.” His voice is wrecked. “But you fuck yourself on my cock like a desperate whore.”

You’d be embarrassed, but he doesn’t sound—or feel—very upset.

And you can’t stop chasing the pleasure anymore.

He fills you so deep that tears spill from your eyes, sinking into the dirt beneath you. The tension builds, pulling taut, but you can’t quite break.

A desperate whimper slips from your lips.

With a mercy you don’t expect, Acacius glides a hand down your stomach, pressing hard as he finds your clit. He drags his fingers through your slick, coating them in everything he’s forced from you, teasing and rubbing in slow, precise circles.

Your body shakes, trembles, collapses.

You’re only able to pant, gasp, and moan for him.

He doesn’t stop.

If anything, he finds new ways to devastate you.

Fucking faster. Harder. Deeper.

Your mind was already gone. But somehow, he fucks you dumber—until there’s nothing left but wrecked, ruined need.

He keeps going until you break.

Your knees are raw from grinding into the dirt, your arms giving out beneath you. You’re half-collapsed, unable to hold yourself up, but he doesn’t slow down.

He wants to feel it again.

“Another.” His voice is husked, nearly feral.

“Mmm.” You can’t protest, it’s the closest you get to agreeing.

Determined, he works you up again.

Faster this time. More efficient. His fingers are ruthless, dragging another orgasm from you before you can even catch your breath.

When he finally breaks, his body locks up, muscles tensed, a snarl ripping from his throat as he spills inside you.

Hot, endless.

His weight crushes you into the earth, pinning you there as he catches his breath.

Finally, when he pulls out, his hands slide along your soft, trembling thighs. Watching.

“Poor pussy is just gaping now.” His voice is full of mockery. “So stretched out. She wastes my gift.”

You’re too far gone to respond. Fucked stupid. Boneless.

He drags his fingers between your swollen lips, stuffing his come back inside.

You move to fix your clothes—but he stops you.

“You're not done. And I'm not nearly finished.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ thank you for reading <3 pls tell me if you liked or hated any of it sign up for my new tag list here!

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame @indiegirlunited @syd-djarin @harriedandharassed @bbyanarchist @94namkooksworld @sunshinehaze1 @lilac-boo @ohhoneypascal

#marcus acacias x reader #marcus acacius #general acacius #general acacius x reader #general marcus acacius #general acacius x you #marcus acacius x you #pwp

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ghostchems · 5 months ago

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thief - silco x female!reader - part four

silco finds himself at your door

tags: drug addiction, drug abuse, shimmer, shimmer abuse, KNIFE-PLAY? fucking so hard a table breaks. also some words i think i would like to hear from silco myself. also -gasp- silco tattoos. 18+! mdni! 4.6k words. part one/two/three. ao3 link.

Rain pattered against Silco, drenching his jacket and face—a rhythmic backdrop to the tension hanging in the air. He stood motionless outside your door, his hand suspended over the knob. This wasn't part of your arrangement; you weren't supposed to see each other today. Yet here he was.

The past few days had been a whirlwind of complications, each problem more vexing than the last. Enforcers, emboldened by some unknown factor, were becoming increasingly intrusive, poking their noses into affairs that didn't concern them. He already had a meeting with Marcus scheduled, but his temper was far too flared to handle it now. The chem barons, perhaps sensing weakness, were causing him no end of grief with their incessant demands and power plays. And then there was his daughter, Jinx—she had reached that precarious age where rebellion seemed to be her default state. She didn't just dislike listening; she actively went out of her way to do the opposite of what he asked.

The weight of these problems pressed down on Silco, threatening to crush him under their combined force. But he would manage this, just as he'd managed everything else. His resolve was what had kept him alive throughout it all. He'd found ways to blow off steam over the years. Some more violent than others. The satisfying crunch of bones beneath his fist, the metallic tang of blood in the air—these were familiar comforts. But today, his mind fixated on a different kind of release. He wanted you.

He knew where you lived—a tiny hole in the wall from which he had once sent Sevika to retrieve you. She had described it to him: one room with a table, bunk beds built into the wall. You slept on the bottom bunk, while the top served as storage for your clothes. No cabinets for food. Silco's hand tightens around the doorknob. What was he doing here? He could have had you brought to him again if all he truly wanted was a quick fuck.

Silco is running—running from his responsibilities, seeking to exert power and control over someone. Over you.

The door burst open with a resounding crash, jolting you from your slumber. In an instant, your hand flew beneath your pillow, fingers wrapping around the familiar handle of your knife. Heart pounding, you spring up, blade at the ready—only to freeze as your vision clears.

"Silco?" you breathe, lowering the knife but not releasing it entirely. "What are you—"

He cuts you off, striding into the small room with purpose. "What am I doing here?” He echoes, eyes narrowing. You still have the knife pointed in his direction, your heart thundering in your ears. The last time someone had broken into your home, they'd knocked you out and left a nasty bruise on your forehead—all for him. But seeing Silco here now... you feel weak. The knife wobbles in your hand. "You should know why I'm here," Silco growls, his voice low and dangerous. He slinks closer, the power of his presence rendering you unable to move. Your brain has short circuited. This is outside of the norm you’ve established and just seeing him makes your body pulse with need.

In a swift motion, Silco grips your wrist, his fingers digging into your skin as he wrenches the knife from your grasp. A gasp rips from your throat and your eyes lock with his, the tension in the room building. He brings the blade up to your chin, the cold steel forcing your head to tilt upward towards him. You can feel his breath, hot against your face, see the hunger burning in his mismatched eyes. They swallow you whole. You feel like you’re still trying to play catch up but his intentions are clear. With a low growl, he closes the distance between you. His lips crash against yours in a vicious kiss, all teeth and tongue, demanding and possessive.

The knife slams into the table with a resounding thud, its blade quivering as it stands upright in the worn wood. Silco's now-free hand tangles in your hair, pulling you closer. You respond with equal fervor, your body melting into his, despite the dampness of his clothes. The kiss deepens, growing more heated with each passing second. Your bodies press closer, the dampness of Silco's clothes seeping into your thin shirt. Just as you feel yourself getting lost in the moment, he abruptly breaks away, leaving you breathless and slightly dazed.

His fingers trace along your face, following the curve of your cheek down to your jaw. The touch is gentle, almost tender—a stark contrast to the ferocity of the kiss moments ago. You lean into his hand, your eyes searching his face. These softer touches have become more frequent lately, each one a tantalizing taste of something deeper.

"I thought I was in trouble," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Silco's lips curl into a smirk, his eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and cruelty. The fact that you worry about such things makes heat pool in his gut. "Not yet," he replies, his voice low and full of promise. The words send a shiver down your spine. He takes a step back and drapes his rain-soaked coat over the back of the chair, the wet fabric leaving a dark stain on the worn wood. His gaze rakes over you, taking in your disheveled appearance. You suddenly feel exposed, becoming aware of your state of undress. The thin fabric of your T-shirt did little to shield you from his heated eyes, and you fought the urge to cover yourself with your arms. Silco's expectant look bores into you, a silent demand that sent a shiver down your spine. This is uncharted territory. He had never shown up unannounced like this before, and the change from your usual arrangement left you feeling off-balance and vulnerable.

"I... I would have cleaned up if I knew you were coming. Wasn’t expecting you," you manage to stammer out, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hand instinctively moved to smooth down your untamed hair, a futile attempt at composure in the face of his intense presence.

Silco's lips curled into a smirk, that predatory gleam still in his eyes. "Clearly," he drawled, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the small room. "But here I am. And you know what I want."

You're surprised to find that your usual craving for shimmer is absent. Instead, your entire being is focused on the man before you, on giving him exactly what he needs. His presence alone seems to be intoxicating enough. You lean forward, your lips seeking his, but at the last moment, Silco tilts his head away. Undeterred, your mouth finds purchase on his jaw, trailing soft kisses along the sharp angle before moving down to his neck. Your hands, meanwhile, busy themselves with his clothing, fingers working deftly to undo the buttons of his vest and dress shirt.

As you work, you can feel the tension in Silco's body, the taut muscles beneath your exploring hands. His breath hitches slightly as your lips brush against a particularly sensitive spot on his neck, and you file that information away for future use. The layers of his clothing fall away, revealing more and more of his skin. You take your time, savoring each newly exposed inch, your touches hungry. All the while, Silco remains still, allowing you to work, his good eye half-lidded but watchful, gauging your every move.

You peel away the last layer of his clothing, your eyes widen in surprise. Silco's skin is adorned with intricate tattoos, each one a work of art etched into his flesh. Two syringes trail along his v-lines, their needles pointing downward towards his cock. On his left pectoral, a fierce shark seems to swim across his skin, its presence as intimidating as the man himself. Your gaze shifts to his right pec, where a dagger appears to be cutting through his very skin. Your fingers trace the outlines of these tattoos, feeling the slightly raised skin beneath your touch. You look up at Silco, a question in your eyes. He meets your gaze unflinchingly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Surprised?" he asks, his voice low and husky. You barely have time to nod before Silco's hands are on you, pushing you back against the table. The edge digs into your lower back as he presses his body against yours, his skin hot against your thin shirt. His hands drift down your sides, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Suddenly, his fingers close around the handle of the knife still embedded in the table. With a swift motion, he yanks it free, the blade glinting in the dim light. Your breath catches in your throat as he brings the knife to your collar.

"Don't move," he growls, an order. The cold steel slides against your skin as he begins to cut away your shirt, the fabric parting easily under the sharp blade. Your heart pounds in your chest, heavy breathes leaving your lips as Silco methodically destroys your clothing, leaving you exposed to his hungry gaze. It slips off your body, leaving you in your underwear.

Silco begins to trail the knife along your collarbone. Your breath hitches, a mixture of fear and anticipation coursing through you. Slowly, deliberately, he guides the knife downward, the flat of the blade gliding over the swell of your breasts. Your skin prickles, every nerve ending hyper-aware of the dangerous caress. Silco's eyes are glued to your exposed body. The knife's path leaves a trail of tingling sensation in its wake, contrasting with the heat emanating from his body pressed against yours. You can feel his rapid heartbeat echoing your own.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. The single word sends a jolt of electricity through your body, igniting a fire deep within you. You're acutely aware of your vulnerability, completely at his mercy - and yet, you've never felt more alive.

You feel a sharp sting just beneath your breast. A small gasp escapes your lips as you realize Silco has nicked your skin with the knife. His eyes don’t change, still cool and icy.

"My apologies," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "I got... carried away." You know he doesn’t mean it.

Before you can respond, Silco leans down, his hot breath ghosting over the small wound. His tongue darts out, lapping at the tiny droplets of blood that have formed. The sensation sends a shiver through your body, a mix of pain and pleasure that leaves you breathless. Silco's tongue continues its ministrations, soothing the cut with gentle, circular motions. The contrast between the cold steel of the knife and the warm wetness of his tongue is intoxicating. You find yourself arching into his touch, craving more of this dangerous attention.

As if reading your thoughts, Silco's mouth moves from the small cut to your breast. His lips close around your nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. A soft moan escapes your lips as he alternates between gentle sucking and light grazing with his teeth. His free hand cups your other breast, kneading the soft flesh and teasing the nipple with his thumb. The knife, still in his hand, trails along your side, cold compared to the heat of his mouth. The dual sensations send shivers through your body, heightening your arousal. You silently beg for more as your hand cards through his wet hair.

Silco's eyes darken with unbridled desire. His voice commanding and dark makes you shiver. "Turn around," he all but hisses, another order.

You comply without hesitation, your body thrumming with anticipation. As you turn, Silco's hand presses firmly between your shoulder blades, bending you over the table. The wood creaks beneath your heated skin, making you gasp. His body looms over you, his presence overwhelming your senses. You can feel the heat radiating from him, his arousal evident as it presses against you. Silco's breath is hot against your ear as he leans in close.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his praise sending a jolt of pleasure through you. His hands trail down your sides, gripping your hips with a possessive intensity that leaves you breathless. Silco's voice drops to a smokey whisper. "You're almost perfect," he says, his words sending your head spinning. Almost? You hear something being placed beside your head on the table. Turning slightly, your breath catches in your throat as you see a syringe filled with shimmering liquid, its needle pointed directly at your eye.

The sight of the shimmer so close, combined with Silco's words, sends a conflicting wave of desire and fear through you. You're acutely aware of your vulnerability, bent over the table with Silco looming behind you, and now the temptation of the drug right beside you. Your heart races, all the tension building inside of you until it’s unbearable. The proximity of the shimmer sends your senses into overdrive, your skin prickling with heightened sensitivity. Your fingers twitch involuntarily, itching to reach for the syringe. The craving builds within you, a familiar yet intense desire that threatens to overshadow everything else.

But even as your body yearns for the drug, another part of you is aware of Silco's presence behind you. His touch, his scent, the heat of his body – they all compete with the allure of the shimmer. A soft whimper escapes your lips, your conflicted desires evident in the sound. You press your forehead against the cool surface of the table, trying to ground yourself amidst the swirling sensations. Your breath comes in short, rapid gasps as you struggle to maintain control, your body trembling with need – but whether for the shimmer or for Silco, you're no longer sure.

Suddenly, you feel Silco's hand on your arm, his grip firm and unyielding. Before you can react, there's a sharp sting as the needle pierces your skin. The cool liquid rushes into your veins, and within seconds, your world explodes into a kaleidoscope of sensations. Your muscles tense involuntarily, every fiber of your being coming alive with an electric intensity. You can feel each individual muscle contracting, the sensation both painful and exquisitely pleasurable. Silco’s eyes are on you, leaning back now so he can watch as the drug consumes you. Your back arches, pressing you further against Silco, who groans in response to your writhing form.

"That's it," Silco whispers, his voice thick with desire. "Let it take you." His hands roam your body, feeling the way your muscles twitch and spasm under his touch. The dual sensations of the shimmer coursing through you and Silco's exploring hands send you spiraling into a realm of pure sensation. He seems to be electrified by your reaction, his hands never ceasing their exploration of your trembling form. "So beautiful," he praises you again as a gasp falls from your lips.

Your senses are heightened to an almost painful degree. Every touch, every breath, every subtle movement is amplified tenfold. You're lost in a sea of pleasure and pain, your body no longer your own as it responds to both the drug and Silco's ministrations. Through the haze of power and pleasure, you feel Silco shift behind you. The sound of a belt buckle being undone reaches your ears. Your body trembles with anticipation, every nerve ending on fire. Deft fingers remove your underwear.

Silco's hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. You feel him position himself at your entrance, the heat of his body radiating against your sensitive skin. With a low groan, he pushes forward, sliding into you with ease, your arousal allowing him a smooth entry. The sensation of him filling you is overwhelming, amplified by the shimmer coursing through your veins. Your muscles clench around him involuntarily, drawing a sharp intake of breath from Silco.

“Perfection.”

He begins to move, his thrusts hard and frantic. The shimmer amplifies every sensation, making you feel as if you're being split apart and remade with each powerful stroke. Your fingers grip the edge of the table, knuckles turning white from the intensity of your grasp. The room fills with the sounds of your combined pleasure - grunts, moans, and the rhythmic slap of skin on skin. Silco's pace becomes increasingly erratic, his control slipping as he chases his release. Your own climax builds rapidly, a white-hot pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

There's a loud crack. The table, unable to withstand the force of your enhanced strength and Silco's relentless pounding, snaps clean in half. You both cry out in surprise as you crash to the floor, a tangle of limbs and splintered wood.

For a moment, you both lie there, stunned. Then, Silco lets out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. "Well," he says, his voice rough with exertion and amusement, "it seems we've made quite a mess." Silco's arms tighten around you, his body still intimately connected with yours. With a grunt, Silco shifts, carefully maneuvering you both away from the splintered remains of the table. He doesn't withdraw from you, instead positioning himself behind you once more. The familiar feeling of his chest pressed against your back sends a shiver down your spine. His breathing is ragged, hot against your neck, betraying his barely contained desire.

Silco's hands grip your hips with an almost bruising force, guiding you onto your hands and knees. "That's it," he husks, the usual coolness of his voice slipping. "Show me how much you want this." His fingers dig into your flesh, a testament to his waning control.

You arch your back, pressing against him as he begins to move. Silco's hands roam your form, alternating between gentle caresses and possessive grips that are sure to leave marks. His touch is frantic, needy, as if he's trying to memorize every inch of your skin. The rhythm builds rapidly, his thrusts becoming more forceful as he takes you from behind. The room fills once again with the sounds of your shared pleasure, punctuated by the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath you. Silco's grunts and groans become more frequent, more primal, as he loses himself in the sensation.

"You're mine," he hisses, one hand snaking up to tangle in your hair. He pulls, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to arch your back further, changing the angle of his thrusts. The new position sends jolts of pleasure through your body, making you cry out. You curse and whine, your nails digging into the floorboards as he rails you.

Silco's other hand slides around to your front, his fingers finding your clit. He rubs in tight circles, his movements becoming more erratic as his own pleasure builds. "Come for me," he demands, his voice rough with need. "Show me how good I make you feel."

“S-Silco!” You gasp, your body convulsing with pleasure. The shimmer makes you feel as if you're floating and crashing to earth all at once. As your climax approaches, you feel Silco tense behind you. His grip on your hips tightens, sure to leave bruises. With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside you as he finds his release. He lets out a guttural groan, his body shuddering against yours.

The sensation of him pulsing within you, combined with the shimmer coursing through your veins, sends you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you in waves of intense pleasure, your body shuddering and clenching around him. You cry out, your voice hoarse and raw, Silco's name falling from your lips like a prayer.

The aftershocks subside and you collapse onto the floor with Silco following suit, draping himself over your back. Both of you breathe heavily, his arms wrapping around you to keep you close as you both come down from your high. The shimmer continues to buzz through your system. Silco's lips brush against your shoulder, trailing up to your neck. His kisses are softer now, a stark contrast to the roughness of moments before. "You're exquisite," he murmurs against your skin, his tinged with satisfaction. It’s so comfortable like this, to be in his arms on the floor. To be safe with him. You know it won’t last.

Silco's demeanor suddenly shifts, his voice taking on a commanding tone. "Get up," he orders, his hands already moving to disentangle himself from you. "Get dressed. Now."

You comply, albeit reluctantly, your body still humming from the effects of both the shimmer and your intense encounter. As you stand, you notice the tattered remains of your shirt on the floor, torn apart by Silco's earlier fervor. A small sigh escapes your lips as you pick up the ruined shirt. "You destroyed my favorite shirt," you murmur, a hint of disappointment in your voice.

Silco's eyes flick to the torn fabric in your hands, a fleeting look of amusement crossing his features before his expression hardens once more. "I'll find you a new one," he states matter-of-factly, already buttoning up his own shirt with swift, practiced movements, hiding away his recently discovered tattoos.

You rummage through your belongings, finally finding a sweatshirt you've sewn together yourself and a pair of tattered sweatpants. You slip them on, acutely aware of how disheveled you must look compared to Silco and his tailored suit. He’s composed and put-together despite his coat still soaking wet. You, on the other hand, are a mess of patchwork fabric and frayed edges. His gaze sweeps over you, his expression unreadable. You can't help but feel a twinge of self-consciousness under his scrutiny.

Silco's eyes narrow as he takes in your appearance. "Come with me," he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument. Without waiting for a response, he strides towards the door, expecting you to follow.

You hurry after him, stepping out into the damp streets of Zaun. The rain has lessened to a light drizzle, but the air is still thick with moisture and the ever-present chemical haze. You walk beside Silco and you can't help but notice the stark contrast between you two. People on the street turn to stare as you pass. Some eyes linger on Silco with a mixture of fear and respect, while others dart to you with curiosity and confusion. The weight of their gazes makes you ever more aware of how out of place you are beside him.

Feeling increasingly self-conscious, you pull up the hood of your sweatshirt, trying to shrink into it. The fabric, worn thin in places, offers little protection against the scrutiny of passersby. You can't help but feel like a stray cat walking alongside a sleek panther. Silco, for his part, seems utterly unaffected by the attention. He walks with purpose, his stride confident and unhurried. The crowd parts before him, people stepping aside to clear his path. It's a stark reminder of his status in Zaun, of the power he wields.

As you continue to walk beside him, you can't shake the feeling of being an outsider. In the privacy of your home, the differences between you and Silco seemed to matter less. But out here, in the open streets of Zaun, those differences are thrown into your face. You follow Silco through the winding streets of Zaun, your mind hazy from the shimmer still coursing through your veins. Eventually, he leads you into a dimly lit alleyway, the air thick with the stench of chemicals and decay.

Silco stops abruptly, turning to face you. "Do you know where we are?" he asks, his voice low and intense.

You glance around, the surroundings vaguely familiar. A chill runs down your spine as recognition dawns. "This is... where you first found me," you whisper.

A grim smile plays on Silco's lips. "Indeed. This is where I took you and… where I saw your potential." His eyes narrow as he studies you. "You were so desperate for shimmer, for the power that it holds. And yet..." He trails off, disappointment evident in his tone. Silco's gaze feels like a physical weight upon you. "You're not doing anything with it," he continues, his voice a mix of frustration and contemplation. "You take the shimmer, feel its effects, and then what? You go home. It's a waste."

His words hang in the air between you, heavy with implication.

"You could punch through that wall now," he says, gesturing to the very wall he had you pressed against moments ago. "Pulverize it into rubble. What's stopping you?"

Your heart races, anxiety and confusion swirling in your mind. The shimmer's effects still linger, making your muscles twitch with untapped power. You open your mouth, but no words come out. You're at a loss, unsure of what he wants from you. Silco steps closer, his presence looming over you. His hand reaches out, cupping your face with unexpected gentleness.

"You're more than just a pretty face," he murmurs, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "You have so much potential. I see it in you, even if you don't see it yourself."

His words, combined with his gentle touch, send a wave of conflicting emotions through you. The warmth of his hand on your face is comforting, filling a void you didn't realize was there. Yet, the weight of his expectations still hangs heavy in the air. Suddenly, Silco's hands move towards your throat. The shimmer coursing through your veins heightens your reflexes, and before you can even process what's happening, you react instinctively. Your hands shoot out, gripping his shoulders and shoving him forcefully against the alley wall. The impact reverberates through the bricks, and you hear Silco's breath leave him in a rush.

For a moment, you stand there, shocked by your own actions. Your hands are still pressed against Silco's chest, pinning him to the wall. The strength flowing through your muscles is exhilarating, but it also terrifies you.

"I... I won't hurt anyone," you stammer, your voice shaky but determined. You step back, releasing Silco from your grip and almost folding into yourself. Memories of your past flash through your mind - the hunger, the fear, the constant struggle to survive. You shake your head, trying to clear the painful images. Growing up in the lanes… you were hurt and you still hurt to this day from it. You won’t do the same to anyone else.

"What if they deserve it?" Silco purrs, though his gaze remains cold. He straightens his suit, composing himself after your unexpected display of strength. “You have the power to do something. To be someone. And I’ll be here when you realize that.”

With those words hanging in the air, Silco turns and walks away, leaving you alone in the alley. Again.

Hazy eyes drift down to your hands. They clench into fists.

Silco is nearly out of the alley when he hears a loud crack! He turns to watch as that wall comes crumbling down.

#silco x reader #silco arcane #silco x you #silco #arcane Silco #silco arcane x reader #uhhhhh???

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aphroditeinthesea · 9 months ago

Note

I love your work so much omg 😭 🙏🏻 you’re such a good writer 🫶🏻

I saw you were looking for requests 👀 and I was wondering if you’d be willingly to do Leo Valdez x f!reader where they are kinda rivals (yk they just bicker all the time) both working on the argo together or making weapons with a team in the forge. But then some guy joins their team and starts mansplaining the basic equipment. There’s just situation after situation where the reader will explain something to the guy and he won’t listen but then the second Leo says it he gets it. And at first Leo kinda notices but just thinks it’s because he’s in charge and stuff. At some point though he overhears the guy showing her how to do something (the wrong way) and he’s like “yo back off man, she knows what she’s doing”. Maybe he even protects her from open flames when the guy almost burns her handling the equipment wrong (something she’d told him a million times before)?? Maybe both happen idk?? The two just become close after that and he ends up confessing or something

Sorry about how much I wrote 😭 your request rules said you liked the requests to be specific and I wasn’t sure how in-depth to write… so if that’s too much you can totally take a bunch of it out lol (I work with power tools because I’m an arts major and I’ve had so many guys trying to explain basic power tools to me… so this has been on my mind for MONTHSSS)

“ i’m a feminist, obviously (but i wouldn’t really mind him saving me) ”

leo valdez x fem!reader 🔨

⚠️ o/c being creepy, mansplaining, almost getting set on fire

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

“That’s not,” Y/N stormed over to the boy. She grabbed the wrench out of his hands and began turning it, “righty tighty, lefty loosey.”

“What did you just say to me?” He scoffed.

“You were turning your wrench the wrong way, Valdez,” she replied, handing the tool back to him.

He grabbed it from her, crossing his arms, “for your information, that’s exactly how I wanted it.”

She rolled her eyes, “did you sleep, like at all?”

“A little.”

She huffed, “get some sleep, I’ll clean up.”

“No,” he defended, “I just need to finish this up-”

“If you try to use power tools why you're half asleep, you'll end up getting yourself killed,” she grabbed the wrench from him again, “and you know who’ll have to clean up your dead body? Me, and that’s gross.”

“You're too good to me.”

“Fuck off.”

He chuckled, wiping his forehead, “okay, fine. I’m heading out.”

“Bye,” she waved him off.

“See you later, sweet cheeks.”

“Shut up!”

He closed the door of bunker nine behind him, leaving her alone. She sighed with relief, tightening a few loose screws.

She hummed to herself as she began cleaning the mess around her. She picked up some tools, placing them back on their shelves.

“Nice song.”

She jumped at the voice. She turned around to see a boy standing by the stairs. “What are you doing?”

“I’m Marcus,” he replied, walking closer to her, causing her to slowly back up, “son of Hermes.”

“Well, what are you doing here?”

He put a hand on the ship, “heard you're working on this Argo thing, figured I could give a few pointers.”

She grabbed a toolbox, quickly walking away, “we don't need any help, thanks though.”

“Come on,” he smiled, following her, “you can always use some help, the more the merrier, right?”

“Take it up with Leo,” she answered, avoiding eye contact with her. She rushed to collect her things and made an escape to the door.

“I’ll walk you back.”

“I’m fine,” she sighed, opening the door and walking out.

She almost forgot about the incident the next day when she walked into the bunker. She found Leo with an annoyed look on his face, digging through a toolbox.

“What’s up with you, Bernard?” She commented as she walked towards the son of Hephaestus. She knew it was a stupid name, but she did love how much he hated it. She also loved the fact that he didn't understand it (she started using it more after finding out he had never seen the Santa Clause movies).

He sighed, “Mr. Macho over there,” he nodded his head toward the boy from the night before playing with a blowtorch. “He convinced Chiron that he should be working on this, too.”

She scrunched her face, “he gives me the creeps.”

“You know him?”

“He came in here last night after you left,” she explained, “I think he has a thing for me or something.”

Leo’s face tensed, his fist clenching around the hammer he held, “you think?”

“Hope not.” She took a deep breath before walking past the tall boy to grab some extra wood.

“Hey,” he grinned at her, “miss me?”

She forced a smile, walking away from him, “you know it.” She cursed herself for trying so hard to be nice to the little fucker, but she really didnt feel like starting something right then.

The day went on with her desperately trying to ignore his comments towards her. She found herself staying by Leo’s side in hopes that Marcus would think they were dating. As much as the idea grossed her out, it was better than some weirdo thinking he had a chance with her.

“I’m gonna head out,” Marcus mentioned, wiping off his hands with a rag.

“Bye,” Leo spoke flatly. Y/N stayed silent but let out a breath of relief when the boy walked out.

Leo looked up at her, noticing her change in demeanor, “are you okay?”

“What?” She met his eyes, “yeah, yeah,” she nodded, “I’m fine.”

He raised an eyebrow, “are you sure? Because I can figure out a way to get him out of here, if you want?”

She shook her head, “thanks, Leo. But, I’m fine, really.”

“Okay,” he breathed out before looking back to continue what he was doing.

She grabbed the blowtorch Marcus had formerly been using. She began using it (i don't know how they work i’m sorry), when Marcus walked back into the bunker, he immediately rushed over to her.

She rolled her eyes as he wrapped his hands around hers, “you're using it wrong.”

“I don't think I am.”

“No, you hold it like this-”

“She knows what she’s doing,” Leo called over.

Marcus just shook his head, “see when you do this,” soon the flames blew back towards them. Marcus threw the blowtorch down in the direction of Y/N in a panic. The flames spewed out and before Y/N could react, she felt herself pulled into a corner, tanned arms wrapped around her.

“What’s the matter with you?!” Leo yelled, his arms tightening.

“Look, it was her fault,” the son of Hermes motioned his hand towards the girl.

“Are you kidding? Since she’s been here, nobody’s almost died (italic). Then the second you walk in you almost turn her into toast!”

She nervously sighed. She slowly reached her hands up to hold onto his forearms, brushing her thumb against his skin.

“You shouldn't have a girl working on this in the first place, there's no way she knows anything about this!”

Leo took a deep breath before yelling once again, “get out!”

“What?” The boy scoffed.

“Get out!”

Her heart rate quickened. Despite all her fighting with him, she had never seen him this angry. She watched as Marcus shook his head before stomping out of the bunker.

Leo’s grip on her loosened, letting turn around to look at him, “are you okay?” He asked, briefly looking her up and down for any wounds.

She nodded, “I’m okay,” she looked up at his face, yet avoiding eye contact, “thank you.”

He softly smiled down at her, “yeah, well, that guy was an ass.”

She giggled, nodding in agreement.

“Don't worry, I’ll set him on fire next time I see him.”

She wrapped her arms around his torso, “thanks, really.”

“Of course,” he nestled his nose into her hair, “if anything happened to you, I think I would have actually killed him.”

“Good to know.”

#leo valdez x you #leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez fanfic #leo valdez imagine #leo valdez fluff #protective!leo #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians

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reddenedrust · 1 year ago

Text

Close-ups from the last piece :)

#Watch_Dogs #Watch_Dogs 2 #WD #WD2 #Wrencus #Joshtara #Wrench x Marcus #Marcus x Wrench #Josh x Sitara #Sitara x Josh #Sitara Dhawan #Josh Sauchak #Marcus Holloway #Wrench Blechman #T-Bone Grady #Raymond Kenney #RustRepresents

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joelalorian · 2 months ago

Text

Life is for the Living

Marcus Moreno x wife!reader | wc: 3560 | masterlist

Summary: What if you, Marcus Moreno's wife, didn't die like everyone thought? What if it was just a curse mimicking a death-like state and you were secreted away to a bunker deep beneath Heroics HQ to be monitored and studied? What if Marcus' undying love and granting of something you always wanted brought you back to life on Valentine's Day? Listen to the song that inspired this story: Hell or High Water by Billy Raffoul

Tags/Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, and pure fluff. Just a story about love and miracles for Valentine's Day. Very little to no descriptions of reader (she's you, boo). No use of y/n. Divider courtesy of @saradika-graphics

Hope you enjoy my little contribution to the Bouquets of Pedro challenge hosted by @happypedrohours! My prompts were Marcus Moreno & serenade. Please check out all the great works contributed for this challenge, as well as all the other fun activities and goodies the lovely and creative Sara & Mel have put together for everyone's enjoyment. Happy Valentine's Day, y'all!

To the world, Marcus Moreno was a hero, a leader, and a man who dedicated his life to protecting others.

But in his mind, the greatest role he ever played was your husband and father of your beautiful daughter, Missy. And the worst part of that was, for all his purported superpowers, he couldn’t save the one person he loved most.

He couldn’t save you.

And nothing could save him from the grief that refused to fade over that fact.

He spent the last few years trying to hold himself together, forcing himself to wake up every morning, put on his Heroics uniform, and lead his team like he wasn’t falling apart. Years of keeping his voice steady when Missy asked if he was okay, of pretending to believe the lie when he told her yes.

It hadn’t made it easier. It only made the silence louder.

Your absence was everywhere. In the empty side of the bed that still smelled faintly of you, in the house that had lost its warmth, in the countless little things that reminded him you were supposed to be here. But most of all, in your daughter's sad, heartbroken face.

Some nights, he barely slept, haunted by the memory of holding you for the last time.

Marcus remembered every heart-wrenching detail of that day, the day he lost you.

The day started like any other. The three of you were at home in your daily routine: Getting Missy ready for school, watching the news as you ate breakfast together, and dropping Missy off at school before continuing to HQ. The call from his mother redirected your commute.

That dreaded call changed everything in the blink of an eye.

What should have been a simple takedown turned into a battle for your lives as you waited for the other Heroics to back you up. They arrived in time to witness the fatal blow that struck you down.

You had been so still. So cold.

So… gone.

The cold February air bit at Marcus’s skin as he knelt in the frost-covered grass at the base of your gravestone. The sight of your name etched into the marble caused the never-ending mix of grief and guilt to crash over him in waves. Titling his head back, he stared at the muted gray sky as his dark eyes clouded over with tears and the dull ache in his chest sharpened until the pain pierced his heart.

It was Valentine’s Day.

It had been your favorite. You never cared for the grand gestures associated with the lovers’ day – no elaborate dinners or expensive gifts. No, you preferred time and attention from the ones you loved. The two simplest gifts he could give you, yet it never felt like enough to him.

You insisted on making it a tradition to spend Valentine’s Day at home, wrapped in blankets, listening to music, and slow dancing in the kitchen. You used to beg him to sing for you, teasing that his deep, rumbling rasp would be perfect for whatever song happened to be playing at the time.

Marcus always refused.

He only ever sang to himself in the shower because he thought he sounded terrible. He was too embarrassed to sing in front of you, to you.

And now, here he was, standing alone on Valentine’s Day, talking to a stone instead of the woman who had been the love of his life.

These few years felt like the longest, loneliest of his entire life. He would have fallen apart long ago if not for Missy. She was the only thing that kept him going anymore. She already lost you; he couldn’t let her lose him, too. So, he fought. Every day he fought to keep going, to not give into grief.

His fingers brushed over the bouquet of dark red roses he’d bought on the way to visit, a perfect match to the ones he gave you on your first date, and every Valentine’s Day since, but he hardly noticed them. His mind was too consumed by memories of you to consider anything else. The way your laughter used to wrap around him like a warm embrace. The way your touch could steady him in and outside of battle or send him burning with need. The way your lips had tasted of honey from that lip gloss you loved and promised he’d never let go of.

He should have moved on by now. Everyone told him as much. Even Missy, though she never said it outright, wanted him to heal, to give love another chance.

But how could he?

How could he ever love again when his heart still belonged to you? It would always belong to you.

Marcus Moreno already had his great love story, and it ended in tragedy because he couldn’t keep you safe. He didn’t deserve another shot at a love like he had with you.

The cemetery was quiet, the late afternoon sun hidden behind gray clouds that matched his mood. His eyes remained glued to your name carved into the headstone.

“I miss you,” he murmured, tracing the letters of your name. “I miss you so god damn much.”

With a shaky breath, Marcus pulled his phone from his jeans pocket and pressed play, the song he selected already queued up. The music filled the air of the empty cemetery, its raw melody floating through the air like a whispered prayer.

He pushed his black, plastic-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose, something invisible compelling him to sing along with the lyrics that spoke so clearly to his shattered heart.

It was yet another thing he wished he would have done while you were still alive – serenade you. It was something so simple. He hated himself for every time he refused to.

You never know what tomorrow may bring

The woman lyin’ next to you

Could be a memory

I’ve idolized, I’ve memorized your face

Just in case I need it to last for eternity

It’s a shame that it ain’t enough for me

Life's for the living, I won't be giving up 'Cause you taught me how to, you taught me how to love Take all I cherish, beat me 'til my body's numb

But, life's for the living, I won't be giving up On you

His voice was quiet at first, but the longer the song played, the more he let himself go until he gave in completely to the moment. His voice was rough and heavy with emotion as he sang, but Marcus didn’t care. It was the only thing he could still give you.

I should have known, should have tried to hold on And never left your heart where it don't belong If the wind would change, bring you back again, my love Come Hell or high water, we will rise above You are what I believe in You are enough

His voice cracked, but he didn’t stop.

He didn’t care.

Marcus didn’t care that he was crying again, didn’t care that he was pouring his heart, his soul out to a gravestone. All he knew was that every word, every musical note, was a love letter from his heart to yours.

When he finally drew a stilted breath, Marcus felt like he was breathing for more than just himself for the first time in too long.

Deep beneath the Heroics Headquarters, alarms blared.

“Code Red, Code Red,” a computerized voice announced repeatedly.

Scientists in white coats scrambled toward a glass-enclosed room whose sole occupant had been silent and still for several years, their voices frantic and hands shaking with disbelief as they watched the impossible happen.

Your chest rose.

Your fingers twitched.

Your heart, which last beat three years ago, suddenly pounded with life.

The monitors surrounding your body flickered erratically before settling into a steady rhythm. The curse – or whatever supernatural force that held you in the stasis of its cruel grip for three years – had been shattered.

But how?

The entire world apart from the six scientists in this hidden bunker and one Anita Moreno – your mother-in-law – believed you died in battle. Everyone mourned you, your husband, and your daughter most of all. But Anita Moreno, a staunch believer in miracles and possessor of uncanny omniscient abilities, simply had a feeling that you weren’t dead. She never gave up, keeping your body hidden under constant monitoring in this secret bunker.

She never mentioned a word to her son.

That belief in powers beyond even the superhero-level shit the Heroics were used to finally paid off, so it was worth all the secrecy in Anita’s mind.

When you awoke, confusion wrapped around you like a heavy fog. Your body felt foreign, sluggish like you had been trapped in a dream for far too long. The sterile white walls around you were unfamiliar, and the voices – so many voices – made your head spin.

You tried to sit up, and the moment you did, the scientists gasped.

“She’s awake,” someone spoke. “You need to get down here now!”

“What the hell is going on?” you croaked, the sound barely audible to your ears. The last thing you recalled was fighting beside Marcus against an unexpectedly strong enemy, an odd language slipping from the villain’s mouth as he struck you down. After that, it was just… nothing.

Had you died?

Judging by the reaction from the six shell-shocked scientists surrounding you now, you must have.

So, how the hell were you suddenly alive now?

Despite your repetitious questions, the scientists could tell you nothing. They just poked and prodded, running any number of tests, none of which provided any answers.

The arrival of your mother-in-law served as a much-needed reprieve from the incessant testing. Her watery smile and warm hug eased your nerves.

“It’s good to see you awake, mija,” Anita said as she sat at the side of the bed. “I was beginning to doubt that you would ever wake.”

“How am I even alive, Anita?”

She explained it the best she could, but really, no one had a clue. The rest of the team had killed the villain before Anita could tell them otherwise, so she did not have any concrete explanations. All she knew was a feeling deep in the pit of her stomach telling her you were not, in fact, dead. That you would come back to them someday.

“And today is apparently that day,” Anita concluded. With a cheeky wink, she added, “Seems fitting as it’s Valentine’s Day.”

Marcus barely had time to process the call from his mother before he was sprinting through the halls, his heart in his throat, his entire world tilting on its axis.

He didn’t believe the words coming out of his mother’s mouth. He almost thought she was having a stroke, uttering impossible nonsense, until she snapped at him, demanding that he come to see for himself. He’d deal with the fact that his own mother knew you were hidden away in secret some other time. For now, his brain, his heart could only focus on you, on the fact that you’re even alive.

The elevator ride down to the restricted bunker in the depths beneath HQ that he didn’t even know existed was interminable. Marcus could hardly breathe by the time it settled at the bottom and the doors opened with a soft hiss.

“Hurry!” Anita said, forgoing a greeting as she rushed him down the hall to a room lined with windows.

The sight beyond the glass left him clutching his chest, gasping for breath.

You sat up on a gurney, your eyes searching the room and the view beyond wildly. He was nearly brought to his knees when your panicked gaze met his.

“Marcus…” He couldn’t hear your voice but watched your lips form his name. Tears lined his lashes as he stepped forward, practically breaking the metal door off its hinges as he burst into the room. He hesitated just past the threshold, as if afraid that you’d disappear in a wisp of smoke if he got too close.

“I—I thought I lost you,” he choked out.

Your mind was still a bit foggy from years of inactivity, but one thing was clear. Marcus.

His presence.

His warmth.

His love.

That love was a tangible thing, visible in his eyes and nearly graspable in the air. You knew, without a doubt, that no matter how much time had passed, he had never let you go.

Your body moved before your mind could catch up, and no thought was given to the muscles weakened by years of inactivity.

You crashed into his arms.

For the first time in years, Marcus Moreno held you again.

Tightly.

Desperately.

As if he would never let you go.

And this time…

He wouldn’t have to.

After days of study and testing conducted by a team of scientists, you were finally allowed to leave that dreaded bunker. No answers were forthcoming but none of you cared. The only thing that mattered was you were alive.

The drive home felt surreal. The world outside seemed unchanged yet starkly different at the same time.

Marcus refused to let go of your hand the entire drive, his fingers laced tightly with yours as if anchoring himself to reality. His other hand gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, stealing glances at you every few minutes like he was afraid you’d vanish if he blinked.

It was overwhelming. The world had moved forward while you had been trapped in stillness. You watched the city pass by outside the window, familiar buildings dotting the skyline but new shops lined streets you once knew like the back of your hand. Time had continued without you.

But Marcus hadn’t.

His love remained, unwavering, unshaken by the years. Even when he believed you dead, he never stopped loving you, never moved on.

And now, you were finally coming home.

The house was the same, yet different. The front porch still had wind chimes – yours, the ones Marcus had always teased you about but never took down because you loved them too much. The rose bushes in the yard had grown wild, untamed as if even the plants had felt your absence.

You barely made it past the threshold before you heard footsteps racing toward you.

“Dad! Did you forget the ice cream or –”

Missy froze.

Her wide brown eyes – the ones that looked just like her father’s – locked onto yours, her face going pale as if she was seeing a ghost. Which wasn’t far from the truth.

Your breath hitched.

She had grown. The last time you saw her, she was still a little girl, always clinging to Marcus’s side. Now, she was taller, her face less babyish, her hair a little longer. But those eyes, those beautiful eyes, were the same.

And in them, you saw the same heartbreak Marcus had carried.

Tears welled in Missy’s eyes. Her bottom lip quivered.

“Mom?”

Her voice shook, that one word so fragile, so full of hope and disbelief that it shattered you.

Your legs barely held you as you stepped forward, hands trembling.

“Missy…” Your voice broke on her name.

She didn’t wait. With a sob, she flung herself into your arms, hugging you so tightly it nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.

You held her just as fiercely.

She was real. You were real.

You could feel her tears soaking into your shoulder, feel the way she clung to you as though she was terrified that you’d slip through her fingers again.

“You’re here,” she whispered, voice cracking. “How are you here?”

“I’m here,” you promised, kissing the crown of her head. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry for leaving you. I don’t have a clue how, but I’m here.”

Marcus stepped behind the two of you, his hand resting on your back, grounding you both.

Missy pulled away just enough to look at you, her tear-streaked face breaking into a watery smile. Her wide eyes darted between you and Marcus. “Dad was right.”

You blinked, shooting Marcus a curious look. “About what?”

She turned to him then, love and admiration filling her gaze. “He always told me love could fix anything.”

Marcus let out a soft, teary laugh, shaking his head as he swiped at the tears slipping down his face. “I didn’t know it would take this long, though.”

You laughed, too, pressing a hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat syncopate with yours beneath your palm. “Worth the wait?”

His arms wrapped around both you and Missy, pulling you close. “Always.”

As the three of you stood there, tangled in each other’s warmth, the world outside didn’t matter.

Because you were home.

Together.

The living room was warm, filled with the golden glow of the evening sun filtering through the curtains. It smelled like home – like spices and citrus, like the faint hint of Marcus’s cologne, like memories waiting to be remembered.

Missy hadn’t let go of your hand since you arrived. She sat curled up beside you on the couch, staring at you with wonder, as if memorizing every detail of your face.

“Dad never let me forget you,” she said softly, tracing patterns on the back of your hand. “Even when I started to forget things myself.”

You swallowed hard. “Forget?”

Missy hesitated before nodding. “I was still little when we lost you – not the wise pre-teen I am now. Some days, it felt like you were just… gone. Like a dream I had once but couldn’t quite remember.” She sniffled. “But Dad wouldn’t let that happen.”

Sitting across from you, Marcus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes met yours, filled with the weight of years spent missing you.

“She’d ask for bedtime stories, and I’d tell her about you instead,” he admitted. His voice was rough with emotion, but his smile skittered softly across his face, crinkling his kind eyes behind his glasses. “Not just the big stuff. Not just about how much you loved her, but the little things, too. Like how you’d always made up silly songs when you packed her lunch, or how you used to race her to the car in the mornings and let her win every time.”

Missy giggled. “And here I thought I was actually fast.”

“You were,” Marcus said, eyes sparkling with love. “But your mom was just faster.”

You laughed, shaking your head as the memories swarmed around your head. “Barely. I just had longer legs.”

Missy brightened. “Dad would take me to your favorite bookstore every year on your birthday. He’d let me pick a book I thought you’d like, and we’d read it together.”

Your throat tightened.

“She’d always pick the ones with the strongest heroines,” Marcus added, his soft voice full of pride.

Missy nudged his arm. “Because Mom’s a hero, duh. You both are.”

Tears stung your eyes as you squeezed her hand. “And so are you, sweetheart.”

“She takes after you,” a voice interrupted from the hallway, warm and familiar. “Missy is the best part of both of you.”

Anita Moreno stood there, watching the tender reunion with teary eyes and a knowing smile. You hadn’t noticed earlier, but the years had added a few more gray streaks to her dark hair, but she was still the same – fierce, steady, and always carrying the wisdom of generations.

“Mama,” Marcus said, standing to embrace the woman who had been his rock for the last few years. He would have fallen apart at the seams without her guidance and loving support. She allowed him a brief hug before beelining to you.

“Mija,” she breathed, and you rose on instinct, falling into the motherly embrace you ached for since she embraced you back in the bunker. She held you the way only a mother could like she had been waiting for this moment for far too long.

“I told you earlier, I knew this day would come,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “I knew you weren’t truly gone from us.”

“I still don’t understand how?” you questioned in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Me either. I just felt it,” Anita admitted pointing to her heart, “deep in here. I knew you were locked away somewhere, waiting for my son’s love to bring you back to us all.”

You nodded, swallowing back tears. “You always told me love never fades.”

She pulled back, cupping your face with gentle hands. “And neither does family. He never gave up on you. We never gave up on you.”

Marcus ducked his head as your warm gaze flashed toward him, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just…” he exhaled. “I couldn’t let you disappear. I couldn’t let go.”

You reached for him then, your fingers curling around his. He looked up, his brown eyes like molten pools of love locking onto yours.

For a long moment, nothing else mattered.

Not the lost time.

Not the sadness of believing you were gone, the torture of holding on.

The only thing that mattered was this, you.

Only the love that had been strong enough to bring you back mattered.

Marcus sang the song that brought you back again that night, finally serenading you the way you always wanted.

fin

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