#pocket full of lies

[elephant-in-the-pride-parade]

⭐️ answer away, please and thank you! ⭐️

I think the one I always want to talk about and never get to is one of the Voyager book-fics. The one that keeps circling my brain is a little one shot "The Right Place at the Right Time" it was the fic that got me fixated on the alternate Kathryn Janeway from the book Pocket Full of Lies.

I found the ending of that book a little too neat and tidy. Pocket Full of Lies presents us with this really facinating alternate of Kathryn. circumstances have changed her fundamentally. she has fully traded the explorer hat for the military commander. shes cast off all remnants of starfleet for a cause much more personal: defending land and family and "home" similar to the Maquis. she and Janeway!Prime both have oodles of trauma, but different trauma. their lives diverged at a critical point in time - the mission to the badlands. they are really interesting foils to eachother. but the alternate just gets left behind in a pocket universe because unpacking all that would take more novels than probably simon and schulster wanted to spend on a "side character"

Denzit Janeway continues to live rent free in my brain. I recently did another whatif scenario, The Universe to Mend where Q eventually returns her to the main universe. but i am still quite tickled by the idea of what could have been - to have her spend time in the full circle fleet with Janeway!Prime. and how that could have impacted the other books. what could that character have evolved into. would she return to starfleet or embrace a different path? what relationships would she build? how would her identity evolve? how would seeing herself as a parent affect Janeway!Prime? would the alternate janeway have her own romance and how would it be different than her other self? would she and janeway!prime come to respect eachother despite how different they are. and what would it take? I keep chewing on those questions. I really really want to do more with that character someday.

[bumblingbabooshka]

[ddddd-pixels]

It is Saturday, which means that I have nothing to do again. 👍

Here's a bit of a sprite dump, where I animate static sprites that other people have made:

(Some of these are really old, btw, so the quality might vary)

Chun-Li (Alpha design), Sokaku Mochizuki, Jin Chonrei and Rimururu – originally by LuisChamat on DeviantArt:

Leona Heidern (XIII design) – originally by P-O-K-E-T on DeviantArt:

Raiden/Big Bear, Gen and Poison – originally by OmegaFeX on Deviantart:

[baylardian-1]

Some more cringe baby stuff as I emerge from my tiny little hiatus lmao.

Top one was just a silly little hypothetical of like,,,,, the idea being that Kathryn and Chakotay would hold off on wanting to know what their baby is gonna be and look like. I think it’d be slightly more exciting for them to wait ‘cause of the blend of normal and hyper-evolved human DNA and all that haha. But I think because Kathryn would so frequently have to be in sickbay because of the weird gestational issues that they’d eventually find out before the baby’s born. I think Kathryn would be in denial of the tail lol like SURELY the weird and constant fluttering she’s feeling is just baby kicks riiiiiiiiiiiight.

And then I was just having fun with the nesting instincts idea again hahaha. Lowkey-delirious sleepy tired Kathryn making her baby a lil nest to lay in when he’s born so he’s all situated and comfortable like a lizard baby. :3 Is she fully aware that she’s doing it and that it’s kinda weird for her to be making a nest out of her and Chakotay’s clothes? Prooobably not haha. Actually drawing Liam in it though hehe. He’d just flop and roll around in there he’s SECURE so the nest does what she made it to do and I’m sure a part of her (while embarrassed) is proud of it. :)

[todayisafridaynight]

aren’t we getting kiwami 3 eventually? why are some people so upset? /gen

TECHNICALLY rgg just said they'd LIKE to make a YK3, they never said it's a definite plan or it'd happen anytime soon: it depends on if mine's voice actor can come back to reprise his role

as for why some people are upset ermmmmm good question!

[midnightlovestories]

I probably hyped myself too much after The Eternal Tide but idk, I find Beyer's later depiction of Janeway/Chakotay a bit... underwhelming? I didn't exactly expect a fan fiction romance content but honestly, why do I fell there's more focus on Harry Kim drama with Nancy Conlon and way too many povs from different minor characters that I find often unnecessary instead of some more quality J/C. 🥲

(I also find myself skimming through almost anything that has Itcheb in it because boy is his character painfully boring or what.)

[rapaxs]

tag drop.

[mephisto-reporting]

Jealousy, Jealousy with Sylus

Plot: Reader becomes jealous of Sylus and MC's closeness, distancing herself and seeking comfort in another LI. Sylus notices her growing distance and takes action. Based on this request. Pairing: Sylus x Non MC reader Content Warning: Insecurities, injuries, mention of blood, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort Note: Reader is not the MC of the game. I think I got quite carried away writing this because I am a sucker for angst.

The faint hum of the air condition echoed through the Onychinus base, its opulent, luxurious atmosphere doing little to distract from the knot twisting in your stomach. You stood across from Luke and Kieran, their crow masks tilted slightly as if to gauge your reaction.

"Boss isn't here today," Luke said casually, his hands tucked into his pockets. "He’s in Linkon, Boss man’s got other things to handle."

Kieran, his mask tilted slightly to the side, gave a confused grunt. "But I thought he was meeting with her...?"

Luke raised a brow, correcting him. "No, no, he was meeting with Miss Hunter."

Miss Hunter.

The words hit you like a sledgehammer, even though they shouldn’t have. You were a hunter too, an informant who had been feeding Sylus critical intel on the association’s movements for two years now. But she was different. Special.

Captain Jenna’s star pupil, with her rare Anhaunsen-class Resonance Evol, was someone Sylus had spent weeks trying to connect with, both literally and emotionally. You weren’t blind to the necessity of it; resonating with her was crucial for his goals, ones he hadn’t entirely shared with you but that you trusted him to pursue.

Trusted him. Loved him.

You forced a tight smile. "Thanks for the update. I'll let you two get back to it."

Luke and Kieran exchanged a glance, but you were already walking away, the echo of your boots swallowed by the hum of the base.

The ride back to Linkon was supposed to clear your mind. It didn’t.

The cool wind whipped against your face, but all it did was sting the tears pooling in your eyes. The road stretched endlessly ahead, yet the pressure in your chest only grew. Sylus hadn’t seen you in two months. Two months of unanswered calls and messages reduced to half-hearted responses when they came at all.

You understood why he was focused on her. She was crucial to his plans. She was everything you weren’t: poised, pretty, powerful, and, most importantly, someone he needed.

But understanding didn’t make it hurt any less.

The world blurred around you as your thoughts spiraled. You had always known your place in Sylus’ life. You were the informant, the quiet insider who helped him stay two steps ahead of the hunters. Somewhere along the way, though, you had fallen for him. For the man who wasn’t as cold and calculated as others believed. It had been two long years since you started working with Sylus. Two years filled with secrecy, lies, and hidden truths. But over those years, you'd found yourself tangled in emotions for him that you couldn’t shake. Sylus, with his cold authority, his dangerous smile, his complex nature… He was all you could think about. He wasn’t as dismissive as people thought. He had a way of looking at you when no one was watching—a fleeting softness that you cherished, even if you couldn’t be certain if it was real.

And now, it felt like you were losing him.

Your bike screeched to a halt near Meow’s Café. You hadn’t planned to stop, but the sight of the familiar storefront tugged at you. Perhaps a coffee and a moment to breathe would help.

The glass windows glinted under the midday sun, and your breath hitched as you looked inside.

Sylus was there. With her.

They sat at a small table, a deck of Kitty cards spread between them. He was leaning back, his smirk in full display as she laughed at something he said. It was the kind of laugh that reached her eyes, the kind of moment you had only ever dreamed of sharing with him.

You froze, your hands tightening on your helmet.

For a fleeting second, you wanted to march inside and demand answers. To ask him why he had time to play cards but couldn’t return your calls. To tell him how his absence had hollowed you out.

But you didn’t.

He looks so happy... you thought bitterly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

The truth gnawed at you. Every interaction, every ignored message, every unread notification on your phone—it was because of her. Because Sylus had more important things to do. She was the one who mattered now. She was the one who he had to resonate with, had to bond with, had to make fall for him.

And you? You were just a pawn, a tool—forgotten. And there you were. Alone. Watching through a window, the warmth of the cafe contrasting the cold, empty feeling in your stomach. He hadn’t even bothered to let you know he was back. He was with her. You couldn’t bear to watch any longer, but you couldn’t look away either. It felt like the world was spinning faster than you could catch up, and you were left stranded, dizzy, and abandoned.

Instead, you turned away, your chest tight and vision blurred. The world felt suffocating, the weight of your unspoken feelings dragging you down as you climbed back onto your bike.

It was for the best, right?

You couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t keep waiting for him, couldn’t keep fooling yourself that there was something real between you two. He was busy. He had her. And you.. well, you didn’t even know why you bothered anymore.

The ride back to your apartment was a blur of taillights and muffled engine noise. The city’s glow that usually brought you some sense of comfort felt glaring and alien tonight. By the time you made it inside, the suffocating silence of your small space was overwhelming.

For someone who prided herself on being strong and independent, you barely made it to your couch before the sobs overtook you. Hot, angry tears streamed down your face as you clutched a pillow to your chest, trying in vain to keep your cries muffled. It felt as though something within you had been ripped apart, leaving an aching, hollow void that throbbed with every thought of him.

You replayed the image of him at the café in your mind, over and over, as if some part of you wanted to punish yourself further. His smirk. Her laughter. The ease of their interaction. It contrasted so sharply with the heaviness that now weighed on your heart.

Every chime of your phone made you flinch, hope briefly sparking to life, only to be cruelly snuffed out when the screen lit up with messages from others—work updates, pointless notifications, or friends checking in. Nothing from him. Of course, there wouldn’t be.

You wiped at your face, your chest tightening as you scrolled through the last few conversations you’d had with Sylus. They were short, clipped responses. A "thanks" here, an "I’m busy" there. You’d convinced yourself for weeks that he wasn’t brushing you off, that his focus was just elsewhere. But deep down, you knew. You’d always known.

You weren’t as important to him as he was to you.

That realization settled over you like a heavy blanket, suffocating and final. And yet, you tried to convince yourself it was okay. He doesn’t owe me anything, you told yourself, though the thought only twisted the knife deeper. He’s free to choose who he spends his time with.

But it didn’t stop the tears.

The days that followed were a haze of exhaustion and numbness. You threw yourself into your work, spending long hours tracking and confronting wanderers. The physical exhaustion helped, even if just a little. At least when you were in the middle of a fight, the pain in your chest was drowned out by the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Still, the nights were the worst. Alone in your apartment, the quiet crept in like a suffocating fog. You tried to distract yourself—reading, cleaning, even organizing old mission reports. Anything to keep your mind from drifting back to him. But it was impossible.

Each time you saw his name in your contacts, you hesitated. Your thumb hovered over the call button more times than you cared to admit, but the fear of hearing his indifferent voice stopped you every time. What would you even say? That you missed him? That you wanted to see him? That you’d fallen for him, even though you knew it would never be mutual?

No. You couldn’t do that to yourself.

You worked harder, pushed yourself further. Every wanderer you fought became a stand-in for your frustrations, your insecurities. You told yourself that if you could just stay busy enough, the ache would go away. But no matter how many missions you completed or how many late nights you spent staring at your phone, the weight in your chest never fully lifted.

By the end of the week, you were exhausted—physically and emotionally. But you were surviving. Barely. The bell above the door jingled softly as you pushed into the chocolatier’s shop, the rich scent of cocoa and vanilla wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The day had been grueling—hours of chasing leads, a narrow escape from a particularly aggressive wanderer, and not a single bite of food since morning. Your stomach growled in protest, a sharp reminder that you’d been running on fumes for too long.

Rows of meticulously crafted chocolates gleamed beneath the glass counter, their perfect swirls and shimmering finishes almost too beautiful to eat. Almost. You leaned forward slightly, scanning the display, your reflection ghosting over the pristine surface.

Dark chocolate truffles. Raspberry ganache. Caramel hazelnut clusters. The options were overwhelming, and your indecision felt heavier than it should’ve. Your chest still ached from the lingering emotions you’d been suppressing all week. The quiet joy of the shop felt alien, like stepping into a world you no longer belonged to.

Just pick something and go, you thought, your fingers tightening on the strap of your bag. But the choices seemed endless, each one whispering promises of sweetness you weren’t sure you deserved.

"If you’re struggling," a soft, measured voice spoke behind you, "the pistachio crème chocolate is an excellent choice."

Startled, you turned, your gaze falling on a man standing a few steps away. Tall and lean, he exuded an understated confidence that was both intimidating and captivating. Dark hair fell in against his forehead, and sharp hazel-green eyes, softened by gold flecks peered at you from behind thin-framed glasses. His white doctor’s coat was open, revealing a simple black shirt beneath, and he held a small paper bag in one hand.

You blinked, caught off guard by both his suggestion and his presence. "Oh, uh… thank you," you stammered, trying not to sound as flustered as you felt. "I’ll… I’ll try that."

The shopkeeper nodded and carefully packed your selection as you stole another glance at the stranger. There was an air of calm authority about him, a quiet assurance that made you feel oddly exposed, like he could see straight through you.

He waited patiently as the shopkeeper handed you your bag, but just as you were about to leave, his voice cut through the quiet again—this time, more direct. "Chocolates shouldn’t be your first meal of the day."

The statement was delivered without malice, his tone stoic and matter-of-fact, yet it hit like a stone to the chest. Your lips parted in shock, the question forming before you could stop it: How does he know? But before you could say anything, he was already moving toward the door. The bells jingled softly as it closed behind him, leaving you standing frozen in place. The stranger’s words lingered, intertwining with the rest of your messy emotions. Your fingers clenched the small bag of chocolates as you tried to process the brief encounter.

A soft gleam on the floor caught your attention, breaking your spiraling thoughts. A wallet, its sleek leather worn but well-kept, lay just inches from where the man had stood. You knelt and picked it up, your heart thudding as you opened it to check for identification.

The name embossed on his hospital ID was like a jolt: Dr. Zayne. Your eyes widened. Doctor Zayne? The name was familiar—a renowned surgeon whose skills and precision were legendary, often described as a miracle worker. You’d imagined someone older, more weathered, not… this.

For a moment, you stared at the ID, piecing together the puzzle of the composed, enigmatic man who had called you out so effortlessly. You tried the number listed on a card tucked into his wallet, but it rang unanswered, the sterile monotone only adding to your frustration.

"Of course, he wouldn’t answer," you muttered under your breath, chewing your lip as you debated your next move. The idea of keeping his wallet overnight felt wrong, and leaving it here in the shop seemed equally careless.

That left one option.

The hospital loomed ahead as you approached, its towering structure illuminated against the evening sky. Anxiety gnawed at your insides, twisting with every step you took through the sterile white halls. You weren’t sure why you felt so on edge—maybe it was the overwhelming sense of inadequacy that had been haunting you lately, or maybe it was the lingering impression of Zayne’s knowing gaze.

At the reception desk, you hesitated, gripping the wallet tightly as you cleared your throat. "Hi, um, I’m here to return something for Dr. Zayne. He… accidentally dropped this."

The receptionist barely looked up, taking the wallet with a polite but indifferent smile. "Dr. Zayne isn’t in right now. I’ll make sure he gets this when he’s back."

"Oh," You nodded, murmuring a quick thanks before retreating back toward the exit. You thought nothing of this interaction as you left. You did what you thought was right and left the hospital back towards your apartment.

The days blurred together in a haze of work and routine. You buried yourself in assignments from the Hunter’s Association, throwing yourself into dangerous missions with a single-minded intensity. Anything to keep your mind occupied.

Sylus messaged you once during that time, his tone professional as he asked for updates regarding a lead he was tracking. You’d responded quickly, sticking strictly to business. No pleasantries, no banter—just the information he needed. He didn’t press, didn’t call you out for your uncharacteristic coldness. Maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and chose not to say anything.

That night, you jogged through the dimly lit streets, your breath fogging in the cool air as you tried to exorcise the restless energy gnawing at you. The rhythmic slap of your sneakers against the pavement was grounding, steady. Jogging had always been your go-to, a way to clear your head and silence the endless stream of "what-ifs" and "if-onlys" that plagued your mind.

You shook your head, annoyed at yourself. There was no point in dwelling. Sylus wasn’t the kind of person to give you what you wanted, and even if he did, could you trust it? Could you trust him?

But no amount of movement could completely shake Sylus from your thoughts.

His voice, his presence—it clung to you, even now.

Why didn’t he ask how I’ve been? Why didn’t I?

The sound of skidding tires yanked you out of your spiraling thoughts.

“Look out!”

Before you could process the warning, a cyclist veered wildly toward you, their momentum too strong to stop. There wasn’t even time to brace yourself. The impact hit like a freight train, and suddenly, you were on the ground, tangled with the bike and its rider. Pain blossomed sharp and hot in your knees as the asphalt scraped them raw.

For a moment, you just lay there, stunned. The world tilted unsteadily, the city lights smearing together like a watercolor painting.

“Hey, you okay?” The cyclist’s voice snapped you back. They were scrambling off you, helmet slightly askew but otherwise unscathed. You shook your head to clear it, wincing as you sat up. You pushed yourself up, shaking the dizziness from your head, and checked on the cyclist who had crashed into you. They were already scrambling to their feet, looking slightly dazed but otherwise unharmed, their helmet and guards having done their job.

“I’m fine,” you managed, even as your knees throbbed in protest. “Are you?”

“Yeah, thanks to the gear,” they said, pulling off their helmet to inspect a small crack along its surface. “Guess it did its job.”

Relief washed over you. “Good. Let me just—”

“Wait.” A different voice cut in, firm but calm. You stood there, still trying to regain your bearings when a figure appeared beside you, moving with a grace that immediately caught your attention. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw who it was. Dr. Zayne. The same man who had crossed your path in the chocolatier's shop just days ago. His sharp eyes locked onto yours, and for a split second, everything else seemed to vanish. His expression shifted from mild surprise to something more concerned as he took in your state.

Without saying a word, he immediately began assessing you, his gaze narrowing at the blood now staining your knees. You winced, feeling the sting of the cuts that had begun to bloom with a fiery intensity, but you were determined not to show it. You were used to pain—used to the sharp discomfort that came with being a hunter. You didn’t need help. You could handle this on your own. You’d always been able to.

But Dr. Zayne wasn’t having any of it.

His voice, low and steady, broke through the haze of your thoughts. "You’re bleeding. Those need first aid," he said firmly, his frown deepening as he glanced at your scraped knees. "Sit. Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute."

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him you were fine, but the words caught in your throat. He wasn’t asking. His tone, though gentle, was authoritative—demanding in its own quiet way. There was something about the way he carried himself, that calm, unflinching presence, that made it impossible to argue.

"I’m fine, I am a hunter." you managed to say, your voice rougher than you intended. "I can handle it at home. Really." You tried to force a reassuring smile

“Is this a hunter thing?” he interrupted, one brow arching skeptically. “Are all of you this stubborn about basic care, or is it just you?”

The words should have been biting, but his tone was almost... patient. Like he was accustomed to dealing with difficult people.

You flushed, suddenly hyper-aware of the sting in your knees and the heat of his gaze. “I’m not being stubborn,” you muttered. “I just don’t want to bother anyone over something so small.”

“Small injuries have a way of turning into bigger problems,” he said, folding his arms. “And I’m not bothered. As a doctor, I’m asking you to wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Without waiting for your protest, he turned and strode off, leaving you no room to argue.

You sat stiffly on the bench, gripping the edge as the minutes dragged on. The ache in your knees was nothing compared to the gnawing discomfort blooming in your chest. Anxiety clawed at you, whispering insidious doubts.

He’s wasting his time on you.He probably thinks you’re pathetic and weak.Why couldn’t you have just gotten up and left?

Your fingers curled into fists, the tension radiating through your body.

The sound of footsteps interrupted your spiraling thoughts, and Dr. Zayne was back, carrying a small first aid kit. He knelt in front of you without a word, his hands steady as he cleaned the cuts on your knees. The gentle pressure of his fingers as he worked felt almost surreal. His silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just… calm. You found yourself drawn to it, to the quiet that seemed to settle around him.

"You’re lucky," he said, glancing up at you as he bandaged your knees. "That could’ve been a lot worse."

You nodded, the words caught in your throat. There were so many things you wanted to say, things you wanted to ask him, but you didn’t know where to start. So you remained silent, watching as he finished his work, his hands moving with the practiced precision of someone who had seen too many injuries to count.

When he was done, he straightened up and met your gaze. "You should be more careful," he said softly, his voice a little lighter than before, though there was still a note of concern underlying his words. "Next time, don’t run so late at night. You never know what could happen."

You forced a tight smile, the words feeling like they were coming from someone else. "I’ll keep that in mind," you said, your voice quieter now.

Dr. Zayne took a step back after finishing the bandages, his sharp gaze softening ever so slightly as he packed the first aid kit. You glanced at him, your mouth opening to thank him, but before you could get the words out, he said, almost in unison, “Thank you.”

Both of you froze, the simultaneous expressions of gratitude hanging awkwardly in the air. A surprised laugh slipped out of you, breaking the tension.

“You first,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “I was just going to say thank you for… you know, helping with this.” You gestured vaguely toward your knees, the bandages clinging to your skin. “You didn’t have to.”

The moment stretched between you, awkward yet somehow comforting. Zayne gave a small, almost amused smile at the simultaneous gratitude, but his gaze softened when it landed on you, his concern still present.

"Thank you for returning my wallet," he said, his tone steady but with a hint of appreciation.

His words caught you off guard. “Oh, right! That. It wasn’t a big deal, really.” You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, avoiding his gaze. “I found it at the chocolatier shop. I figured it was better to bring it to the hospital than leave it lying around.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “I appreciate it. Not many people would go out of their way like that.”

You tried not to let his kindness throw you off, but it wasn’t easy. There was something about Zayne that made you feel... small in a way you didn’t like to feel. He was kind, yes, but that kindness made you wonder if you were deserving of it. Why should you be the one he cared about?

But before you could dwell on that any further, his voice cut through your swirling thoughts.

"Have you eaten today?" His tone was light, but there was an edge of sincerity beneath it, one that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. It reminded you of that conversation in the shop, of how he had so effortlessly read through your tiredness.

The sheepish look that crossed your face must’ve been obvious, because Zayne sighed, the sound so deep that it almost felt like a reprimand. He pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture that was both familiar and surprisingly endearing.

“You’ve got to take care of yourself,” he said, his voice almost too gentle for the weight of his words. “It’s not healthy to go without food, especially if you’re going to keep running around like you hunters do.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him it wasn’t a big deal, but Zayne didn’t give you the chance.

"There’s a diner close by. It’s the least I can do to thank you for returning my wallet."

You shook your head instinctively, trying to backpedal. "It’s really not necessary," you said, but Zayne wasn’t having any of it. His eyes were firm, and there was an undeniable warmth behind them that almost made you feel guilty for refusing.

"Yes, it is," he replied, his tone steady but with a hint of finality. "Now, come on.”

You hesitated for a moment, the unease building in your chest like a brick wall, but the thought of Zayne’s calm, commanding presence made it impossible to say no. So, with a quiet sigh, you relented.

"I’ll pay," you muttered as he led the way, the words almost reflexive. You always felt like you had to pay your way—like it was your responsibility to do so, especially with someone who had helped you, even in the smallest of ways. You were used to standing on your own two feet.

Zayne only gave you a side glance, his lips quirking up in the barest of smiles. "No, you won’t. It’s my thank you, remember?"

The diner wasn’t far from where you had been, a cozy, low-lit place with a soft hum of quiet conversations and the clink of silverware against plates. The familiar scent of warm food—steak, mashed potatoes, and the unmistakable aroma of fresh bread—immediately filled the air as you stepped inside. You followed Zayne to a small booth in the back, the vinyl seats creaking under your weight as you slid in.

You wanted to say something—thank you, maybe—but the words felt stuck, trapped somewhere in the pit of your stomach, along with everything else that had been piling up for weeks. Zayne didn’t seem to notice, his focus already turning to the menu as he gestured for you to pick something.

You wanted to ask him more, to understand him in the same way you understood the empty streets you ran through, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just end up looking foolish. So, instead, you stared at the menu in front of you, unable to focus on the choices, as your mind churned with questions that had no answers.

Zayne ordered for both of you, his voice low as he made his choices, and when he looked at you, you caught a flicker of something—perhaps curiosity, or was it concern? It was hard to tell.

"You should eat more regularly," he said again, as though the words were a reminder he had to repeat for his own peace of mind. You nodded, letting the silence fill the space between you for a moment.

The food arrived, warm and satisfying, and you took a bite, surprised at how hungry you were despite the earlier denials. Zayne watched you for a moment, his gaze softening as you ate, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. His concern, his care—it felt too much. You weren’t used to people worrying about you.

But as the meal went on, you found yourself starting to relax, the initial tension loosening from your shoulders. Zayne was easy to talk to, his calm, steady presence settling you in a way you hadn’t expected. By the end of the meal, you felt... lighter.

"Call me Zayne," he said when the check came, his voice quiet but sincere.

You blinked, a little caught off guard by the request. "Zayne?" you echoed, testing the name on your tongue.

"Yes," he replied with a small, patient smile. "It’s easier than 'Dr. Zayne,' don’t you think?"

You blinked, taken aback. “Are you sure? I mean, you’ve earned the title—”

“And I’ll still have it in the hospital,” he interrupted, amusement flickering in his eyes. “But here, it’s just Zayne.”

You nodded slowly, testing the name in your mind. It felt strange, almost too personal. But there was something grounding about it, too.

By the time dessert arrived, the knot of anxiety in your chest had loosened considerably. The warmth of the diner, the steady cadence of his voice, and the shared laughter over a poorly made joke had a way of pulling you out of your own head. For the first time in what felt like weeks, you weren’t obsessing over your failures or doubts.

As you finished your meal, Zayne pulled out his phone and slid it across the table. “Here,” he said simply. “Add your number. In case you ever need anything.”

You hesitated, the gesture feeling far more intimate than it probably was. But his expression was patient, expectant, and you found yourself entering your contact information before you could overthink it. When you handed the phone back, his lips twitched into a faint smile.

“Thanks again for returning my wallet,” he said, his tone lighter now. “And for the company.”

You felt your cheeks flush, but this time, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “It’s not a problem,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips.

As you stepped out of the diner and into the cool night air, a strange sense of calm settled over you. Zayne walked you to the corner where your paths would diverge, his presence steady and reassuring.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice softer now, almost intimate.

“You too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The diner’s warmth lingered even as you stepped into the cool night air. For the first time in what felt like weeks, your chest didn’t feel as tight, the oppressive weight that had been bearing down on you now lifting slightly. You still felt the ache of Sylus’ absence—a hollow, gnawing sensation that seemed to creep in whenever you let your guard down, but it wasn’t as suffocating as it had been. Instead, a new sensation fluttered in its place, tentative and fragile: excitement. It was strange to feel this way, to look forward to the possibility of a friendship formed under such unlikely circumstances. Zayne’s calm demeanor, his steady presence, had surprised you.

As you walked, the sound of fluttering wings caught your attention. Instinctively, your heart skipped, your mind jumping to Mephisto. You tilted your head to the dark sky, half-expecting to see the telltale silhouette of his familiar. But it was just a cluster of pigeons, their wings catching the faint glow of the streetlights as they soared away.

Right. Of course. It was unlikely that Sylus was watching you tonight.

You exhaled, a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and forced your thoughts away from him. Zayne had offered you a rare moment of normalcy, and you weren’t about to let your memories of Sylus overshadow that.

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The following weeks were a blur of activity, and before long, you found yourself stationed at an outpost on the outskirts of Linkon. A metaflux surge had disrupted the area, and the temporary makeshift hospital was bustling with injured workers, hunters, and even a few civilians caught in the chaos. The air was thick with tension, the metallic tang of metaflux faint but persistent, a reminder of the unseen dangers that lurked just beyond the safety of the encampment.

Zayne was assigned as the doctor for the outpost, and you often found yourself crossing paths with him. At first, your interactions were brief—a nod here, a shared glance there—but over time, you began to talk. It started with simple pleasantries, discussions about the metaflux readings or the influx of patients, but it wasn’t long before the conversations deepened.

You learned that Zayne had a dry sense of humor, his sharp wit often catching you off guard. He’d tease you about your stubbornness, and you’d retort with a quip about his overly serious nature. Despite his professionalism, there was a warmth to him, a quiet compassion that made him easy to trust. And though you’d never admit it, you found yourself looking forward to those moments of shared laughter, those fleeting glimpses of something lighter amidst the chaos.

But even as your friendship with Zayne grew, Sylus lingered at the edges of your thoughts, a shadow you couldn’t quite shake. The conversations you had with him were sparse and strictly work-related—updates from the Association, bits of intel you passed along to him. It felt transactional, a far cry from the intimacy you once shared. Yet, every time his name appeared on your screen, your heart still raced, betraying the fragile boundaries you’d tried to set.

One evening, a message from Sylus broke the monotony of your routine.

‘Come over tomorrow night, Darling. I have an exquisite wine I’d like you to try—procured it during a recent deal.’

The invitation was simple, almost casual. For a moment, you imagined it—the rich scent of wine filling the air, his sharp yet alluring gaze fixed on you as he poured you a glass. But reality quickly crept in, dragging you back to the present. You couldn’t go. You couldn’t risk it. Not when your heart was still so fragile, still aching in ways you didn’t want to admit.

You stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as your mind raced. The truth was, you wanted to see him. But you knew better. You had to keep your distance—for your own sake, if nothing else.

‘I’m tired..'

You typed, the words feeling hollow as they formed.

'Busy day tomorrow. Maybe another time.’

You hesitated before hitting send, the weight of the message pressing down on you. When his reply came, it was as simple as his invitation.

‘Okay.’

The finality of it hit you like a brick, and for a moment, you felt like your breath had been stolen away. He didn’t push. He didn’t argue. That empty “okay” hung in the air, leaving you with the quiet realization that, once again, you had lost yourself in the haze of someone else’s world.

You tried not to read too much into it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had already moved on. That he didn’t care enough to fight for your attention. Instead, it felt like you were just a passing thought, like an aftertaste that wasn’t worth savoring.

Miss Hunter. The words echoed in your mind. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears to stay behind your eyelids, but they pressed hard, a sting that never seemed to fully fade. You rubbed your forehead, trying to push away the thoughts. But even as you did, you couldn’t escape the suffocating feeling in your chest—the one that always came when you were reminded of how little you meant to him. You felt foolish, but you couldn’t help it. It was like you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to come back, to pull you back into his orbit with that practiced charm, that voice that made you feel wanted, if only for a little while.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The dinner with Zayne had been a welcome reprieve. It had been two weeks since you last saw him, the demands of work pulling both of you in different directions. But tonight, seated across from him in a small, cozy bistro, you found solace in the familiar rhythm of your conversations. The mellow lights softened the sharp angles of his face as he recounted a mishap earlier in the week involving a particularly irritable patient.

His dry humor, paired with the subtle lift of his brow, drew a laugh from you—a genuine, light sound that felt foreign after the weight of recent days. For a while, the world outside blurred away. You weren’t Miss Hunter; you weren’t anything other than a person sharing a meal with a friend.

As the meal wound down, Zayne looked at you over the rim of his glass, his expression calm. “You’re doing better than when we first met.” he remarked softly.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Am I?”

He nodded. His calm demeanor always had a way of grounding you, and tonight was no exception.

The meal wrapped up with the two of you trading small updates and light banter. You paid for your half of the meal, Zayne insisting it wasn’t necessary, but you’d insisted back. There was a sense of normalcy here, something you weren’t willing to let go of easily. When you parted ways outside the diner, the night air was cool and quiet. Zayne’s warm farewell echoed softly in your ears as you waved goodbye and headed back toward your apartment.

As you walked, you felt lighter somehow. The stress of the past few weeks hadn’t vanished, but Zayne’s steady presence had reminded you of something important—moments of peace still existed, even in the chaos.

The faint scent of lavender greeted you as you unlocked your apartment door, a hint of the candle you’d left burning earlier. The lights were off, and the air felt too still—unnaturally so. Your heart skipped, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. A lump formed in your throat, panic curling its fingers around your chest.

You flicked the light switch, and the sudden brightness flooded the room, revealing the figure sitting on your couch. Sylus.

You froze. Your body stiffened, caught between fight or flight.

Your yelp of surprise filled the space, your pulse racing as you clutched the doorframe for support. “What—Sylus? What are you doing here?”

He was sitting on your couch, one arm draped casually along the backrest, his other hand resting on his knee. The dim light of the room softened the sharp edges of his face, but his expression was anything but gentle. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, tracked your every movement as if he were dissecting you with just a glance.

“How—what are you doing here?” you stammered, your voice shaky as your pulse raced.

Sylus didn’t respond right away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze dragging over you slowly, deliberately. His silence was louder than any words he could have spoken, and it made your skin prickle.

“Darling,” he finally murmured, his voice low and smooth, laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “You look… exhausted.”

You blinked, still standing frozen by the door. His tone was soft, almost tender, but it was the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers tapped against his knee, that betrayed his underlying tension.

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, your voice wavering as you took a cautious step forward. “It’s been a long day. What are you doing here?”

Sylus leaned back, the leather of the couch creaking faintly under his weight. “A long day,” he echoed, his lips curving into a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yet you had time for dinner.”

“I…” you faltered, scrambling for a response. “It was just…”

“Just dinner,” he interrupted smoothly, his tone unreadable. “With… someone else.”

The air felt thick, charged with a tension that made your skin prickle. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat. His eyes narrowed slightly, his expression still calm but his body language telling a different story. The way his fingers drummed against his knee, the slight clench of his jaw, the flicker of something dark in his gaze.

Your heart pounded, your thoughts racing. Why was he here? What did he want? And why did his presence—his very existence in your space—make your chest ache in that familiar, suffocating way?

“I didn’t think…” You stopped yourself, your voice trembling. “You didn’t say you’d be coming by. You can’t just—”

“Can’t just what?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft as he rose from the couch, his movements fluid and deliberate. “Show up to see what’s wrong?”

Your breath hitched as he closed the distance between you, his height and presence suddenly overwhelming. “Nothing’s wrong…”you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Is that so?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, his eyes boring into yours. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you’ve been avoiding me, Darling.”

The accusation hung in the air, sharp and unyielding.

“I’ve been busy…” you said weakly, your voice lacking conviction.

“Busy,” he repeated, his gaze flicking over you again, this time with something close to disdain. “Too busy for me, but not too busy for… him.”

Your hands fidgeted at your sides, your breath coming in shallow bursts. You wanted to move, to put distance between you, but your legs felt rooted to the spot. “I didn’t think dinner with a friend would..”

“Friend?” he interrupted, the single word slicing through your sentence. His lips curved into something that might have been a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs, the anxiety swirling in your chest mixing with something else—something raw and painful that you didn’t want to name. The memories of your last exchange with Sylus came flooding back—the curt messages, the unspoken finality of his “okay.” You had tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter, that you didn’t need his validation. But standing here now, under the weight of his gaze, you felt every crack in the fragile walls you had built to keep him out.

“I don’t understand what you want from me,” you said finally, the words trembling as they left your lips.

His eyes softened slightly, but the tension in his posture didn’t ease. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something, something important, but the moment passed as quickly as it came. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a gesture so gentle it felt almost foreign.

“Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability that made your chest ache.

Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you. The words echoed in your mind, repeating, twisting, until all you could hear was the raw edge of betrayal laced in his tone.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and bitter, a little too loud in the quiet of your apartment. Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you felt the space around you grow smaller. You couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think. All you could feel was the heat of anger building inside of you, raw and unrefined.

“That’s rich,” you scoffed, finally managing to find your voice. “That’s really rich, coming from you of all people.”

Sylus blinked, a subtle flash of surprise crossing his face, but it quickly masked over. His lips tightened, his brow furrowed ever so slightly, but it wasn’t enough. You had to push, you couldn’t hold back now. The words were tumbling out before you could even stop them. Your breath hitched, a strangled sob lodged somewhere in the back of your throat, but you refused to let it spill. You wouldn’t let him see you break—not like this, not in front of him. You knew the truth. He knew the truth. It hurt, yes, but you weren’t the one to blame.

“You've been treating me like a stranger for months,” you continued, your voice trembling with anger you hadn't fully realized was there. “Barely responding to my messages, not answering my calls, and when I do see you, it’s like you can’t be bothered. You don’t even see me.” You felt the weight of every unreturned message, every unanswered call, every promise left in limbo. “I’ve had to hear from Luke and Kieran that you’re in Linkon. But you couldn’t even make time to see me.”

You felt the ache deep in your chest, that familiar, suffocating knot forming. He didn’t deserve your pain. Not anymore. You wouldn’t let him have that. Not this time.

You took a shaky breath, suddenly feeling raw, exposed. “You don’t have to feel obligated to check on me, Sylus,” you said, your words clipped and cutting through the thick silence between you. “You don’t have to feel pity for me. I know where I stand. I know my place in your life.”

His expression, that unreadable mask, cracked for the briefest of moments. His lips parted, his gaze flicking to your face, then back down to the floor. His jaw clenched. But his eyes… They weren’t the same as they’d been earlier. The hardness was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous, something even more intimate. The storm was gathering, but it wasn’t just in the air—no, it was inside him too.

“You know where you stand?” His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it, a slight tightness you hadn’t noticed before. He took a step forward, his body closing the space between you, like a wave of raw energy crashing toward you. His proximity only made your pulse race faster, but you couldn’t back down. Not now.

“I’m just an informant, right?” you bit out, every word feeling like it sliced through the night air, cutting through the tension like a blade. “You don’t have to pretend you care, Sylus. So don’t stand there with that look on your face like I’m some important thing you need to check on.”

The air between you grew heavy, thick with unsaid words and stifled tension. Every inch of your body was telling you to get away, to shut down, to stop this before it tore you apart. But your feet felt heavy, stuck in place. Sylus’s presence was like gravity, pulling you toward him.

"You think that's all you are?" he murmured, his voice dangerously low, like the calm before the thunder. The way he said it made your heart stutter in your chest. It was both a question and an accusation or a challenge.

But there was something else in his voice. Something you couldn’t quite place. His eyes were intense, too intense, and they searched yours like he was looking for the answer. The truth.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he continued, his words clipped, as though they were difficult for him to say. “But I couldn’t....couldn’t make sense of it. Of you.”

It was the first time that he seemed genuinely vulnerable, and it left you breathless and confused. You had always wondered if there was more beneath his cold exterior. You had always told yourself that he cared. But you had never dared to confront him.

His hand was close enough now to reach out, his fingers barely brushing the edge of your wrist. The air between you was still thick with everything unsaid, everything unhealed. And yet, despite the words that had been thrown between you, there was something undeniably magnetic in the tension. The ache in your chest, the rawness, the feelings of betrayal—they didn’t wash away just because you said them out loud.

God, you hated him for this.

But part of you yearned for him. That part that still felt tethered to him, despite the distance.

Sylus’s fingers hovered over your wrist, his touch like fire against your skin. For a moment, the storm between you calmed, leaving only the faintest echo of it behind. The weight of his gaze, the force of his presence—it seemed to drown out the rest of the world.

He said nothing for a moment, his lips parting as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. His eyes darkened further, not with anger now, but with something you couldn’t quite define.

You took a breath, your body suddenly feeling too small beneath his gaze. The storm was still inside. You had to move away. Your heart pounded as if it were trying to escape your chest, desperate to flee from whatever was stirring inside you. You couldn't—no, you wouldn’t—let yourself get caught up in whatever this feeling was. You were not some fool, ready to throw everything away for the temporary pull of his presence. You knew better than that. You had to.

Every instinct screamed at you to retreat, to put some distance between you and the mess of emotions bubbling under your skin. His sharp gaze was enough to make your knees tremble, and it took everything in you not to look back, not to let him see the quiet devastation that flickered inside you.

“You need to leave… Sylus.” You whispered. You staggered back a few steps, your breathing shallow, desperate. Your feet felt like lead, yet you forced yourself to walk away. You turned your back to him, willing your legs to move, hoping to escape before you got sucked into whatever dark vortex of feelings he was drawing you into.

He didn’t move. Instead, you heard the familiar click of his boots against the floor as he took a single, deliberate step forward. “Why?” His voice, low and curious, sent a shiver down your spine. It was almost too intimate, as if he were searching for a piece of you, trying to understand what you couldn’t explain.

You didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to see the quiet confusion on his face—the faint flicker of disappointment that stung like salt in an open wound. You couldn’t let him see your weakness, couldn’t let him know how badly it hurt to be around him, how badly it hurt not to be around him.

“Is it so you can run back to your precious ‘friend’?” The words dripped with something unspoken, something that made your stomach twist.

You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Not when his voice—that voice, the one that threaded through the air like silk—was digging into your mind like this. The word echoed in your ears, almost mocking you, and you felt something fragile snap inside you. The weight of the years you’d spent keeping distance, of guarding your heart against him, against whatever he made you feel, started to unravel. But you couldn’t let it.

You took another step away from him. One more step, you told yourself. Just one more. You didn’t need this.

Dark tendrils wrapped around you as you move, pulling you back. He was using his evol to pull you back. You didn’t need him pulling you in again. But then it came. That touch. He pulled you to him, forceful yet intimate, and your breath caught in your throat. You were too close. Too close to the edge of losing yourself, of falling into his presence.

His hands...no, his fingers—snaked around your waist before you even knew what was happening. You gasped, body going stiff in surprise, but his grip tightened, pulling you back into him. You tried to keep moving, tried to pull away, but it was useless. His hold was ironclad, his presence consuming. His grip tightened slightly, but there was an almost comforting pressure there, a subtle reminder that despite the dispute between you, there was something undeniable between the two of you.

“Why are you running?” His voice was a whisper against your ear, the words smooth like silk, but there was something jagged beneath them—something urgent, raw.

You struggled to hold yourself together, but the more you fought it, the more it pulled—this unbearable need to lean into him, to give in to the chaos that his proximity stirred in you. You knew you shouldn’t, but everything in you wanted to. You felt the ache of wanting something you couldn't have, the sting of the distance you had put between you and the thing that was somehow both poison and relief.

His hands tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your ribs in a movement that sent a jolt through your entire system. The words you wanted to say, the reasons you needed to get away from him, all felt so small and pointless now. How could you possibly explain this? This tension, this pull? How could you say that being near him felt like the most excruciating thing in the world, but also the only thing that made you feel alive?

“You’re not just an informant to me,” he breathed, his words slipping under your skin, curling into the tight spaces of your chest. “I didn’t realize I was hurting you this much. That you’d want to distance yourself from me...” His tone softened at the end, but it only made everything worse. The tenderness in his voice—his tenderness—was like a dagger in your side, making the blood in your veins freeze. You wanted to say something, anything, but all you could hear was the deafening rush of your own heartbeat. You tried to stay composed, but the words were caught in your throat, and your body was still pressed so tightly against his, your breath shallow, your pulse thudding painfully against your ribs.

Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t you just say it—say that you couldn’t let him get close again? That you couldn’t survive another wound, another aching, empty feeling in your chest because of him? But the way his hands tightened, the warmth of his body against yours, made everything you were feeling a little too real.

You could feel his heartbeat against your back, the rhythm in sync with your own, and the pull of him was growing stronger. You could feel your anxiety bubbling up, the gnawing fear at the pit of your stomach. Was this just him toying with you? Was he trying to pull you into his world of darkness and manipulation? Or did he really care?

Your head was spinning. The emotions warred within you—anger, confusion, guilt, and something else. Something that made your heart race faster and your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

“Let me go,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the storm that raged around you.

But you didn’t pull away. You didn’t push him off.

Sylus' grip on you tightened, his arm like a steel band around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His chest rises and falls against your back as his breath brushes against your ear, warm and heavy. It’s as if he’s afraid, like if he lets go for even a second, he’ll lose you forever. You can feel the tension radiating from him, but also something softer, something desperate.

“No, Darling,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with emotion, his tone possessive, as though the very idea of you slipping away shatters him. “You’re not going anywhere and neither am I.”

"You’re going to stay," He pulls you even closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks again, quieter this time, but laced with something raw and vulnerable. "...and you’re going to listen to me. I won’t let you walk away from this."

You can hear the flicker of something beneath his words—regret. And then, his lips ghost over the sensitive skin of your neck, lingering just a little longer than necessary. He slowly spins you around, to face him. His voice softens, almost apologetic. “I know I was a dick. I know I didn’t respond to you, and I’m sorry for that. I didn’t know how to handle it… handle us. It confused me, and instead of facing it, I pushed you away.” His breath catches slightly, and you feel his chest tighten against your back.

His hand moves to cup your cheek, tilting your face slightly toward him, his thumb brushing over your skin as though it’s a promise, an apology. The weight of his gaze is intense, but there’s also something tender there, something that wants to pull you back in, closer. “I know you’re still hurting, darling. I see it. And I... I’ll spend a lifetime making up for it, because that’s what I want. A lifetime. With you. Not as some informant or some... thing, but as my beloved. You. By my side. Always.”

He pauses, letting his words hang in the air between you. His voice drops, the quiet sorrow of his confession sending a twinge of guilt through you. "I don’t have the right to ask this of you, I know," Sylus continues, his voice thick with emotion. "But seeing you push me away… It’s harder than I ever thought it would be. Harder than I want to admit." He presses his forehead lightly against your temple, his breath shaky. "I’ve never needed someone the way I need you, and I didn’t know how to tell you that. But I do. I need you."

You can feel him tense slightly, the shift in his demeanor telling you that his thoughts have turned darker. His voice lowers, the jealousy evident in the way he speaks, though it’s wrapped in a softness that almost makes it harder to bear.

"And Dr. Zayne... I can’t stand the thought of him being so close to you," Sylus adds, his voice low and thick with a possessiveness that unsettles you in its intensity. "It kills me, you know? Watching him with you, hearing you laugh like that with him, as if I don’t even exist." His arm tightens again, almost painfully, as if he needs to remind you, remind both of you, where you truly belong. "I know I have no claim on you... but... I can't help but feel like there’s a part of you that wants him in a way that... I can't compete with." His voice hardens, jealousy dripping from every word. "It eats at me, knowing he has a part of you that I’m fighting for."

"Sylus..." Your voice cracked slightly as you repeated his name, your breath hitching, caught in the tension between you. His name felt heavy on your tongue, like it was both a question and an answer. You had never said it so quietly, so vulnerably. The memories of earlier came rushing back—him with her, that delicate smile he gave her, the way she leaned into him just a little too comfortably. It had burned in your chest, the jealousy creeping in with a venomous ache.

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, too fast to gather, too painful to hide. "I felt the same... when I saw you with her," you confessed, swallowing thickly. "I felt so... so useless, Sylus. When I saw you with her, it felt like... like she was everything you needed. Better than me. And that... it broke me, Sylus. I felt like I wasn’t enough, like I wasn’t... worth it.”

The words stung, bitter and unrelenting, but the weight of them was finally lifted as you let them spill out. You felt exposed, naked in your insecurity, but somehow, it was all you could do to stand there and wait for him to respond. You could feel the weight of it, of how small you’d felt in that moment, how unworthy you had become in your own eyes. The self-doubt gnawed at your insides, each thought of her with him twisting like a knife in your gut.

Sylus’s expression softened, his features melting into a tender sadness, as though he were seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you. His hand reached out slowly, almost hesitantly, as if afraid to shatter the fragile space between you. His touch was a gentle comfort, his fingers brushing against your cheek, his voice a low whisper, "Darling, you're none of that... none of it, I swear."

You shook your head, feeling the tears threatening, but you couldn’t let them fall, not yet. His words were kind, but the ache in your chest was still there, an unhealed wound.

He continued, his voice steady but thick with something deeper. "I didn’t know you felt that way... about her, in the same way I feel about Zayne." His gaze met yours, and for the first time tonight, it wasn’t uncertain. It was so gentle, so soft, tender. "But you need to know, you're it for me, Darling…" he murmured, his fingers curling around yours, grounding you in the quiet storm of your emotions. "Yes, I want help from her, but..." He paused, as if weighing his words carefully, "...I need you more." His words were a balm to the wounds that had festered within you, but the tenderness in his eyes was what finally reached you. His hand slid down to your shoulder, his thumb grazing the skin there. His warmth surrounded you, and you let yourself sink into the comfort of his words. The jealousy, the insecurity that had burned so fiercely in you when you saw him with her, melted in the face of the tenderness he was offering now.

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself as your heart raced, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming. “Zayne… Zayne’s just a friend,” you said, your voice fragile but firm, “someone who helped me... helped me see past the stuff in my head. After everything, I just... needed someone to remind me that I’m not broken.”

Sylus's eyes softened even more, the depth of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. He nodded slowly, his expression filled with understanding. The tension between you didn’t disappear entirely, but it was now laced with something more tender. More real.

“You’re not broken, Darling.” he repeated, and there was a quiet strength in his voice, something that made you believe him more than you ever had before. “You’re everything I’ve ever needed... and more.”

"I... I’m sorry," you whispered, a lump in your throat as you looked up at him. "I never wanted to make you feel like I didn’t care. I just... I was afraid you’d choose her over me."

Sylus’s fingers brushed against the nape of your neck, pulling you closer, his forehead pressing gently against yours. "You never have to apologize for that, Darling." he murmured, his voice warm, his breath mingling with yours. “It was my fault and I accept that.”

The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of your breathing, as Sylus stood before you, his face drawn with intensity. The flickering light from the lamp cast soft shadows across his features, but his gaze... his gaze was sharp, focused entirely on you.

"I love you, Darling" he said, his words lingering in the air as though they were the first time he had allowed himself to say them out loud. "I’m in love with you," he confessed, his voice steady despite the raw emotion that tinged it. "I’ve been in love with you for a while now, and I’ve tried to deny it. Tried to hide it from you and myself, but I can’t anymore. I won’t. I love you, and I need you to know that."

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding caught in your throat. Everything in you froze, then splintered. The confession, so pure, so vulnerable, hit you with a force you hadn’t been prepared for. You stood there, unable to move, a mix of surprise and relief flooding your chest.

He loves you. Sylus. The one you had longed for, yearned, and hoped for in silence. Your heart stuttered in your chest, the world around you growing impossibly still.

"I…" you whispered, voice trembling, and you had to stop, had to steady yourself before the words could spill from your lips. "I’ve love you too," you said, your voice barely more than a breath, but it carried all the weight of everything you had kept inside. "I’ve loved you, and I never told you because I was afraid. Afraid that I was asking too much. Afraid of the rejection. Afraid that I wasn’t enough."

Sylus’s expression softened, his lips curling into a frown as he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His hands reached for you, but not in the way you had feared or expected. They were gentle, his touch a plea for understanding. "Oh, darling," he whispered, shaking his head slowly. "I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you ever felt like you needed to hide it from me."

He reached up, brushing his thumb along your cheek, and you flinched slightly, your emotions suddenly overwhelming you, raw and untamed. "We’re both idiots," he continued, his voice almost tender with the weight of the admission. "We’ve been skirting around each other, afraid of saying the one thing we both needed to say."

Your laugh came out soft, almost fragile, the tension in your chest breaking for the first time since Sylus had walked into your home. It was a quiet sound, but it was the first time you’d laughed all night, the first time you’d allowed yourself to feel something other than fear or uncertainty in the past few weeks with him involved. But that laugh didn’t last long. As soon as it came, the tears followed, the ones you had been holding back for so long, finally slipping free. The dam you had built up crumbled, and before you could stop them, hot tears streamed down your face. before you could even reach up to brush them away, his hand was there, steady and warm against your cheek.

"Don’t," you whispered, your voice thick with the ache you could no longer hide. "Please, don’t look at me like this. I’m—"

"Stop," Sylus interrupted softly, his hand holding yours gently, his gaze unwavering. "Don’t hide from me. I want to see all of you… everything you’ve been hiding. I know you think I don’t see it, but I do." His eyes locked onto yours with such intensity that you couldn’t look away. "I see it when you think I��m not watching. I see the way you pull back, the way you hide the parts of you that you think I can’t handle. But I am looking. I’ve always been looking. And I don’t want you to hide anymore. Not from me. And I’m here and I want all of you."

His words were a medicine to the parts of you that had been bruised, the parts that had feared being exposed, vulnerable. But in his eyes, there was only love. No judgment. No pity. Just... love. And it was enough. It was more than enough.

The tears that had slipped down your face slowed, but they didn’t stop. You didn’t try to wipe them away this time, allowing yourself to be seen for the first time in ages. The sobs that followed were soft but trembled with relief, with something finally breaking open inside of you.

Sylus’s arms were around you in an instant, pulling you close, holding you in the kind of embrace that made you feel as though you could finally breathe, as though the weight of everything you had been carrying could finally be set down.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, almost broken. "I’ve been so scared, Sylus. Scared of this, of being cast away... of losing you."

"You’ll never lose me, Darling." he murmured, his voice firm and unwavering as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

You tilted your head back slightly, your face still damp with the remnants of the tears that had fallen, and through your wet lashes, you searched his face. Sylus held you close, his arms wrapped around you in a way that made you feel safe, even as the doubts lingered in your heart. You wanted to believe him, but the fear, the uncertainty, was still there, buried deep beneath the surface.

He must have seen it in your eyes, the way you still hesitated, the uncertainty you couldn't quite shake. Sylus made a half-frustrated sound in the back of his throat, his hands tightening around you for a split second, before they slid up to cradle your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek again, a tender, pleading touch, before he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a sudden, urgent kiss.

The kiss was unlike any other. It wasn’t slow, it wasn’t soft. It was intense, filled with desperation, as though he needed you to understand just how deeply he felt for you, just how much you meant to him. His hands cupped your face, holding you as if you were the only thing that mattered in that moment, as if the world had stopped turning just for you. His lips pressed against yours with a kind of fire, but it wasn’t angry, no. It was passionate, desperate in its own way, like he wanted you to feel how important you were to him, how much you had been wanted, loved.

Your hands trembled as they reached up, gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, wanting to bridge the distance between you, as though the kiss itself could erase every lingering doubt in your heart. Your breath hitched when you felt his pulse quicken under your touch, his heartbeat matching the frantic pace of your own. Each breath you took seemed to echo in the stillness of the room, mingling with the heat of his kiss, our lips moving together with a quiet urgency, the world beyond the two of you fading into a distant blur. You felt everything—every brush of his fingers, every subtle shift of his body against yours, the way his chest rose and fell beneath your palms, how his breath felt against your lips as if he couldn’t get close enough to you.

Your chests rose and fell together, the world spinning around you. You could feel the heat of him, the urgency that still lingered in his touch, the way he kept you close, almost as if he were afraid to let go.

Breathing became an afterthought, both of you gasping for air when the kiss broke, but neither of you pulled far enough away to lose the connection. Sylus’s forehead rested against yours, his breath hot against your lips as he whispered, voice still heavy with emotion. “Every day, from henceforth, I will work to make sure you never feel the need to doubt yourself. Not in my life. Not with me." His words, slow and deliberate, sank deep into your heart like a promise he would keep.

The intensity of the moment hung between you both, the room still, save for the soft sound of your breathing as you both slowly came back to reality. But in his eyes, you saw nothing but certainty—certainty that you were enough. That you always had been.

His hand found yours again, fingers weaving with yours, and he gave it a gentle squeeze, as if the simple touch was a quiet reassurance.

"You are everything to me," he murmured, his voice steady now, grounding you as much as his embrace. "And I’ll make sure you never forget that.”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, absorbing his words, his warmth, his certainty. In his arms, you could feel the truth of his promise, somewhere deep inside, the doubts began to fade.

For the first time in a long time, you believed him. And when he kissed you again, this time softer, it was like the beginning of something new.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

[rainy-day-gracie]

- wedding night (2) -

A Venus & Mars mini series

pairing: General Acacius x virgin!wife!Reader

content warning(s): reader insert, no use of y/n, arranged marriage, implied age gap but nothing specific, oral (f recieving), fingering, loss of virginity, piv sex, innocence kink, self indulgent praise kink, Acacius definitely talks you through it, discussions of consent because consent is sexy mandatory, discussion of future sexual acts, AFTERCARE because aftercare is hot, general acacius is in loooooove but doesn't know it yet haha, romantic and intimate as hell, grievous historical inaccuracy because it's fucking fanfiction, canon divergent because duh

a/n: So guys. I saw Gladiator II and it was awesome and Pedro Pascal is the sexiest man alive (in my heart). However, this character's name is not Marcus. I don't know who lied, but we've all been fooled. So in this sequel, the general's name is just Acacius in order to stay at least a little bit true to the actual canon.

I definitely will be writing for these two again because holy shit I made this romantic and I love them so much.

Read wedding night (1) here!

Read bloodlust here!

---

Acacius saw heaven in your eyes, a piece of salvation he never thought he might be able to grasp with his blood-stained hands.

He glanced down your body, wrapped beautifully in your white wedding gown, gold jewelry shining in warm candlelight. For a moment, he wondered Venus herself were tricking him with her immortal seduction.

But the blush of red in your cheeks, the shine of desire in your eyes, the beat of your heart in your chest....

No immortal possibly could mimic such evidence of true, temporary, and precious life.

Acacius had been with plenty women in his lifetime, had thought he understood what desire was.

I want you, you had said.

Now, he thinks he's only scratched the surface.

---

The general-- Acacius -- peered at you like a starving man at a feast, drinking you in, turning the wheels in his head of what he wanted to do first.

He grasped your hand in both of his, studying the golden band on your ring finger. Evidence of your gods-blessed union.

"I want to see you wearing nothing.... except for this," Acacius breathed, his voice low, and dreamy, like the words were slipping from him with no control.

"I'd like that very much," you said, trying to keep your hand from trembling under his touch.

"May I strip you bare, darling?" He asked, calloused fingertips fiddling with the clasp on your golden bracelet.

"Yes."

Instantly, the bracelet fell, and then the other, and then the other. Acacius' gentle touch drove you wild, methodical and sure. He stopped for a moment, glancing at the purity ring on your pinky, and smirked in a way that nearly made your knees buckle.

Glancing back up to your gaze, he held your stare as he pulled the purity ring off. His lips were a hairsbreadth away from yours, letting you smell the sweet cherry wine on his breath.

"Kiss me," you mumbled.

Acacius' smirk remained. "Patience, darling."

He tucked the purity ring into a pocket of his tunic, and turned you around, so your back pressed against his chest. A sigh caught in your throat, realizing he had turned you both to face the full-length mirror in the corner of the bedroom.

"Answer me honestly," he said, trailing one of his knuckles down the exposed skin of your spine. "Have you ever touched yourself?"

Heat rose to your cheeks, and you shivered at his light touch. "Uh..."

"Don't you lie to me, now. It's a great sin to lie to your husband," he whispered, his teeth nipping lightly at your ear.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I- I've touched myself. I've touched... my..."

"Your cunt?" Acacius mused.

You nodded, your chest rising heavily.

"Did you… like it? When you touched yourself?"

"N-no. I've been told it is not ladylike, to... pleasure yourself in that way."

Acacius kissed the back of your neck, making you arch into his touch. "Oh, my poor darling... there's nothing more ladylike in the world. Don't worry... I will show you how."

A full whimper escaped you at that, and Acacius undid the knots of your dress with a chuckle.

The dress fell, leaving you in only your loincloth, tied at your waist. But Acacius was looking at something else.

His eyes were transfixed on your perked breasts, his mouth slightly open as he wrapped one of his hands around the soft flesh. A high-pitched sigh left your throat, and he reached around with his other hand to take hold of the other breast.

"Do you like it when I hold you like this?" Acacius murmured, his mouth at your temple. He twitched his fingertips to pinch your nipples softly, making you close your eyes in pleasure. "Look at me."

Snapping your eyes open again, he stared you down in the mirror with a small devilish grin. He pinched your breasts again, pulling an answer from you. "Yes, Acacius."

"Good girl," he praised, your cunt throbbing at the words. He let go of your breasts, untying the cloth at your hips until you were utterly bare before him, save for your wedding ring. "Lie down on the bed, darling."

He brushed a palm over your plush backside, guiding you towards the beautiful linen bed. Plenty big for two.

You obey with a shy smile, sinking into the blankets and pillows like you were always meant to fit there. Watching from your comfortable bed, Acacius loomed over the foot, undoing buttons on his tunic, and ties on his robes.

Your lips parted slightly as he exposed the tan, scarred skin of his chest, flickering candlelight bathing him in a warm glow. He studied your expressions like a hawk, watching for any sign of discomfort or displeasure.

As he unlaced the toga and loincloth, leaving him as bare as you were, you had to keep yourself from gasping.

His cock hung heavily between his legs, not even fully aroused but still bigger than anything you had anticipated. He wrapped a hand around his manhood, smirking at your expression, but mercifully saying nothing about it.

“I am curious, my wife,” Acacius began, his voice a rumble. He pulled himself onto the marriage bed, caging you in the sheets with his arms and legs straddling. His eyes never left yours. “What did they say about me? When you learned of our union, what whispers crossed your ears?”

You licked your lips, speaking suddenly a challenge. “Um, that you w-were brave…”

Acacius leaned down, pulling one of your legs over his broad shoulders.

“…and strong…”

He mirrored the motion with your other leg, leaving your weeping cunt exposed.

“…a-and…”

Acacius paused, waiting for your answer. “And?”

“General, I shouldn’t speak ill…” you moaned, wondering if one could combust with desire.

“Tell me the truth, darling. Or you won’t get what you so eagerly want.”

“Th-they said you were cruel,” you stammered, desperately, any wall of self preservation coming down. “They said you took anything you desired, washed your hands with blood, and violence was the only language you spoke. Your rage eclipses that of Achilles, and your eyes blacken every time you raise a banner. You are of Mars himself, shedding blood like you were born to it.”

Acacius’ smirk from between your legs was wicked, and he broke your gaze for the first time since lying on the bed.

He studied your open cunt with a glazed expression, like he was lost in the pleasure of staring at your slick desire.

“If I am of Mars then you are of Venus, my darling.”

His words filled you with affection, the way his knees bent on the bed almost like he was worshiping an altar between your legs.

“So pure…” he murmured, as if the words had slipped from his lips.

Your back arched like a bow as he licked a stripe up your soaking slit, sighs escaping from your throat.

Acacius hummed with delight, fucking you on his tongue lazily, drinking your desire like nectar of the gods.

You buried your hands in his hair hesitantly, unsure of what would be pleasing to him. In all the times you eavesdropped on the married women of the court, never once had they mentioned anything like… this. Never once had they mentioned any of the overwhelming pleasure racking every limb of your body. Never once had they mentioned the lightning erupting over your skin with every brush of his calloused palm.

Acacius trailed his hands down your arched torso, cupping your breasts as his mouth traced patterns over your cunt. Your breathy moans made him chuckle into your flesh, the vibrations making you lift your hips with pleasure.

Throbbing built in your pussy, clenching around his tongue as your desire jumped at every brush of his lips.

“A-Acacius, gods…” you cried out, throwing your head back as a pinnacle raced towards you.

“Relax, my darling,” Acacius breathed, bringing one of his hands down to rest at your soft inner thigh. “I’m going to put my hands on you now.”

“Oh, please,” you begged, unsure of what it was you were begging for.

“Tell me if it becomes too much,” Acacius said, and his hand on your thigh moved.

The gentle brush of his rough fingertips on your slick folds had you gasping anew, pulling lightly on the locks of his hair.

“Such a pretty cunt,” Acacius mumbled to himself. “I have half a mind to just keep you like this.”

You whined in protest, your hips chasing his touch.

“So needy for a virgin.”

You threw your head back as his finger pushed past your slick folds, reaching spots inside of yourself that you hadn’t known existed.

“Oh, so tight, my love. You truly are pure.” Acacius curved his finger, brushing against something spongy, and sensitive. A guttural moan escaped your throat, and he laughed softly. “When the pleasure peaks, do not fight it. Let it take you away, somewhere only you and I exist.”

You nodded at his command, closing your eyes as your head sunk into the linen pillows.

Unrestrained cries erupted from you as he pulled his finger out, and in, and out again, hitting that sweet spot with every push inside of your aching cunt.

When he pressed his tongue to the bud at the top of your core, he pushed a second finger deep into your slick, making you wonder if the gods truly did become man. The stretch of his fingers pricked a pain deep within, making you clench tighter around his calloused fingertips. A slight brush of his rough facial hair against your core was your ultimate undoing.

You called out his name as the pleasure rushed down your spine, into your belly, and built in your desperate cunt. He knew it, too, and continued to thrust his fingers deep inside with renewed enthusiasm. His tongue licked against your clit with hunger, tipping you over the edge.

Cries escaped your lips as the pleasure overwhelmed you, every muscle in your body going taut as the desire took over. Your cunt clenched tightly, chasing his fingers, and your spire curved with tension as the wave of lust claimed you.

Acacius watched with a lazy smile as your core squeezed with your orgasm, evidence of your desire dripping off his lips.

“Acacius… Acacius…” you breathed as the climax subsided, your body relaxing into the bed once more.

“How do you feel, darling?” Acacius asked, crawling back up to press his nose against yours. His brown eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with adoration.

In place of an answer, you buried your hands in his curly, soft hair, pressing his lips to yours. He responded instantly, capturing your mouth with the passion of love and war.

His tongue pushed against yours, pure want seeping from every brush of his lips against yours. You gasped as his hands cupped your hips gently, like he was making sure you were a solid thing he could hold in his hands. Like he was worried you might slip through his fingers.

“I want more,” you whispered against his mouth, and he nodded with his eyes closed, like he was dreaming.

“It will hurt for a moment, but I will be gentle with you,” Acacius breathed, trailing light kisses against your throat. “Tell me when there is pain, or if you wish to stop.”

You nodded against his temple, and he pulled his lips back instantly.

“Say you want me, darling. Say you will tell me to stop if you wish.”

The intensity in those brown eyes, the desperation, had you squirming with desire once again.

You held his face in your hands, tracing your thumb against his rough stubble, studying him.

Acacius' nose was utterly Roman, looking like it had possibly been broken once or twice. Every mark on him was evidence of a man that had seen the Underworld and walked away, but not without a few scars to show for it. Though he had been nothing but gentle with you, there was no doubt he could live up to his reputation of bloodletting.

Still, you held him close.

"I want you, Acacius. I will tell you to stop if I wish to." There was no hesitation, no tremor in your voice.

He sighed in relief, reaching down to his hard cock and bringing it between your legs. You whined at the sensitive touch, and he grunted at the slickness of your folds.

"So wet for me, darling, so perfect," he moaned in your ear, guiding the soft flesh of your thighs to wrap around his hips.

Tentatively, he rubbed his cock up and down your core, getting you accustomed to the blunt feeling. You whined breathlessly, near begging for him to fuck you already.

"Patience, darling. I need to go slow to not hurt you," he mumbled.

The blunt head of his cock pushed past your sensitive folds, and you dug your nails into the strong muscles of his back.

Acacius let out a guttural groan into the heated skin of your neck. "So wet, and tight."

You called his name like a prayer, your head tossed back in pain and pleasure. Over and over again, you called his name.

"A little more, easy, easy..." Acacius moaned, pushing further into your virgin cunt.

You cried out in pinching desire. "S-so much, Acacius..."

"I know, darling. We're halfway there."

You held tight to him, his rough hands on your soft skin distracting you from the stretch of your cunt around his cock. "H-halfway?"

Acacius chuckled, holding still inside of you to let you adjust. "You feel... divine. So, so perfect, my sweet wife."

A high pitched moan escaped you as he pulled back slightly, kissing your neck as he pushed farther in. You clenched around him, and his lips on your clammy skin sent a fresh wave of lust panging though you.

But Acacius stopped, and you gasped in pain again, as if he had hit a barrier in your core he couldn't push past. You knew he could bottom out if he so wanted, but not without tearing you deeply.

Instead of pushing forward, he stayed where he was inside of you, tracing his nose along the curve of your jaw.

When he spoke again, his voice was low, almost like he didn't mean for you to hear his words.

"Do you want to know what I want, darling?"

You were too breathless to answer.

Acacius continued. "I want to fuck you so well that all of Rome hears you calling my name. I want to mark you with my mouth so you may look in the mirror and think only of me. I want fall to my knees and thank the gods that gave you to me. But for now, my darling... I want you to come on my cock with your most divine cunt."

Your cunt, as if on command, fluttered, and you moaned as he was able to fill you to the hilt without a pinch of discomfort.

"Oh, yes," Acacius whispered, his tongue darting out along your pulse point. You cried out in pleasure as he shifted inside of you, holding tight to his strong back.

"You... are... perfect, darling," he panted, thrusting slowly, in and out, in and out. "So warm, and tight..."

"Acacius, please..."

"Please... what?" Acacius teased, biting your bottom lip slightly as he pushed back into you.

"More... more," you said, digging your nails into the muscles of his shoulders.

Acacius responded in kind, chuckling at your desperation. "As my lady commands."

His thrusts into your aching cunt deepened, becoming harder as you grew needy for his strength. You tossed your head back with a high-pitched cry when he was able to hit that perfectly sensitive spot inside of you, and the reaction made him even more ravenous for you.

"Oh, you take my cock so well," Acacius praised, the words making your cunt clench around him. "So, so good, my darling."

As if he knew what you needed before you did, he pulled his chest away from yours, sitting up on his knees while thrusting into you. He looped his wide arms underneath your spread legs, angling you upwards on his thighs and pulling your hips up off of the bed. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you arched your back off the sheets with a shriek of delight.

"Acacius, Acacius," you cried out, the new angle sending him deep into your core, hitting spots you hadn't even known existed.

"That's it, say my name," Acacius said with a smirk. "Say my name when I fuck you, tell all of Rome who is making you feel this good."

You couldn't stop, the falling of his name from your lips dripping like sweet honey. All you could feel was the sweat of his skin against yours, the calloused of his hands as they gripped your soft thighs closely, and the depths of your core his cock was able to reach.

"You're going to cum for me," Acacius ordered, his words coming out in pants of breath. "You're going to cum for me, because you're a good girl. You're a good girl, aren't you? Letting me fuck her virgin cunt so nicely, such a good girl..."

At his praise, your cunt tightened around his cock, back arching like a bow. As you came, he pressed a calloused hand into the flesh above your pelvis, the pressure making your high all the more intense. You cried out his name, over and over again, the two of you becoming the only people in the world as the tidal wave of pleasure overwhelmed you.

Acacius' thrusts into your aching core sped, became less focused, and you knew he was losing control himself as you came apart underneath him. Your name fell from his lips as he pressed his hand further into the spot below your belly, where his cock seemed to bulge into his palm as your cunt pulsed around him.

"Such a good girl, such a good wife," he moaned. Only when your core could only twitch in response to his strong thrusts did he slow, leaning back over you and capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

A warmth pooled within you, evidence of his pleasure. You didn't know if you'd ever felt such an intimate connection with anyone as you did with him, his kiss burning a brand into your heart as the heat of passion faded.

Acacius pulled away after a moment, breathing heavily against your throat. "Hold still a moment," he warned. His palms pressed against your hips, his cock sliding from you with a slight sting. You followed his advice, your legs feeling weak and shaky.

You studied him as he crossed the bedchamber to the washroom, his broad back dimpling with the movement. Returning with a clean cloth and a faint smile on his lips, the dimple in his cheek made your heart swell as he saw your sprawled body on his massive bed.

"Feeling comfortable?" Acacius asked, eyebrows raised with amusement.

You nod, watching him as he crossed over to you, pressing a chaste kiss against your lips as he carefully wiped your messy core.

Breaking from your lips for a moment, he pressed his nose against yours, and you cherished the gentle, intimate gesture.

"Shall I call the servants for a hot bath?" Acacius mumbled, tossing the cloth aside.

"A hot bath sounds divine, but only if we may take one together," you reply, slightly giddy.

Acacius furrowed his brows in confusion. "What is making you laugh, my darling?"

You kissed him again, long and slow. Time stood still, and it was as if you could physically feel the bond forging between the two of you, forging in a slow burn of a crackling fire. It was warm, and easy, and comforting.

You broke away, studying him in his eyes. "You are simply... not what I expected."

Acacius smiled, that damn dimple curving in his cheek.

The most feared general on the continent.

Your husband.

Acacius kissed your forehead. "You, my darling, are everything I've been dreaming of."

---

taglist (people that asked to be tagged in part 2): @marianastudiesart @joeldjarin @fallout-girl219 @shantellorraine @lanadelslay69-420 @pedrofan

my request box is open! would love to hear y'all ideas for Joel, Acacius, Javier, or Oberyn :)

[realcube]

— SAIKI RELATIONSHIP HCS

☆ very hesitant to hug you/hold hands bc he is afraid he might shatter all your bones. prefers kisses, less can go wrong

☆ except that one time he kissed you and was so flustered that a whole galaxy exploded

☆ but it was one of those really distant, useless ones so he moved on

☆ or that time you held his hand and he literally started levitating ??

☆ finishes exams in two seconds then spends the rest of the time annoying you

'i don't mean to disturb you but i noticed you put the wrong answer for question four' 'get out of my head!'

☆ i already wrote a drabble about this but he morphs into different objects to 'prank' you

☆ you always want him to shrink bc what's the point of having a psychic bf if you can't carry him around on your person like a polly pocket

☆ he's very apprehensive about it, however one day he finally agrees to it because you have a shift at work and you really wanted him to join you but it would be weird if he just showed up to your place of work unannounced so he shrunk and you carried him around in your back pocket

☆ that is until you almost sat on him!! and when he dived out to avoid being crushed, he fell onto the sticky work floor covered in dust

☆ still hasn't fully recovered 😿

☆ omg if you are insecure about a physical feature of yours , instead of using his powers to change you, he will use his mind control on the entire world so that your insecurity is now the beauty standard (similar to what he did with his hair)

☆ he doesn't use mind control on you though bc it's rude

☆ in fact he tries to avoid using his powers on you all together bc it would only cause trouble (with the exception of telepathy bc he likes to speak to you.. unlike he does with most people)

☆ and he's very strict with that ethic of his

☆ which is nice and all, and really easy until he does something super embarrassing in front of you

☆ like you see him scream at a cockroach or smth

☆ and he is SO tempted to use memory alteration on you so you could just forget that ever happened

☆ but he just can't bring himself to do it

☆ OR when your birthday was before his so he got you a present but didn't do that much else, but when it was time for his birthday and you went all out, he so wanted to either go back in time and do better or just alter your memory so you think he went all out too

☆ oh and passive aggression doesn't work on him ofc

☆ if you are ever mad or upset at him for whatever reason, you can't be like 'hmph i'm not gonna tell you what you did wrong, you just have to know :<' bc he can.. y'know.. read your mind

☆ and he also knows exactly what to do to make you feel better and forgive him, every single time

☆ plus you can never stay mad at him for long anyway bc he's just too cute!!

☆ too shy to admit that he wants to spend more time with you so he will use his powers as some sort of excuse

as you're about to leave saiki's room, he lies, 'wait. don't go. i have had a precognition that something terrible is going to happen to you if you do.' 'really?' you raise an eyebrow. 'and what might that be?' he wasn't really ready for any follow up questions so he stutters and thinks of the scariest scenario he can 'toritsuka.' ... 'toritsuka is going to do what? jump me?' 'no. just toritsuka.'

☆ for your birthday or anniversary he does something you call the 'saiki special' where he duplicates himself to give you a full body massage

☆ it's what dreams are made of !!!

☆ but yeah it's a lot of effort so he saves it for special occasions

☆ he would so love to watch trashy reality tv shows with you

☆ but he so uses it against you

☆ like if you are ever studying and are like 'why am i working so hard when you are psychic and can literally set us up for the easy life 😫'

☆ he'll be like.. you know who else never worked hard a day in they're life.. the kardashians!! do you really want to end up like that??

☆ and when you say yes this is the face he makes 😐

☆ dw though bc as i said before he will be in your head during exams so he can help you a little

☆ his love language is actually spoonfeeding you food and desserts

☆ and yes he actually uses his hands opposed to his mind to control the spoon, just to show you that being a psychic doesn't mean he gets to cut corners!

[elephant-in-the-pride-parade]

Chapter Five!

The Universe to Mend

The new chapter is up.

Fic Summary: a grieving Q teams up with the temporally displaced Kathryn Janeway from Pocket Full of Lies and resurrects HJ and the USS Protostar in order to investigate the reappearance of a the universal crisis that killed his son. But when they discover the Krenim Imperium, Kathryn's most terrifying adversary, are behind it, will these two displaced Janeways and one exiled Q be enough to stop it? Chapter Five Summary: A moment of crisis spurs Kathryn's dormant command instincts to into action, and Q learns that his explanation for the first Omega crisis is fundamentally flawed. 1. High above the worlds you tread… 2. When the Fateless Soul and the Faithless God 3. Steal an Unturned Thread. 4. Slipped from her spool, the Fallen Star 5. Ventures where space is fraying,

[bumblingbabooshka]

I love them so much

[sinning-23]

Calling Them By Their Full Name

OPLA Headcannons! I thought htis was a funny little thing lol. Anyway enjoy

Warnings: slight mentions of nsfw topics but nothing too serious

Sorry for any spelling errors!

Luffy

-ohhhhh that did not sound like your usual happy, loving voice.

-he knows he fucked up and now he’s hiding from your wrath.

-“MONKEY D. LUFFY, GET YOUR ASS IN THIS KITCHEN. NOW.”

-you could hear a pen drop from how quiet the ship got

-ok so maybe he ate that super expensive, super special dessert you had been saving for a while now. And like, it was going to go bad! All he wanted was a little taste! Than a taste turned into accidentally eating the whole thing.

-He was gonna tell you, honest! But it had proven obvious you found out before he could. He seen you round the corner with RAGe on your face and tears in your eyes.

-"TRAITOR!" You yell, throwing a tired punch to his chest.

-“I’m sorry mami, I’ll find you another one. Promise.” He hums, peppering your face with kisses, squeezing your face between his palms when he did.

-There’s no way you could stay mad at him for long

Zoro

-whoa whoa whoa why are you so ANNNGRY

-hated when you call him by his full name like that, makes him feel like a child being reprimanded

-“RORONOA GODDAMN ZORO.” You boom, Nami’s jaw dropping at the sound. Even she could tell you were pissed

-he’s the sassiest mf alive so he’ll probably just be like, “who the hell are talking to woman?!”

-“You’re a real piece of work you know that??” You’re still yelling and he wastes no time rolling his eyes at you and grabbing you by your waist, the action shutting you up.

“Wanna stop yelling and be a big girl and tell me what’s wrong?” He teases, that stupid smirk you love falling over his features at your speechlessness.

-It’s not often you say his full make but when you do he makes sure you’ll never forget it that same night.

-“Say my name baby, real loud.” He groans, a hand around your throat to steady spent body as he slams back into you

Sanji

-I know thats not a cigarette i smell Vinsmoke Sanji."

-awe hell. Yout tone is deadly. he tried he damndest to stomp it out before you rounded the corner but nope.

-You never use his full name like that. Never.

-did he just get chills?

-"Of course not my love!" He lies throigh his teeth but before he can say anything ese you re lips are on his, you fist gripping the fabric of his shirt.

-He knew he was caught, the taste of tobacco mixing with your usual mint. You pull away, smoothing his shirt out with a warning smile.

-"Don’t lie to me again, I’ll always know when you do, Black Leg." You explain , taking the small cardboard box from his pocket and walking off.

-Even though it was ment as a threat, he couldn't help but feel hotter than ususal. God he loved it when you talked all serious to him.

Bonus: Mihawk

-You know better than to use his full name. Orr to even call him anything besides the usual endearing pet name.

-So when he hears his name called with nothing short of rage, hes trying to figure out who you think you’re talking to.

-"Dracule. Mihawk." You spit, holding the empty bottle in your hand

-Ok so your rage was warented cause he managed to drink the entire vintage bottle of wine you'd been saving...it wasn’t like it was on purpose!

-He doesn’t even bother to look up from his book, just barely giving you a slight glance when you were right in front of him, pointing to the bottle.

-"Id watch your tone darling." he warns, smirking at the way you purse your lips and turn away with a fierce attitude he'd be sure to deal with later.

-“Oh shove it up your ass Dracule.” You scoff, trying to quicken your pace but failing when he’s already behind you, his much larger hand holding your wrist as you yelp.

-His look says it all. You’re screwed.

-So now you’re sitting pretty, bent over and counting each time his hand meets the sore and slightly reddened flesh of your ass.

-“Now, what’s my name again darling?”

[baylardian-1]

I was gonna save these for Threshold Day but I’M ANTSY and there’s a lot hahaha. Enjoy the dump(s)! :D

[adreamfromnevermore]

Headcanon that the Bats must be the most infuriating members of the justice league. And it's got nothing to do with what they do or don't know or even their general skills and egos. Everyone is very used to Batman and the expectation that him and any of his spawn are somehow going to be three steps ahead of any issue they bring to the table ever.

No no, the infuriating bit? The stalking.

Listen, this is a family of freaks and weirdos. They work so well together because none of them were normal to start with and then they ended up traumatized. It's practically common practice in that family to accept that nothing is what it seems at face value and that all of your siblings are attempting to pry into your private life and cases at any given moment. I think for them it's honestly weirder if you take what they say at face value. They speak a language holy separate from any normally socialized person and it is a language of lies and half-truths that relies on the assumption that all parties are aware of that.

They're the most infuriating bitches around.

They'll tell someone something and appear to do the opposite and when confronted will have the most convoluted but sound reasoning of why they actually did exactly as they promised too.

They regularly pick people's pockets and hack into personal information because for them? That's practically a love language. They're obnoxious and they aren't even aware of it. Someone asks them to just tell the truth and they react like they've been shot. They're probably offended when they realize that someone hasn't been at least attempting to dig into them back, like come on man. I thought we were friends but you didn't even Google how long Nightwings been around? We've already put the bar on the floor for you guys? My siblings already have a full dossier ready on you because they caught us on camera in your home city during that 2 minute conversation we had 3 months ago. They sent it to me a few hours later. I think they got Oracle to help cause usually it takes them at least 12 hours.

You think they're being nice and friendly and then you realize that they have a nice little file compiled of everything you've done in the last five years, where you went to school and every note your teachers ever made about your behavior a decade ago when you were still a high schooler and fairly normal. If asked they'd probably be willing to bring out the family tree they built for you. They know what you did last summer better than you know what you did last summer. They have pictures, pictures that should be impossible because there's no way they were stalking you then and those sure don't look like security camera footage.

In reality Bats and Superman get along so well because that man is an investigative journalist and when they first met he could not leave it alone. Bruce was charmed the first time Clark Kent started doggedly attempting to ask him if he knew anything about Gothams new cryptid. It was cute how off base he was. But he was trying!!!! Bruce was sold for life! He dropped an dossier on lexcorp off in Clarks apartment a few days later. As a gift.

[marril96]

Reasons

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: Agatha wants to know why you wanted to go on the Road.

You knew you were in trouble when Agatha left the rest of the coven huddled around a fire and joined you in the forest area, away from prying ears.

You needed some peace and quiet. The trials were emotionally tasking. Risking your life day by day, doing things such as drinking poison and performing a song while fire raged around you…

It was a lot.

But this was your life now.You knew full well what you were signing up for. Agatha had warned you, loud and clear.

The choice to come here was yours, and you would make it all over again if given a chance for what you wanted — what you needed — from the Road wasn't something easily attainable. You'd be damned if you were to give up now.

Some things were worth risking everything for.

"Y/N," Agatha said as she approached you, casual, hands in the pockets of her coat. Like she were on a walk in a park rather than a dangerous and deadly Road.

"Yeah?" You weren't really in the mood to talk, your batteries still low from the latest trial. It didn't help that you didn't feel fully at ease with the others. The kid was fine, but the other witches made you nervous. You didn't trust them. You didn't know them.

The only one you really knew was Agatha. Which was why you just stood there instead of moving away or feigning sleepiness as she walked over, something clearly on her mind. It paid off to have befriended her back in the day. It was by pure chance, an encounter neither one of you expected, but, in hindsight, you were both glad it had happened.

She had earned a listening ear, someone to confide in, who wouldn't judge her no matter what. Someone who would have her back even if the rest of the world were to turn against her.

You had earned a protector in a world that was dangerous for your kind.

"We need to talk," Agatha said. Her tone didn't reveal much; you didn't know what to expect.

You turned to her. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's peachy."

"Is Jen talking shit about you again? My offer to punch her in the face still stands," you said. You'd nearly done so a couple days back, but Agatha had held you back. She could handle Jen, she'd said. Her words had meant nothing to her.

It didn't make hearing lies and slander about your friend feel any better, but if she said she was okay, then that was that. Agatha was centuries old; much older than you. She may have been powerless now, but she could still hold her own. She'd heard worse. She'd lived through worse. Some random witch's petty insults didn't bother her.

Agatha chuckled. "Jen is… Jen. But no, she hasn't said anything."

"Then what's up?"

"I need to ask you something."

"Why do I feel like I'm about to be interrogated?" you said, nervous. You forced a smile. "Are you back in your true crime mode? Are you gonna manhandle me until I confess?"

"That's cute," Agatha said, rolling her eyes, prompting you to laugh.

If you'd known Wanda Maximoff had cast a spell on her, you would have come and gotten her out of it sooner — or tried to, at the very least. That was the thing about friendships that lasted for centuries; a lot of time was spent apart. It wasn't unusual for one of you to disappear for a few years and then pop back into the other's life. You missed her when she was gone, of course you did, but she had her life, and you had yours.

It was only when she'd showed up at your door with Teen in tow that you'd finally found out why she'd gone radio silent for three years. And, much to your disappointment, the witch who'd done it to her was dead, so you couldn't even punch her for it, or call her a bitch to her face.

Such was life.

"What are you doing here?" Agatha asked.

"What do you mean?" you said, taken aback.

"On the Road," she clarified. "Why are you here?"

Because you wanted something you could never have without it. Simple as that. "You asked me to come."

"No, I didn't. I told you I was going. You demanded I take you with me."

Right. You'd hoped that little detail would slip by her. You should've known by now she kept track of everything; her mind was as sharp as her magic.

"I haven't seen you in three years," you said, hoping that would be enough of an explanation. "I wanted to hang out with you. And, like, maybe get some more power along the way."

"Anyone ever tell you you're a shitty liar?"

Yes. She did. Multiple times in the past. Which was why, whenever the two of you needed to swindle someone — for whatever reason — she was the one doing the talking and you just nodded along and smiled.

"You did."

"Yes," Agatha said. "I did. Because you are."

You sighed. "What do you want me to say?"

"The truth."

"There's nothing to say."

There was a lot, actually, but you didn't dare open up that particular can of worms. Once it was said, it could never be taken back. So why say anything at all?

"Oh, is there?" Agatha said sarcastically.

"Don't do that," you said.

She raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

Because you're my friend. Because I don't want to ruin this. "Because I'm asking you not to. That used to mean something."

"It still does." Her voice was soft. Tender. Gone was the sarcasm, the defensive sharpness. It was just her now. Your friend.

"Then why are you asking?"

"Because I want to know."

"Leave it alone." You knew she wouldn't. She never did.

"Y/N," Agatha said, your name but a whisper on her lips.

You sighed. Was she really going to do this now? Why couldn't she just take you at your word and put up with a little white lie? Why did she have to be so damn stubborn?

"Why did you want to come here?" She wasn't demanding. She wasn't prodding. She was just asking.

She knew you couldn't resist her for too long.

The perks of allowing Agatha Harkness to be your close friend. She knew you too well for your own good.

A lump formed in your throat. Heat bit at the back of your neck like a curse about to swallow you whole. Your heart raced, a marathon booming in your chest.

There was a silence, long, drawn out. Then, in your quietest, softest voice, you said, "You know why."

She always did.

She always knew everything.

Secrets weren't secrets for long around Agatha Harkness.

You tried to tell yourself that you were being careful, that your emotions were in check at all times, but the truth was, your poker face was worse than your lying skills. You just pretended you were doing a good job, and Agatha went along with it.

To her credit, she never tried to take advantage. She never made fun of you for it, or played games. The deal was friendship, and that's what she gave you. Nothing more, and nothing less.

"I want to hear it from you."

A tear slid from the corner of your eye. Your cheek burned like a fireplace. Your mouth trembled, holding the words back, wanting to keep them trapped forever. But what would be the point, really? The truth was bound to come out eventually.

The truth had been out for a long time, written all over your face. A big, scarlet letter for all the world to know how you really felt. What you really wanted, but never felt like you could have.

"You." It felt almost freeing to say it out loud, as if a weight had been lifted off your chest, allowing you to breathe in a way you hadn't for years. "I came here because I want you."

Really, what else could you have possibly wanted? You were satisfied with the power you had. You got by. Your life wasn't in danger. There was nothing for you to ask for, that you didn't already have.

Except for one thing you thought — you knew — was unattainable.

Agatha Harkness. One of the most powerful witches you'd ever gotten to know. Rumored to be cruel and ruthless, heartless. A remorseless monster. A serial killer of witches. Your best — and only — friend. The love of your life.

"Go on," you said after a few moments of silence. "Make fun of me."

"Now, why would I do that?" Agatha asked, appalled at the suggestion. Offended for sbe thought you knew her better than that.

Which was exactly why you were so afraid. She hid her feelings expertly. Rather than admit vulnerability, she preferred to go on the offensive. A scorpion stinging with its venom where it hurt the most. She cared about you, and she trusted you, but there was no telling how she would react to something like this out in the open.

You saw how she treated people. You watched her murder witch after witch and discard the bodies as if they were nothing. You watch her climb over others to prop herself up, to rise to the top.

What was to stop her from doing the same to you?

What made you so different?

Why had she never treated you any different than one would a friend? Why had she always had your back, without you even having to ask? Why had she taken lives — many, many lives — to save yours?

Why did she trust you with her story, with memories of her son and the failed romance with Rio?

Why did she feel comfortable to bare her soul to you and let the tears flow freely, a salty river down her face each and every time she revealed a piece of her history?

"I just…" You were nervous. You were scared. You wanted to die.

"You know, honey, you didn't have to be so dramatic about it," Agatha said, perking up. Teasing you like she usually did; a bit mean, but with no real malice behind it. Playful. A cat throwing around a mouse it had caught. "You went on the Road to score a date? Really?"

It wasn't really a date you were after, but her point stood.

You were stupid.

This was a stupid idea, and it had backfired, and now she was going to mock you for it until the day one of you died.

"You do know all you had to do was ask, right?" she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You snorted. "Yeah, right. Like you'd ever give me the time of day."

Agatha pressed her hands to her hips, elbows sticking out. "Who's to say I wouldn't?"

Now she was definitely taking the piss. "Come on," you said, putting on your fakest smile you knew would never fool her. "You're this amazing, badass, smoking hot witch."

She preened at the compliments. The surefire way to feel heart. She was nothing if not an attention whore.

"You-you're everything." Your everything, and more. So much more. "And I'm a nobody."

"Don't you ever say that," Agatha said in her stern, no nonsense tone. No more Mrs. Nice Girl. All daggers and sharp edges. She grabbed you by the shoulders, fingers digging in, and looked into sour eyes so intently it sent chills down your spine. "Don't you ever think you're a nobody."

"Everyone else thinks that," you said quietly.

It was obvious the others didn't think much of you. You could see it on their faces; the lack of respect, the underestimation. Jen had called you Agatha's pitbull to your face.

That was all you were to them. A pathetic witch whose only purpose was to speak up for Agatha. She may have joked about Teen being her pet, but it was clear to them all that that was your job. Agatha's witch familiar who was hopelessly in love with her and barked — but never bit — at every perceived slight against her.

"Who cares what they think?" Agatha said. "You're an exceptional witch, Y/N. They are nobodies."

"You're only saying that to make me feel better."

"Does that sound like something I'd do?"

No. It did not. She might use those words to manipulate some poor, unfortunate soul, but not you. Never you.

She always said it to you like it was.

"I mean, you do like to manipulate people," you joked. "And you lie better than I do."

Agatha rolled her eyes. "Everyone lies better than you do."

"True." There was no denying that.

She sighed, exasperated. "You really are an idiot."

And then her mouth was on yours, and she was kissing you, and your entire world exploded into fireworks and sparks and electricity, and, for a few short moments, you weren't in a dirty, creepy forest but rather somewhere warm and welcoming, and you never wanted to leave.

Agatha was everything you had imagined, and much, much more. Fire and ice all in one. Sugar and spice and everything nice and cozy and so fucking delicious.

Hers was the taste you never wanted to give up.

She tried to lean her head back, to take a break for breath, but you grabbed her chin and kissed her again, and again, and again. Hunger like you'd never felt before overtook you. Your nerves were on fire, legs weak underneath you, but you held on, forced yourself to remain standing. To remain kissing her for you never knew when you would get another chance.

If you would get another chance.

"Honey, I may be immortal, but I still need to breathe," Agatha said with a chuckle, right against your lips. Playful. Teasing.

Deciding it was enough, you backed away. Your lips were swollen, tingling. The taste of her, all of her, still on them, lingering like a ghost of your past. Forever imprinted on your mouth, a tattoo you hoped would never fade. You never wanted to lose it. Never wanted to forget what it felt like to be kissing her.

"Sorry," you said, blushing, nervous to hell and back.

Agatha looked you in the eye once again with the same fire as earlier. "Never apologize for taking what you want. You're a witch. The world is yours for the taking."

"I don't want the world," you said. "I just want you."

"Done." She said it so casually, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

You didn't buy it.

You quirked up an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Really."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"You knew I was…" Completely and totally in love with her. "...into you."

"You have a tell," she said simply. She always could read people like an open book.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I wanted you to ask for it."

"But why?"

Agatha sighed. "Y/N, what is it that I've been teaching you since the moment we met?"

"Fuck the rules?"

She nodded. "Fuck the rules."

"To be unapologetically me," you said.

"Because…?" she prompted.

"I'm a witch, and I've got nothing to be ashamed of. If I fuck up, that's fine. Shit happens. There's nothing that can't be fixed with a little bit of magic."

Agatha grinned, brimming with pride. "That's my girl."

That's what you really were now. Her girl.

A part of you wanted to pinch yourself to make sure that this was real. That it wasn't some dream or a hallucination the Road had inflicted on you as part of some fucked up trial.

The other part wanted to wrap her in your arms and never let go.

"Can I kiss you again?" you said, uncertain. Still not used to this new situation you'd gotten yourself into.

"You don't even have to ask," Agatha told you.

So you went for it. You kissed her. Once. Twice. Three times.

An infinite amount of times.

Later on, when it came time to get some shut eye, you kissed her goodnight, and she wrapped her arms around you. A protective cocoon, warm and safe.

And, in the morning, she was the one to wake you with a kiss of her own.

It was only fair.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @miss-moon-guardian @hermslore @uniquelesbianidiot @natashamaximoff1 @werewolfvpire @alsoknownasmel @swan-queen-is-magic @tardisesandtitans