#prince lucius x reader
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Love and Legion
Summary: 𝑳𝒖𝒄𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂 𝑨𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒖𝒔 adopted you almost 14 years ago, after a catastrophic invasion of your country from the two tyrannic Twin Emperors of Rome, only just two years after sending her son away, she can't help but feel pity and guilt at a little child who was just a years younger than her son should've been right now and in an indisputable argument with some of the senators, she successfully stole you away from the hands of your unknown parents.
Lucilla meets her beloved husband and courageous General, 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒖𝒔 𝑨𝒄𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒖𝒔 many years later, and marries him in hopes of finding protection and love she once seeked in another-- and she did of course. Only a few years later when tensions began brewing between you and your beloved 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑-𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓, a tension that should not and should've never existed in the first place.
And even more chaos prevails when 𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐, a Gladiator brought by the war catches your mother's undivided attention. You don't know why she's so interested in some vicious gladiator until you confronted him to cure the growing dislike h̶a̶t̶r̶e̶d̶ you have towards him.
𝑨 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑-𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒖𝒔 𝑨𝒄𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒖𝒔 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝑳𝒖𝒄𝒊𝒖𝒔 '𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐' 𝑽𝒆𝒓𝒖𝒔 𝑨𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒖𝒔 𝐹𝑖𝑐
➪ 𝘿𝙊𝙉'𝙏 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘿𝙊𝙉'𝙏 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘗𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘺.
➪ 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘴 𝙁𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡, 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙡, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦.
➪ 𝙉𝙊𝙉𝙀 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘎𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳 1 𝘢𝘯𝘥 2.
➪ 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦. 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴.
Series Masterlist
You don't know why you remember so little from before. You recall only Lucilla, your now adoptive mother, cradling you back to her tent, washing off the dirt and grime from you in her tub, you remember feeling like you forgot something, not like you can remember everything you did when you were 5, only a glimpse of your faceless 'parents'.
You remember a big argument from the outside, you heard voices yelling and squabbling, one which belonged to your mother while her maids tended to your food and clothes. You remember her looking so tired but pleased after an hour of arguing.
Then she proceeded to help you with your hair, twisting and braiding and vice versa as she hummed that beautiful song she sang to you every single night after that.
"You're an Aurelius now. My daughter. My Carissima"
Then just several years later, you were standing in mere spaces behind your mother, and her groom, General Marcus Aurelius, feared but not feared, the one who leads rome's army to victory every time.
You were wearing a dress, an exact copy of your mother's. Your attire mirrored almost every detail of hers, a reflection of your bond. While your mother's dress was woven from fine, unblemished white wool, and tied with the intricate Knot of Hercules, yours was simpler, its fabric softened and unadorned, lacking the symbolic complexity but retaining the elegance.
Your hair, though styled in the same six braids as your mother’s, was left without the ornate pins and embellishments that crowned the bride.
Instead of the full flammeum that veiled your mother, you wore a delicate orange scarf that draped lightly over your shoulders, the hue a faint echo of your mother’s fiery veil. A small garland of fresh flowers circled your head, a token of your innocence and role as a silent witness to the sacred union.
You held your breath during the whole ceremony, even as your mother said those words that would finally hammer the nail.
"Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia"
'Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia'
Despite your initial resistance over having a new father— step-father, you can't deny your mother her love, because one day you'll have to find one yourself, and marry him and move in with him and leave your mother alone. But now she has her spouse, her husband, you're not sure if you're relieved or worried.
The day after the occasion you moved into his mansion, and to your surprise he had you made a room of yourself, not that you had one at home, you didn't really know him, or talk to him, but he went out of his way to carve you a space in his home, maybe that earned him point to you.
You jumped out behind your mother's back and ran around the spacious chamber, almost forgetting they were there. You hastily got on the bed that looked almost too tall to be one and bounced and bounced, even your bed at home didn't make you bounce this high.
Out the corner of your eye you see Acacius approaching the foot of the bed, his arms crossed each other as his smile widens impossibly big, he didn't have that much grey hair then, but he looked very young and joyful, you see your mother just farther behind him at the doorframe admiring the both of you.
You knew it was then she wanted both of you to get along, and you love your mother so much you didn't want to disappoint her. Your initial impression of him was questionable, the first thing that came up your mind was that he was evil, and he'd lock you down the dungeon and torture you like those step-parent books you read, and one that caught your eye was the story of Rhodopis.
And just moments later you bounced to him and jumped, you snorted at the face he made when you landed on him, your hands coiled around his neck, going in for a hug.
"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" You heard him laugh above you as his arms circle around your back, trapping you in a hug.
You shivered involuntarily as his fingers ghost the skin of your back. Maybe that's where it started? Everything that went on then as the years came by, you didn't draw attention to it, just pondering and pondering what it was.
Then years later you're here, standing beside your mother as she held a small white cloth to her tear stained eyes, a lavender in her other hand occupying her nose to cancel out the foul smell of Rome, you sneezed a second time, does Rome even know how to bathe?
Your thoughts were stolen away when you heard Acacius's heavy boots approaching. He was wearing this dazzling bright red cape with intricate gold embroidery in the edges, it was clasped together with a gold plated pendant. His heavy black armor designed with Medusa's head at front with gold clicked expensively as he nears the two of you, you notice how gold was also lined on the edges of his armour a big sign that he is a general.
You wonder if this time they were going to a bigger country, seeing how many battalions Acacius had behind him, they were boarding the ship one by one and the others were carrying the boxes loaded with weapons.
He didn't wear his helm yet so his curls bounced as he halted in front of you. And even if your mother was already hugging him, it felt as though his eyes were still on you, you fiddled with your dress while looking down, opting to stare at the interesting floor than look into his rounded brown gaze.
You thought he'd leave then, after bidding your mother and you goodbye, but he paused as your mother seperated from him, busy wiping her tears and refilling her lavender, you hear him laugh, his chest rumbling in the armour, his knees slightly crouch to your view, but you don't budge as you avoid his eyes still.
He suddenly reached out, his rough, calloused fingers brushing against your jaw with surprising gentleness. Slowly, he lifted your chin, coaxing you to meet his gaze. The motion was subtle but deliberate, his touch firm yet tender as it guided your face upward.
You hesitated for a moment, your eyes flickering to his lips, before your gaze finally rose to meet his. The world around them seemed to fade as his eyes locked with yours, an unspoken tension thickening the air between you and him.
"A-acacius—"
"Won't you bid me goodbye, amor?" He whispered a breath, his voice soft and low as his head tilts to the side, almost like teasing you.
"I-I was. But I wanted mother to go first." You murmured, practically embarrassed he even noticed.
"I shall be away for a good while," He clears his throat, straightening his attire.
You nod, fiddling with your dress yet again. "How long?"
"I've no certain count, but I'll be back," he paused, smiling warmly. "And quick."
You return his smile, laughing gently. "Of course you are, you're the invinsible general,"
"Oh? Am i now?"
"Yes, you are, don't try to humble it." Your smile grows wider as he laughs. "I don't think I understand what you're saying, Amor."
You roll your eyes, folding your arms over your chest. "Don't fool me, old man"
"You're calling me old now?"
"Aren't you?"
He was about to retort a comeback when you mother strided to where you were.
"Safe travels, my love," she sighs. "We will pray for you,"
"I will, Caro" he leans down to take her hand, kissing the bones of her knuckles. And for a split second you see him look to your direction "I will."
𝑵𝒆𝒙𝒕
#stepfather marcus acacius x reader#general marcus acacius x reader#marcus acacius x reader#marcus acacius#marcus x reader#acacius x reader#dark acacius x reader#dark marcus acacius x reader#hanno x reader#dark hanno x reader#stepbro hanno x reader#stepbro lucius x reader#prince lucius x reader#lucius verus aurelius x reader#lucius x reader#lucius aurelius x reader#dark lucius x reader#dead dove do not eat#dark fic#dark lucius aurelius x reader#pedro pascal x reader#tw stepcest#paul mescal x reader
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🖤 ₊˚⊹ — eldest daughter of the malfoy family (1) #DISCONTINUED
parring ➵ draco malfoy x sibling f!reader
summary ➵ family portraits with your little shit of a younger brother.
age of parring ➵ 16 - 18
warnings ➵ fluff
extra ➵ might become a multi - part series, but don’t take my word for it. reader’s middle name is named after bellatrix. thanks to @cafekitsune for banners! second chapter here.


here you were in the manor, in your large but dull gloomy dark room. subtle touches of your personal belongings scattered all about.
you’ve gotten news from your father, lucius, that the family was gonna retake yet another family portrait, it would’ve bugged you then but it happened every year. so what could’ve you done?
you were touching up your hair, defining your blowout and pining it up in a nice up - do, as your mother, narcissa, requested. you applied your favorite lipstick/lipgloss before you heard footsteps approaching.
you looked through the reflection of the mirror on your vanity as you added your desired pair of earrings, some bracelets, and layering some necklaces. the final touch being a matching ring you had with draco.
it was a simple stacking ring, engraved with your full first name, middle inital, following with the complete last name on it. you had a matching one with draco.
DRACO L. MALFOY — Y/N B. MALFOY
the baby of the family, who has grown to a young man, walked in without knocking. you clicked your tongue in annoyance, draco got the memo.
❝ m-may i come in? ❞
❝ you are already in. ❞ you scoffed softly, noticing the scowl on his face.
❝ sorry. ❞ he said blandly, you replied saying ❝ don’t worry about it dray, i need your help anyway. ❞
you sat up, walking up to a full length mirror in the left corner of your bedroom, draco following behind.
you fixed any sort of crimple and wrinkle on your dress whatsoever with a whip of your wand.
you presented yourself with a elongated black maxi dress, with a slit on the left side revealing your leg, the bust lined with black lace detailing, the same detailing of the thin straps.
you sported a pair of black crystal covered pointy toe high heels, a beautiful glamorous black cluster crystal on top of it. it was from a muggle high - end store, something along the lines of jimmy choo.
you ran your hands every curve, admiring yourself and catching a glimpse of your dark mark on your left arm, running your hand up and down the same arm.
as you did so, you were unaware of what draco was thinking.
draco malfoy, disliked by his fellow peers in the same year, most in a complete different house, known for his undeniable prejudice toward blood status.
one thing he was also known for was you, and he knew that of course.
anytime anyone would look, speak, or even breathe around you, he would always and constantly eye them.
he would clench his fist anytime someone would utter a bad mouth about you and disregard you as a person. no matter who it was, he would walk past and shove them so hard on purpose with no hesitation.
he absolutely hated people who would do so, cause you usually never did anything to anyone. back when he was a second year, you being in your third year, when the heir of slytherin was petrifying muggle borns, he never heard the end of it with the accusations of you being the heir.
reconnecting with the present, he looked at you lovingly with his hands in his blazer pockets. how he blazingly loved his older sister. every little thing you did, he always and never thought you weren’t the best at.
❝ you look beautiful sister. ❞ he said softly.
❝ you really think so? don’t you think its too much? ❞
he chuckled responding spontaneously with, ❝ too much or too little, you always look gorgeous. ❞
❝ oh i love you so much brother. ❞ you sighed placing you hands on his face kissing his forehead, being able to easier because of the shoes you were wearing.
you grabbed you favorite purfume, spritzing some on your wrists, collarbones, behind your ears. then spraying some near draco, giggling as he waved his arms coughing trying to prevent getting a feminine fragrance from attaching to his clothing.
❝ let’s be on our way now, mother and father have been holding up long enough. ❞ you ordered.
he enterwined his arm with yours eyeing down at your shoes, being patient with you as you have a disadvantage of walking quickly.
the both of you reached the hallway, sounds of clicking and clacking shoes echoed throughout the halls. draco was talking about the new school year at hogwarts approaching, to say he was displeased would be understatement.
the both of you kept walking til you guys reached the wall full with frames of family pictures. from the moment lucius and narcissa were engaged, their wedding ceremony, your birth, draco’s birth, both of you and draco’s first year at hogwarts ; and so on.
one picture caught your attention, you grimaced.
it was when you were starting in your fifth year and draco in his forth. the thing that bothered you so much was you short hair phase and short your dress was. it was way to provocative for a sixteen year old.
listen your hair would’ve been so adorable if you have gotten layers but oh well.
❝ oh my god. i looked ghastly! ❞ you almost shrieked.
❝ i cannot believe you let your little brother walk out like that. ❞ uttered draco disapprovingly.
it then turned into a five minute rambling of you calling your younger brother cute and squealing at his undefined face back when he was eleven.
draco only flushed and continued letting his older sister call him names he hasn’t been called in years, he was pulling on your dress mumbling for you to quit it.
unknowingly to the both of you, narcissa was watching her eldest daughter and baby son holding hands and giggling at each other’s portraits, telling stories of the days each portrait was taken.
how it made her happy knowing draco had you watching over him and growing up with a role model, regardless of the both of you growing up, you and draco will always be her children.
❝ draco, y/n, it’s time to get going. your father and aunt bellatrix are getting impatient. ❞
❝ sorry mother.❞ the both of you said in unison, quickly walking to in front of her.
narcissa stood on his tip toes, even with heels on, and kissed draco and you on the cheek, caressing her towering children as she smiled at.
❝ cmon now, run along! ❞
draco quickly ran to narcissa’s left side as you stayed on her right, both of you simultaneously wrapping your arms around hers and made your way out to the center of the manor.
lucius checked his watch groaning at the fact that his children are almost twenty minutes late to the shoot.
bellatrix cleared her throat impatiently, she had to meet with the dark lord in an hour, she wouldn’t be able to unless her niece and nephew were aware of the time.
nacrissa came in with a smile, one that both her sister and husband noticed in a heartbeat.
❝ narcissa, where is y/n and draco? ❞ asked lucius asked blandly, bellatrix glanced wanting to know.
before narcissa could answer, you and draco came in, making unnecessary fixes to your hair and outfits, holding out a compact mirror in front of the both of you.
❝ oh, my beautiful niece! you really outdid yourself, come here my sweet! ❞ bellatrix cooed as you smiled and closed the compact, walking up to her.
kisses were being plastered all over your face, lucius signaling draco to come up to his father.
draco went up and watched as his father fixed his tie silently chuckling at the sight of his beautiful daughter all dolled up.
❝ sorry father, it was my fault draco was late. i would’ve been at lot earlier if i hadn’t kicked him out of my room. ❞ you exclaimed softly.
❝ that’s quiet alright y/n, i should’ve known it takes young ladies a quite amount of time to prepare themselves. ❞ he grabbed your arm reassuringly.
❝ you know where to go, take the lead draco, y/n. ❞
you and draco obliged and went down to the living room and sat together in a forest green velvet vintage lounge chair holding hands, as the adults stood behind.
a couple of pictures, mixing it up quite often, it was finally the malfoy children portraits.
sitting down, standing up, backsides, and many serious and some smiling pictures later, the both of you hugged and you reminded draco how much you appreciated him.
the both of you snapped back into reality facing the wizarding world equivalent of a camera in surprise as a flash blinded the both of you, laughing at the moment that would make this yearly family portrait tradition memorable.
୨⎯ 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐥𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡 ⎯୧
#harry potter#harry potter and the halfblood prince#harry potter x sister reader#sister reader#older sister#older sister reader#draco malfoy#draco malfoy x sister reader#younger draco malfoy#draco malfoy x f!reader#draco malfoy x reader#narcissa malfoy#bellatrix lestrange#draco lucius malfoy#lucius malfoy#mina leigh#leighbaylee
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RIGHT HERE ALL ALONG | D.M



Summary: Camellia Rose and Draco Malfoy, childhood friends bound by loyalty, love, and unspoken words. As Camellia is torn between loyalty and betrayal as she discovers that Harry Potter, the one person she trust most, has been using her all along.
Word Count: 4.6k+
Warnings: Slight Angst but a happy ending
A/N: I really love the plot of this story. I Hope you guys enjoy!!🫰
⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰
Camellia Rose had always been a force to be reckoned with—sharp-witted, quick-tongued, and effortlessly charming.
As a pureblood, she had been raised with certain expectations, yet she never let them define her. Unlike many in Slytherin, she found no joy in tormenting others. She preferred lighthearted mischief—switching sugar for salt at breakfast, charming books to sing opera in the library, and sneaking enchanted fireworks into classrooms. She was well-known for her pranks, but they were never cruel.
Draco Malfoy had been her best friend since childhood. They grew up together, attending the same pureblood gatherings, running through grand estates, and learning the intricacies of magic from their strict families. One of her favorite moments with him was on summer break.
⸻
The summer air was thick with warmth, the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming roses filling the vast Malfoy Manor gardens. Camellia Rose had never been the type to sit still, much to the dismay of her governess. At six years old, she was wild—fearless, even.
“Higher, Draco!” she called over her shoulder, her tiny hands gripping the handle of her broom as she hovered a few feet above the ground.
Draco, who was now frowning. “You’re going to fall.”
She scoffed, flipping her dark curls over her shoulder. “I won’t.” And to prove it, she shot up higher, laughing as the wind tangled in her hair.
Draco’s stomach twisted. He wasn’t scared of flying—he was a Malfoy, after all—but something about Camellia’s recklessness made his chest tighten.
Then it happened.
One moment, she was grinning down at him. The next, her broom wobbled violently, throwing her off balance.
She screamed.
Draco didn’t think. He just moved.
He darted forward just as she plummeted, arms outstretched. The impact sent them both crashing to the grass, Draco’s back hitting the ground hard as Camellia landed on top of him with a gasp.
For a moment, neither of them spoke, their breaths mingling in the space between them. Then, slowly, she pulled back, blinking down at him.
“You caught me.”
Draco scowled, his arms still around her waist. “Of course, I did, idiot.”
Her lips twitched. “Always so dramatic.”
He huffed, rolling his eyes, but he didn’t let go. “You shouldn’t be so reckless.”
“You shouldn’t worry so much.”
“I’ll always catch you, Cam,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.
She stilled. Then, a slow, knowing smile spread across her lips.
“Good.”
⸻
If anyone asked, Draco would claim he was her closest confidant, her protector. But what he would never admit—even to himself—was that he had always wanted to be more than just her best friend.
It was why, when Professor Snape paired Camellia with Harry Potter in Potions, Draco had nearly lost his mind.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered as they left the classroom. “Snape is supposed to be on our side.”
Camellia rolled her eyes. “It’s just for Potions, Draco. It’s not like I’m suddenly going to start writing love letters to Potter.”
“You better not,” he scoffed. “He’s insufferable. And a liar. Always up to something.”
But as the weeks passed, Camellia started to notice things about Harry.
At first, he was just an ordinary boy—messy-haired, always running late, and somehow managing to botch even the simplest potions. But then she saw the determination in his eyes when he tried again, the way he never let frustration get the better of him. He was surprisingly funny, throwing in sarcastic remarks when she least expected it.
And—though she’d never admit it out loud—he had the most captivating green eyes.
She tried to push the thoughts aside. She wasn’t supposed to like him. He was Harry Potter. But the more she got to know him, the harder it became to ignore the way her heart raced when he smiled at her.
Draco noticed. Of course, he did.
“You’re delusional, Cam,” he said one evening in the common room. “Potter is always up to something. And you? You’re way out of his league.”
Camellia only laughed, shaking her head. Draco was always protective, but this time, he was just being dramatic. Right?
⸻
Sixth year had barely begun, and already, Camellia felt a shift in the air. Maybe it was the weight of looming war, or maybe it was something else—something she couldn’t quite place.
“I don’t like this,” Draco muttered beside her as they walked through the dimly lit corridors.
She sighed. “You don’t like a lot of things.”
Draco stopped, grabbing her wrist gently but firmly. She blinked up at him, startled by the intensity in his silver eyes.
“I mean it, Cam. Potter—he’s paying too much attention to you.”
She frowned. “We’re partners in Potions, Draco. It’s not a conspiracy.”
Draco’s jaw clenched. “He’s up to something.”
She rolled her eyes, shaking off his grip. “Not everything is about you and him, you know.”
His expression darkened, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. “Just… be careful.”
Camellia sighed, giving him a playful shove. “You worry too much.”
But as she walked away, she missed the way Draco watched her, his fists curling at his sides.
He had a terrible feeling.
And the worst part?
She wouldn’t listen.
⸻
As sixth year progresses, Camellia’s heart had already made its choice.
Harry started seeking her out beyond their Potions lessons. He waited for her after class, walked with her to the Great Hall, and even helped her pull off a harmless prank or two. At first, she thought it was just a strange coincidence, but then she caught him looking at her.
Not in the way others did. Not with wariness or suspicion.
But with something else. Something softer.
The day he asked her out, she had laughed, assuming he was joking. But when she saw the earnestness in his expression, the heat rose to her cheeks.
⸻
It was a chilly afternoon in early December when it happened.
Camellia had been minding her own business, gathering ingredients from the Potions classroom after an impromptu lesson with Snape. She was just about to leave when she felt a presence beside her.
Harry Potter.
Her heart did a strange little jump, but she ignored it.
“Hey, Camellia,” he greeted, his usual messy hair looking even more unkempt than usual.
“Potter,” she replied, tilting her head. “To what do I owe the honor?”
He hesitated for a moment, shuffling his feet awkwardly. Camellia narrowed her eyes—he looked nervous. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, nervous?
Then, he did something completely unexpected.
“Would you, er, want to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”
Camellia blinked.
Then blinked again.
Surely, she misheard him.
“I—what?” she stammered, caught entirely off guard.
Harry rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at her. “I mean, you don’t have to. It’s just—well, we get along in Potions, and I thought—well, maybe you’d like to go together? For fun?”
For the first time in her life, Camellia Rose was at a complete loss for words.
A date. Harry Potter was asking her on a date.
Her usual quick wit abandoned her as warmth rushed to her cheeks. “Oh—um—y-yeah. That sounds… nice.”
Harry grinned, looking relieved. “Great. Saturday, then?”
She nodded, feeling entirely too warm despite the cold dungeon air. “Yeah. Saturday.”
And just like that, she had a date with Harry Potter.
⸻
Their first trip to Hogsmeade had been surprisingly easy. Despite her initial nerves, the moment they stepped into The Three Broomsticks, things felt… natural.
Harry had an easy way about him, making her laugh with his terrible impressions of Snape and dramatic reenactments of Ron’s chess games. They wandered through Honeydukes, where he insisted on buying her favorite chocolates, and even went into Zonko’s, where she taught him the fine art of selecting prank supplies.
One date turned into two. Then three. Then four.
Before she knew it, Camellia found herself looking forward to his presence, to his laughter, to the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at her.
And then, on a quiet night in the Astronomy Tower, under the light of a nearly full moon, Harry finally asked.
“Will you be my girlfriend?”
Her breath hitched.
She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous. They had been dancing around this for weeks now, both knowing where it was headed. But hearing him say it out loud made her stomach flutter.
“I—yes,” she whispered, smiling.
And when Harry grinned back at her, she felt a warmth she had never known before.
For the first time, Camellia Rose thought that maybe, just maybe, she had found something real.
Draco, however, was less than pleased.
“You’re making a mistake,” he warned her. “Potter doesn’t care about you the way I do.”
“Draco, stop,” she sighed, rubbing her temples. “You’re being ridiculous.”
But he wasn’t. He had always known Harry Potter was up to something.
He just never wanted to be right.
⸻
Draco had never considered himself the jealous type.
He had always thought jealousy was beneath him—petty, irrational. But as he stood in the courtyard, watching Camellia and Potter, something twisted violently in his chest.
Camellia was laughing, her head thrown back, her eyes alight with something warm and soft. Harry was grinning down at her, his hand resting at the small of her back as they talked in hushed tones, as if they existed in a world of their own.
Draco’s jaw clenched.
It was nauseating.
He knew it was ridiculous—she had chosen this, him, and what was he supposed to do about it? But Merlin, did she have to look at Potter like that? Like he had hung the stars in the sky?
Draco’s fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms as he forced himself to look away.
“Draco?” Blaise's voice pulled him from his thoughts. He blinked, realizing too late that he had been glaring daggers at the couple.
“What?” he snapped, a little too harshly.
Blaise smirked, glancing at Camellia before arching a brow. “You’re brooding.”
“Am not,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.
But Blaise was perceptive, and he knew him. He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you looked jealous.”
Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Jealous? Of Potter? Don’t be ridiculous.”
But as Camellia reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Harry’s ear, her touch lingering, Draco had to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth.
He turned on his heel and walked away before he did something he’d regret.
Because the truth was—he was jealous.
Furious, even.
Not at her. Never at her.
But at himself.
Because deep down, he knew—if he had been braver, if he had said something sooner, maybe it would be his name she whispered.
Maybe it would be him she looked at like that.
⸻
Camellia hadn't meant to eavesdrop
It had been a restless night, her thoughts too tangled to allow her any peace. So, she had wandered the corridors of Hogwarts, letting the quiet hum of the castle soothe her nerves. She wasn’t looking for anything—or anyone.
But then she heard it.
The soft murmur of voices, drifting from behind the portrait hole of the Gryffindor common room. She might have kept walking, might have ignored the familiar tones of Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
Until she heard her name.
Curiosity rooted her to the spot, her heart already picking up speed.
“Look, it’s not like I wanted to date her, Ron. It was just the best way to find out what Draco’s up to.”
The words sliced through the air, sharper than any blade.
Her breath caught in her throat.
No. No, she must have misheard.
“So, when do you end things?” Hermione’s voice was hesitant, uncertain.
“Soon,” Harry sighed. “I don’t want to drag it out. I got what I needed.”
Her vision blurred, her pulse roaring in her ears.
I don’t want to drag it out.
I got what I needed.
The world tilted beneath her feet, her stomach twisting into knots so tight she thought she might be sick.
Every stolen glance, every soft touch, every whispered joke—had it all been a lie?
The warmth of his hand in hers. The way he laughed at her pranks. The quiet nights spent talking about everything and nothing.
Had any of it ever meant anything?
She clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling the sob that threatened to escape. She couldn’t bear it—not here, not now.
She had to leave.
Blindly, she turned, stumbling down the corridor, her vision swimming with tears. Her body felt weightless, disconnected, as if her mind refused to accept what her heart already knew.
He never cared.
He never loved me.
He had used her.
She had been nothing more than a means to an end.
A foolish girl who had fallen for a boy who never saw her as anything more than a tool.
A strangled sob broke from her throat as she ran, the cold stone walls of the castle blurring around her. Her hands trembled, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps.
There was only one place she could go.
The one place she had always felt safe.
Draco.
⸻
Camellia didn’t know how she had made it to the dungeons. She barely remembered running through the castle, the weight of her heartbreak pressing down on her chest like an iron chain. Her vision was still blurred with tears, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps.
But before she could even reach the Slytherin common room, she felt a hand wrap gently around her wrist.
“Cam?”
His voice was softer than usual. Concerned.
Her body froze.
Draco.
The moment she looked up at him, the dam broke. A fresh wave of sobs wracked her body, and she crumpled forward before she could stop herself. Draco caught her instantly, his arms wrapping around her without hesitation. He was warm—steady—everything she needed in that moment.
“Hey, hey—what happened?” His voice was laced with urgency, but there was no impatience, no demand for answers. Just pure, quiet concern.
She tried to speak, but the words stuck in her throat. She was gasping between her cries, her entire body trembling against him.
He tightened his hold, his hand coming up to cradle the back of her head.
“Shh, I’ve got you. Just breathe, Cam.”
She clenched her fists in his robes, grasping onto him as if he were the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely. After a moment, she forced herself to take a shaky breath.
“He—he was using me, Draco,” she finally choked out. “I heard him—I heard him say it. He never actually cared.”
Draco stilled.
His entire body tensed, and she felt his breath hitch against the top of her head.
Then, slowly, he exhaled, his grip on her never loosening.
“I told you,” he murmured, voice rough, yet oddly gentle. “I told you he was up to something.”
But there was no smugness in his tone. No I told you so. Just quiet understanding.
That only made her cry harder.
She buried her face against his chest, the scent of his cologne grounding her, soothing her in ways she hadn’t thought possible. His hand moved in slow, steady circles against her back, as if he could physically rub away the ache in her heart.
“I hate him,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I hate myself for believing him. For thinking I mattered.”
Draco tensed again.
His hand slipped beneath her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. His silver eyes were stormy, filled with something dark and unreadable. But more than that, they were soft.
“Don’t,” he said firmly. “Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself."
She swallowed, fresh tears pooling in her eyes.
“But—"
“No,” he interrupted. “You are not stupid for caring. You are not weak for wanting to be loved. You’re you, Camellia. And anyone who can’t see how amazing that is? They don’t deserve you.”
Her breath hitched.
For the first time since she had overheard Harry’s words, the tightness in her chest loosened—just a little.
Draco let out a slow breath before pressing his forehead against hers, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“I’ve got you, Cam.” His thumb brushed against her cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “I’ve always got you.”
And he did.
Even when she didn’t realize it.
Even when she had been blind to it all.
Draco had always been there.
⸻
The pain didn’t fade overnight. It clung to her like a second skin, creeping into her thoughts when she least expected it. Some nights, she lay awake, staring at the canopy above her bed, replaying his words over and over again until they burned like poison in her veins.
But Draco never left her side.
He was a constant presence, unwavering and immovable, like the tide that always returned to the shore. When she refused to eat, he sneaked her favorite chocolates from the kitchens, casually dropping them in her lap with a smirk. When whispers about Harry Potter’s betrayal floated through the halls, he hexed anyone foolish enough to mention it in front of her.
And when she wanted to disappear, to let the weight of it all consume her, he made her laugh.
Not in the way Harry once had, with boyish charm and reckless spontaneity. No, Draco’s humor was effortless—dry, sharp, and perfectly timed. He would tilt his head, raise a brow, and say something so scathingly sarcastic that she couldn’t help but snort.
And for the first time in weeks, she felt lighter.
Then, she started noticing things.
The way his silver eyes softened whenever they landed on her. The way his fingers brushed against hers when he handed her a quill, lingering just a second too long. The way his touch, once casual and fleeting, now carried an unspoken promise.
He never pushed. Never asked for anything in return.
He was simply there.
And it was in those quiet moments, those stolen glances and unspoken words, that she realized—Draco Malfoy had always been there.
⸻
It wasn’t a grand revelation. It wasn’t fireworks exploding in her chest or some sudden, breathtaking epiphany.
It was quiet. Simple.
It was the way she felt when she was with him—steady, safe, whole.
It was the way her heart no longer ached when she saw Harry in the corridors because, for once, she wasn’t looking at him.
She was looking at Draco.
The same thing she did back then, before Harry
⸻
The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet for a Saturday night. The usual rowdiness from the younger students had died down, leaving only a few lingering upper years by the fireplace. Camellia Rose sat curled up on the emerald-green couch, her Transfiguration textbook open on her lap.
Across from her, Draco Malfoy sat with his arms crossed, pretending to read his Potions notes. She knew better. He had been stuck on the same page for at least fifteen minutes.
“You’re staring,” she mused without looking up.
Draco scoffed. “At what?”
Camellia smirked, finally meeting his gaze. “At me.”
He rolled his eyes. “I was not.”
She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “You totally were.”
Draco huffed, flipping his page aggressively, as if to prove a point. But the slight pink dusting his cheeks didn’t go unnoticed.
Camellia chuckled to herself, stretching her arms above her head. “You know, if you’re that bored, you could at least pretend to be useful and quiz me.”
Draco groaned. “Why do you even bother with Transfiguration? You’re already top of the class.”
“Maybe I like the challenge.” She tilted her head. “Or maybe I just like seeing you sulk.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Very funny, Rose.”
She grinned. “I try.”
It was always like this between them. Teasing. Challenging. A constant push and pull that felt as natural as breathing. She didn’t remember a time when Draco hadn’t been by her side, whether it was childhood duels with toy wands or sneaking into the Hogwarts kitchens for late-night snacks.
And maybe—just maybe—she liked it more than she should.
Not that she’d ever admit it.
Instead, she let her actions speak for her.
When he was cold, she would casually place her scarf around his neck, pretending not to notice the way his fingers hesitated before touching it. When he had a rough day, she’d steal one of his quills or nudge his shoulder until he stopped sulking. And when other girls batted their lashes at him in the corridors, she’d roll her eyes, casually hooking her arm through his as if to silently declare, he’s already taken—he just doesn’t know it yet.
Draco never questioned it. Maybe because deep down, a part of him knew.
But he was Draco Malfoy—stubborn, oblivious, and entirely too proud to admit what was right in front of him.
So, she waited.
For the day he’d finally see what had been there all along.
⸻
The Black Lake shimmered under the dying light of the sun, the sky ablaze in hues of pink and gold. The gentle lapping of the water against the shore filled the quiet space between them, but for once, Camellia found comfort in the silence.
She turned to him, her heart a wild drumbeat in her chest.
“Draco?”
He hummed, his gaze still fixed on the water, as if he could find all the answers hidden in its depths.
Camellia hesitated, but then, she saw the way the golden light touched his face—the boy who had always been there, standing quietly in the background, waiting for her to see him.
She took a deep breath. “Do you remember when we were kids? That summer at the Manor? I fell off my broom, and you told me—”
“‘I’ll always catch you,’” Draco finished, his voice barely above a whisper.
Her chest tightened.
He had caught her every time—when she stumbled, when she doubted, when she lost herself in a war that turned her into something she didn’t recognize. And through it all, he had stayed.
And she had been too blind to see it.
She swallowed hard. “I think I’ve been blind this whole time.”
Draco finally turned to her, silver eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, the corner of his lips twitched.
“Took you long enough,” he murmured. His voice was teasing, light—but his eyes, Merlin, his eyes held something deeper.
Something that had always been there.
A laugh bubbled up from deep within her chest, soft and unburdened. And for the first time in months, it didn’t feel forced.
Draco exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head, before lifting a hand and cupping her face—his touch warm, steady, sure.
She didn’t pull away.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t run.
Their lips met, soft and lingering, a whispered confession in the space between them. A promise.
And as she melted into him, as the weight of the past slipped from her shoulders like autumn leaves on the water, she knew—
She wasn’t blind anymore.
She was finally home.
She had been all along.
⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰
comment for taglist!
masterlist!
#jiraen writes 🍃#harry potter#harry potter fluff#harry potter angst#draco malfoy#draco malfoy fluff#draco malfoy angst#draco x reader#potterhead#hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry#ron weasley#hermione granger#light angst#angst with a happy ending#fluff#half blood prince#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter fanfic rec#harry potter fandom#draco lucius malfoy
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Hi there , I hope you’re doing well.
I recently shared my story about the challenges my family and I face in Gaza 🇵🇸 and would be so grateful if you could help by reblogging it 🔁.
Every share brings more awareness and support 🫶, and if you’re able to donate 💖, even a little makes a huge difference 🌟. Thank you for caring and for any help you can offer 🙏.
i need everyone to BOOST Momen's post!!!! please like and reblog his pinned post and try donating if you can <3
tagging my usual tags!
#𓂃crescent.✩‧₊˚#𓂃luna answers.✩‧₊˚#hp fandom#hp fanfic#harry potter#harry potter x reader#harry james potter#draco malfoy x reader#harry potter fluff#aemond targaryen x reader#prince aemond targaryen#prince aemond#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#aemond x reader#harry potter imagine#harry potter angst#draco malfoy fluff#draco malfoy imagine#draco malfoy angst#draco lucius malfoy#draco malfoy
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Heres Angst IG
The first time you touch him, he recoils. Not out of disgust, but as a natural response. The last person who touched him betrayed him. How would you be different?
It takes months from him to become comfortable enough to even let you hold his hand. He still cautious, but has realized how easily addictive your love is. Unlike the others, you love him. You want him and only him. His as a whole.
Severus Snape, Simon Riley, König, Ron Weasley, Draco Malphoy, Muzan Kibutsuji, Touya Todoroki, Shoto Todoroki.
#mha#mha x reader#dabi#mha dabi#touya todoroki#kny muzan#kny#cod mw2#konig cod#konig x reader#simon ghost riley#ghost cod#hp fandom#hp#severus snape#half blood prince#draco malfoy#draco lucius malfoy#shoto todoroki#ron weasley#slight angst#x yn#yn x canon
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I’m no expert- I just am a fan of the show and drew these for fun! As per request I am showing them, but remember, if you have nothing nice to say don’t say it at all.
Let me know what y’all think!
:)
Tag list of people who liked the poll so I figured they wanted to see them:
@3mpty-wallets
@sokkaluvr
@theneonspaceman
@sxkuraichiii
@tbonner2
@maryofthesoul
@jay—o
@i-am-the-agenda
@roygbivv
@pigeons-pictures
@kat421
@icurlybooks
@kauanerichert
@persephonedevoted
I write Draco Malfoy imagines!! ( that’s why I tagged Draco stuff.)
Masterlist
#avatar the last airbender#avatar#aang#prince zuko#toph#suki#Fire nation#earthbending#airbending#avatar aang#earth kingdom#draco lucius malfoy#draco malfoy#draco malfoy imagine#draco malfoy x reader#draco x reader#hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry#imagines#tom felton x reader#stories#x reader
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ೃ⁀➷ harry potter masterlist ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱
╰┈➤ severus snape, sirius black, remus lupin, james potter, lucius malfoy
·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞꒰➳ severus snape. ੈ♡˳
tba.
·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞꒰➳ sirius black. ੈ♡˳
tba.
·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞꒰➳ remus lupin. ੈ♡˳
tba.
·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞꒰➳ james potter. ੈ♡˳
tba.
·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞꒰➳ lucius malfoy. ੈ♡˳
tba.
#harry potter#marauders era#harry potter x reader#marauders x reader#severus snape#severus snape x reader#the halfblood prince#sirius black#sirius black x reader#remus lupin#remus lupin x reader#james potter#james potter x reader#lucius malfoy#lucius malfoy x reader#marauders drabble#marauders imagine#marauders oneshot#severus snape imagine#severus snape one shot
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#hotd imagine#hotd#hotd one shot#hotd x reader#aegon ii targaryen#aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#prince aegon targaryen#hotd fanfic#aegon ii fanfic#draco lucius malfoy#draco malfoy#draco x reader#draco fanfiction#harry potter
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Masquerade Ball | D.M.



summary: The Malfoys hold a masquerade ball in hopes of finding Draco a wife.
pairing: prince!draco malfoy x lady!potter!reader
includes: use of Y/N, mutual pinning, both oblivious, really just fluff with a tiny bit of angst
a/n: it’s like a mix of benedict’s story but not
As a child, Draco never understood how important he was to England’s society. He was always confined within the palace walls—forced to attend endless galas and balls hosted by his parents until his feet ached. Perhaps he could have escaped those obligations when he was younger, but now, he was trapped in a cycle of socializing with eligible maidens in hopes of finding a wife.
He had tried running away once at the age of seven but ran back to his mother the moment he encountered a beggar at the palace gates. It was then he realized how sheltered he truly was, unaware of the hardships beyond the gilded walls.
When Draco once questioned his status withing the kingdom, Lucius merely replied, "You will rule when you turn two and twenty." As the sole heir with no sibling, the weight of the kingdom rested squarely on Draco's shoulders.
Yet, as the years ticked closer to his inevitable coronation, he made no progress in finding a bride. Lucius' patience began to wane, culminating in the grand decision to host a masquerade ball to enhance his son's chances of courting a suitable queen.
And of course, Draco had words to say about the situation.
He adjusted his dark suit and spun the silver ring on his finger, meeting his mother's eyes through the standing mirror. "Mother—"
"Do not fuss, Draco," Narcissa chided gently, wiping invisible dust off her son's perfectly pressed suit. "Your father has made up his mind. You are to take the throne in two years. This must be done."
"And if I find no one?" He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, tilting his head at the piece of hair sticking out. It wouldn’t lay flat if he tried gelling it down.
"Then we will try again next month," She said softly, squeezing his arm. She looked between his eyes and sighed, "Please, try, my love."
"They don't care for me, mother," Draco muttered and turned to face her, rolling his shoulders back—already dreading dancing with women who want the fame and fortune. "They care about being a queen."
"Which is why it is a masquerade ball," Narcissa explained and grabbed the mask that resembled a peacock. "You will blend with the crowd, your identity hidden." She slipped the mask over his head and patted his cheek. "Get to know them without the burden of your title."
"And you believe this will work?"
"I do!" She smiled brightly and stepped away from him, ready to make her arrival with her husband. Narcissa gave him a reassuring smile and nodded. "Tu es très beau, Draco. Just... be yourself."
Draco gave her a weak smile and watched her leave his room, letting his shoulders slouch down the second the door shut. He ran his fingers through his hair again and let his mind dwell on thoughts that were unbearable.
"When has that ever worked out for me?" He muttered underneath his breath, looking in the mirror again to notice the only identifiable thing about him was his piercing silver eyes.
"Papa, why are you staring at me like that?" You asked, adjusting your flowing gown while your mother fussed with your hair.
"Yes, James, what are you staring at her for?" Lily inquired with an arched brow, perfectly pinning your hair into a dolled up bun and slipping a silver rose in its center.
"Nothing." James grumbled and fiddled with the peacock feathers on the end of your mask, thumbing the string. "Just... be safe, alright? This is your first time attending one of the King's socials without us. What if you get kidnapped?"
"James!" Lily gasped and smacked her husband on the chest, snatching the mask from him and handing it to you instead.
"Papa!" You laughed and kissed his cheek, pulling the mask over your head. "I'll be fine. Hermione and Ginny will be there, and Harry too." You pull your curls free from the mask and tilt your head at the mirror, touching up minor details such as the skewed mask and stray pieces of hair. "Besides, I doubt I'll dance much. Champagne and people-watching sounds far more appealing."
"Maybe mingle a little," Lily suggested and pinched her fingers together, leaning into her husband’s touch. "It's for the young Malfoy to find a wife, after all."
"I'm not fraternizing with Draco," You huffed and adjusted the silver necklace resting on your collarbone, the setting sun shining across the jewelry. "Harry and he practically hate each other. Not exactly ideal courtship material."
"Imagine you as queen," James mused and pretended to command a group of handmaids to fetch more books for your extensive library. You were always going to be a bookworm like your mother and he bet you would do anything to have a room the size of the palace for your books.
"James!" Lily scolded jokingly once more before smiling softly at you, clasping your hands in hers. "Just be safe, Y/N."
"Of course," You squeezed her hands and smiled back before heading out the door, tilting your head as you called out for your brother. "Harry!"
James winced as your voice echoed throughout the foyer, Lily letting a small laugh slip through. "Bloody hell, that girl can shout.”
"Why does this place look fancier than usual?" Ron grumbled, glancing around the grand ballroom adorned with glittering chandeliers and cascading drapes.
It wasn't odd to see the palace all dolled up, but everything looked so much more expensive and one of a kind. Like it was an even more special experience. There were pyramids of champagne in every corner and in the center of the ballroom was one of the largest orchestra groups you’ve seen in years.
"Because it's a masquerade ball, Ron," Hermione rolled her eyes and tightened her grip on his arm, making him kiss her cheek to make up for his remark. "Honestly."
"So, Y/N," Ginny nudged your shoulder—a mischievous smile decorating her face—ignoring Harry’s warning look. "Anyone you're hoping to dance with tonight?"
"I don’t think so, Gin.” You push your mask up and stare at all the people entering the palace. Even they were surprised at all the added decorations.
"Boring," Ginny teased before leaning into Harry and whispering something inaudible, making you roll your eyes at the two of them. If they had to be so in love, they shouldn’t do it in front of you.
Just as you opened your mouth to retort the sickening sweet scene, trumpets blared from the top of the staircase, redirecting everyone's attention to the far end of the ballroom where Lucius and Narcissa stood—the couple adorning their own masks.
"Please welcome His Majesty, the King, and Her Majesty, the Queen!"
Lucius made quick remarks about the importance of the evening before a sly grin appeared on his face, earning quiet whispers from the audience. "Enjoy yourselves tonight! For who knows when the prince will arrive..."
The whispers only intensified at the mention of the prince arriving at a later time. Could he possibly be avoiding the event himself? But that would make sense, not when the event was for him.
"Interesting," Hermione murmured as if she read your mind, making your brows raise in amusement.
"What is?" Ron asked.
"Draco isn't here for his own ball," She noted, glancing around the room for any signs of the prince.
You huff and push her toward her beloved. You would make sure Hermione had a good time rather than dwell on something that didn’t matter too much. If you had to see your brother and Ginny be all lovey, you would have Ron and Hermione do the same.
"Go dance with Ron."
Hermione sighed and took Ron's outstretched hand before looking back at you, narrowing her eyes. "Do not be a wallflower tonight. I expect you to dance with someone at least once.”
You shrug your shoulders and watch her disappear into the dancing crowd before spinning toward one of the many towers of champagne. Unfortunately, someone just had to come find you.
"Lady Y/N!" A familiar voice called out, making you freeze at how awful this coincidence was. It wasn’t like you could’ve avoided the man for too long, especially when the whole bloody kingdom was invited to the ball.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." You muttered under your breath and presented a fake smile to him, hands clenching by your sides in annoyance as you gave him a short curtsey. "Lord Cormac."
"How delightful to see you!" Cormac grinned and eyed you up and down like you were his next meal, your mind and body hating everything about him. "Would you like to accompany me this evening?"
Your eyes widened in fear and disgust, mind racing millions per hour to find a plausible excuse. “Actually—“
"Is there a problem?" A smooth, unfamiliar voice interrupted your pathetic excuse, allowing you to recollect your thoughts.
Cormac's grin faltered at the sudden interruption, taking a short step back at the sight of the taller man. "We were talking."
"I believe the lady declined," The newcomer said evenly, keeping his face as schooled as possible.
Cormac huffed but retreated in annoyance, making you grin. You turned to the stranger to find him staring McLaggen down until the boy finally moved to the other side of the ballroom. His mask obscured most of his face, but his silver eyes gleamed with amusement and victory. Funny, you found his McLaggen’s obedience quite amusing as well.
"My knight and shining armor." You quipped and tucked your hands behind your back, taking small steps toward the champagne tower you were supposed to be minutes ago. "Have we met?"
"Not officially," He smirked beneath his mask and followed, copying your small movements. "A masquerade ball is about knowing someone without truly knowing them, isn't it?” He took two glasses from the tower and handed you one—doing his best not to knock any other glasses down. “Forgive me for keeping my identity a secret.”
"Then I'll do the same, my knight." You give june a curt nod before taking a sip, the drink fizzing down your throat.
"Is that what I am now?" He chuckled and looked at you from above the rim of his own drink, silver eyes shining with interest.
You grin, "Yes."
He hummed and tilted his head at you, "Then you shall be my Ivy.”
"Unique." You raise your brows and take another sip of champagne. "Why Ivy?"
"You're dressed in a deep green," He noted. "And as unassuming as you may look, I sense there's poison beneath."
"You say that like you know me already," You narrowed your eyes playfully, placing your glass back on a passing tray as a song finished.
"A quick interaction is all one needs." He countered and finished off his champagne. He waited for the music to start up again before offering you a hand, "Care to dance?"
Without a second thought, you took his hand and readied yourself in the starting position, joining the rest of the partners on the floor. Your right hand was gently clasped in his left and his hand was warm on your waist.
It all felt different than the other times you’ve danced. It felt comfortable.
You tilted your head up as he spun you around, your eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Tell me about yourself."
"Well, I’m an only child," He said as you moved to walk around one another, eyes still locked onto yours. "Rarely left home unless dragged to events like these. Not much of an exciting life."
"Surely there's more. Friends? Acquaintances?" You press and take hold of his hand as he glides you across the ballroom—each note from the orchestra filling the background.
"Most used me for status." He admitted and quickly adjusted his mask and hold on you. "I learned from it.” You nodded and lightly held onto his arms when he dipped you, faces mere inches from one another. He pulled you up, “And you?"
"One older brother. Protective to a fault. Thinks every man is a threat." You rolled your eyes and separate yourself from him, letting him follow before clasping his left hand again. "I’ll admit, I came to the ball to be with friends.” You follow his steps as the dancers created a gorgeous pattern from above. “Dancing wasn't on the agenda, but... this isn't terrible.”
He smiled at your confession before remembering what the point of this ball was for. "What are your thoughts on the prince?"
"He can be...” You hesitated and looked around like the prince himself could hear you. “Difficult."
"Difficult?" He echoed and tilted his head to the side in interest.
"My brother has always had a grudge against him." You explained before spinning, heels clicking against the marble flooring. "I've had to endure their spats. Not the best memories. But it's not like I'll speak to him tonight."
He chuckled softly, silver eyes glinting behind his mask. "You never know. Masquerades are full of surprises."
And as you danced together, the room blurred began to blur, the weight of titles and expectation fading into the music and laughter. You found yourself relaxing, allowing the mysterious man to guide you across the floor with ease. His hand on your waist was steady yet respectful, and for the first time, you found yourself enjoying a ball.
"You're a good dancer," You remarked, glancing up at him through your mask—his blonde hair perfectly combed except for a small curl at the front.
"I've had years of practice," He replied smoothly. "Though I usually find these events unbearable. This is... different."
You smiled. It’s like you had the same thoughts. "Perhaps the mask makes it easier to be yourself. No judgements. No expectations."
He hummed thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on you. "Perhaps. Or perhaps its the company."
Heat crept up your neck, and you glanced away, spotting Ginny grinning at you from the sidelines. You shot her a playful glare before focusing back on your partner. "Careful, my knight. Flattery might get you into trouble."
"Is that a risk you're willing to let me take?" He teased and dipped you, your eyes quickly darting to his lips before meeting his eyes again with your wide ones.
Before you could respond, the music shifted, signaling the end of the dance. He gently released you, bowing with a flourish. "Thank you for the dance, Ivy."
You curtsied in return, heart pounding from whatever feeling you just experienced. "The pleasure was mine, Knight."
As you parted ways, you found yourself glancing back at him, only to see he was doing the same. You quickly turned, chastising yourself for the flutter in your chest.
Draco leaned against a column, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. There was something about the girl—the way she challenged him, spoke without pretense. He shook his head. It was foolish to dwell on a fleeting interaction. Yet... He couldn't ignore the way his chest tightened at the thought of her laughter.
"Enjoying yourself?" Blaise sidled up next to him, nursing a glass of champagne.
Draco kept his eyes locked on the many guests in the ballroom, scouring the place for his Ivy. He wasn’t sure if this was what his mother told him about when he was younger. That maybe those silly fairy tales were true.
"Surprisingly," Draco admitted and let out a small chuckle. "Met someone... intriguing."
Blaise arched a brow, "Do tell."
Draco merely smirked, "Just someone worth dancing with.”
The night wore on with more dances, laughter, and champagne than you anticipated. Yet, your thoughts kept drifting back to the silver-eyed stranger. When you finally decided to seek fresh air, you slipped out to the palace gardens, the cool breeze a welcome relief.
"Running away?" A familiar voice drawled, your insides warming at the sound.
You turned, finding him seated on a marble bench beneath a canopy of roses. "Escaping," You corrected and fiddled with your necklace. "Balls can be… suffocating."
"Agreed," He nodded and patted the space beside him, tilting his head at you. "Care to join me?"
Hesitating only a moment, you sat down, the silence between you comfortable. Stars glittered above, and for a while, neither of you spoke. It felt nice.
"Why Ivy?" You asked suddenly. You were sure there was something more to the nickname than what he previously said.
He chuckled and leaned back on the bench. "Told you. Your dress. The presence you carry. You cling to walls but have thorns when approached. Fascinating contrast."
You rolled your eyes but smiled, humoring him. "And you? You're alright with Knight?"
"You said it yourself. Rescuing you from McLaggen was quite the heroic act." He grinned and met your eyes.
Laughing, you nudged him with your shoulder. "Hardly slaying dragons."
"Ah, but you never know." He mused, gaze drifting to the sky and tracing the stars his mother taught him about all these years. "Like I said, masquerades are full of surprises."
You glanced at him, wondering what he meant by that, but the sound of the final dance being announced interrupted your thoughts.
"One more?" He offered, standing and extending his hand.
"Why not?" Taking it, you let him lead you back inside with a smile your swore would hurt your cheeks the next day.
The ballroom felt different this time. More intimate. As you danced, you realized you didn't want the night to end. There was something inexplicably magnetic about him, something you couldn't place but didn't want to let go of.
"Do you think we'll meet again after tonight?" You ventured and glance between his eyes.
He hesitated, something flickering in his gaze. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it's best we don't. Some things are better left as a beautiful memory."
Your heart sank at the thought of truly knowing who your knight was. "I suppose that's true."
As the music reached its crescendo, he leaned in, voice a mere whisper against your ear. "Thank you for tonight, Ivy."
Before you could reply, he stepped back, bowing deeply. And then, just like that, he disappeared into the crowd.
You stood frozen, scanning the room, but he was gone.
"Y/N! There you are!" Hermione’s voice suddenly filled the space as she grabbed your arm. "The prince is about to reveal himself. Come on!"
Reluctantly, you followed her to the front of the crowd, mind half-heartedly paying attention to the reveal of the prince. Trumpets blared once more, and the King stepped forward, his wife grinning brightly by his side.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending. Now, allow me to present my son, your future king. Prince Draco."
Your breath caught as a figure ascended the stairs. The crowd parted, and there he stood—silver eyes, blonde hair, and the very same mask now resting in his hand.
Your heart stopped.
No. It couldn't be.
His gaze swept over the crowd... and landed on you. His expression mirrored your shock, realization dawning.
You were Ivy.
And he was Draco.
Neither of you spoke. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in the middle of the grand ballroom.
Masquerades, you thought dazedly, really were full of surprises.
©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms
#august’s works 🫧#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy x potter!reader#draco x you#draco malfoy imagine#draco malfoy one shot#draco malfoy angst#draco malfoy smut#draco malfoy fanfiction#draco malfoy fic#draco x reader#draco fanfiction#draco lucius malfoy#draco malfoy#draco malfoy x y/n#draco malfoy fluff#draco malfoy drabble#draco malfoy headcanon#draco malfoy harry potter#draco malfoy x you#draco malfoy x female reader#draco malfoy blurb#harry potter x reader#harry potter#hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry#x reader#bridgerton au#bridgerton!draco malfoy#fluff#angst
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Veni, Vidi, Amavi
Also on AO3
Part I // Mini-Series Masterlist
Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader
WC: 2.8k words
Summary: After your first encounter, you attend the next games to watch Lucius fight, and celebrate his victory with him after.
Warnings: SMUT (18+ ONLY MINORS DNI), canon naval battle with some canon divergence, graphic depictions of violence, mentions of blood and death, reader is a courtesan (so SW), some angst, mutual pining, semi-exhibitionism (there are guards around), sort of audio voyeurism, unprotected p in v, aaaaand I think that's it but lmk if anything else!
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The roar of the crowd was near deafening as you made your way to the Emperor’s box behind Queen Lucilla, General Acacius, and Senator Gracchus. Hundreds of feet pounded in a war-like rhythm, all eager — or more like absolutely salivating — for a good spectacle. Snapping and jeering like rabid, bloodthirsty dogs.
You would never understand that insatiable, sadistic need to see another’s brutal destruction. Nobody ever thought they would watch somebody they loved be subjected to it, just strangers who weren’t really people in their eyes. But it was more common than most would like to admit, the sand forever stained not just with crimson, but also with the salt of mourning tears.
You hid your unease behind a cool, placid mask, smiling back at Senator Gracchus as he glanced at you over his shoulder. He had been curious when you had first requested to attend the games with him, but having just found out about Prince Lucius’ return and rising fame in the arena, he was amused at your antics.
Your patron might be old, but he was no fool. Gladiators always caught the eyes of pretty, young girls like you, especially ones such as Lucius. It was really no wonder you’d want to see his glory for yourself, so he had conceded if only to indulge you.
And when he’d helped you off the litter that had carried you to the Colosseum, he had not been surprised to notice you were hiding a garland of myrtle inside your sleeve. A common enough offering to Venus, goddess of love. He made no mention of it, though, content to just watch how things played out.
Once you’d arrived at the box, each of you knelt in front of the twin emperors and kissed their rings. Emperor Geta smiled down at you in that enigmatic, impish way of his, but his brother mostly ignored you. Not that you really minded escaping his notice, though. Better than his scorn or, worse, his interest.
“Let us begin,” Geta said, his excitement palpable as he rose to address the crowd. “We are all in for a real treat.”
You went to stand next to Queen Lucilla, sensing that her tension matched yours, even if she was perfectly poised and regal. She’d had many more years of experience hiding her true emotions, after all. You shared a small smile with her, both silently recognizing it as a moment of solidarity.
“Citizens of Rome!” Geta called out, his voice rising above the crowd. “Today, in honor of General Marcus Acacius' triumph in taking over Numidia, you will be witnessing no mere games!”
A heavy, metallic noise resounded throughout the arena as it seemed to shift, the ground underneath you shaking fiercely. But what you heard next made dread sink into your stomach like a heavy stone – rushing water. A flood’s worth of it. Soon enough, the arena was immersed and massive sharks were fed into it, menacingly circling about. At opposite sides, great iron gates groaned open to reveal two war vessels flying different colors – Roman and Barbarian.
And captaining one of them was a figure you recognized all too well, even at a great distance. You felt as if a fist were closing in around your throat, robbing you of breath. Instinctively, you stepped forward to try to get a better look, but Senator Gracchus put a hand on your back to stop you from going past the thrones.
This seemed to anchor you back to the present, and you reminded yourself that the Lucius that you saw in the arena was not the tender one, but the fearsome warrior.
Let him live, you thought pleadingly, clutching the garland tighter. Oh, Gods, please let him live.
General Acacius waved at the crowd, muscles tensed even as he smiled, thanking them for the great honor. Emperor Caracalla, infected by the madness of bloodthirsty enthusiasm, jumped to his feet.
“It is war!” he cried, smiling sadistically from ear to ear. “Real war!”
If it was even possible, the crowd roared louder, the cacophony railing against your eardrums. Queen Lucilla clenched her jaw, gripping the headrest of one of the thrones tightly. With a shaking hand, you accepted the wine Senator Gracchus offered you and clinked your glass against his.
The two vessels circled each other closely, quickly searching for any weaknesses and readying to strike. The Roman fleet was cocky, though, moving in without a shred of uncertainty. The Barbarian vessel narrowly missed their initial attack, but they came close enough that a few Roman fighters jumped onto their boat.
The loud clash of swords followed, a few bodies falling overboard, some still living. The waters bloomed crimson, the sharks going into a frenzy at the scent of blood. You spotted Lucius again in the chaos, driving his sword through the last invading Roman fighter and yelling out commands to his fellow gladiators.
Both Emperors leaned over the edge of the balcony, shouting and jeering along with the rest of the Roman populace. General Acacius hovered near them, but he watched as somberly as the rest of you. The vessels came close again, but in a cunning move, Lucius made his rowers pull the oars at the last moment before impact.
The oars of the Roman vessel tore into the side of the Barbarian one, tipping it sideways but effectively getting them both stuck together. Fighters from both sides clashed once more, desperation seeming to take place as both boats were threatening to capsize.
Without noticing, you grasped Senator Gracchus’ arm as you waited for the outcome. He placed a hand over yours, watching just as raptly. Numbers dwindled quickly in favor of the Barbarian fighters, and you felt like you could almost sight in relief. But what happened next was so fast that you almost thought you’d imagined it.
Before anyone could actually be declared victor, an archer loosed an arrow that sailed towards the emperor’s box, landing between their thrones. Chaos ensued, the two of them crying in outrage and surprise. Immediately, General Acacius and the Praetorian guard moved to safely evacuate them.
“Let’s go, all of you!” he commanded, voice booming.
Senator Gracchus ushered you and Queen Lucilla to follow as some guards encircled the three of you. You tried getting one last look at the arena but saw nothing more than the splintered masts of the vessels. Thankfully, Lucius was still alive, at least for the time being.
But just in case, you sent a prayer up to the Gods that nobody else noticed he was the one to shoot the arrow.
—--------------
A small torch was your only source of illumination as you navigated through the streets of Rome to the prison where Lucius and his fellow gladiators were being kept. After relaying Lucius’ demand to see you, Queen Lucilla insisted on sending one of her guards with you. He marched at your side, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, ready for any possible assailants leaping forth from the dark.
You hid your face under a hooded cloak and let your companion speak to the jail’s guard as you arrived at the iron gates. The jail was cavernous, damp, and cool, and oppressive in the darkness of night. You shuddered, unable to fathom being imprisoned in such a place, even for a day. Your heart ached for those who already were, ignorant of when – or if – they might be released.
He guided you to Lucius’ cell, opened the large, heavy padlock, and let you in. Both guards waited outside of the cell to give you some privacy, and you removed your hood so Lucius could see you. He stood up from his cot, a smile slowly breaking out on his handsome face.
You let him take you into his arms and kiss you, leaving you swaying on your feet. You pulled away just enough to look him over as if reassuring yourself he was alive and all in one piece. His smile didn’t falter under your assessment – in fact, it seemed like he was proud to have proved himself to you, keeping the promise he’d made at the bathhouse.
“Today was… I don’t even have the words to describe it,” you said, hugging him close. “When I realized it would be no ordinary fight, I feared for you… I still do.”
He placed one of your palms on his chest, right over his heart. “You have nothing to fear. I’m here.”
You glanced over your shoulder to make sure the guards weren’t watching, then lowered your voice to a whisper.
“What you did at the end, it was beyond foolish,” you said, shaking your head slightly. “I made an offering to Fortuna for all the favor she bestowed on you today. I do not think anybody else realized, or else we would not be standing here.”
“Another reason to celebrate,” he said, not bothered in the slightest. “Perhaps it was even luckier that the arrow didn’t strike true.”
“You really meant to kill one of the Emperors?”
He shook his head. “Not them. Acacius. But in reality, I wouldn’t have minded if either of them had fallen.”
“I suppose it was a good thing the rest of us were out of range,” you murmured, looking down.
“I would never harm you,” he said gravely, grasping your chin and making you look him in the eye. “Never.”
You were nearly floored by the sincerity in his gaze, but even more so by the passion you found there, as well. It went beyond lust, even. Nobody had ever looked at you in such a way. You leaned forward and kissed him gently, letting him know that you trusted him.
“I know, Lucius,” you said.
“Then, let us not concern ourselves with anything, or anyone, else for now,” he said. “Tomorrow, the sun will rise and Rome will still be Rome. In the meantime, there is only us.”
The echo of his words at the bathhouse made you smile softly. A part of you wanted to ask more questions about his wanting to kill Acacius, but there was a slight edge of finality to his tone. Regardless, it wasn’t like you wanted to waste what little time you had together lecturing him.
You reached up to undo your cloak, intently holding his gaze, and let it fall on his cot. “Claim your prize, then, fierce warrior. I am all yours.”
With a glance outside, he extinguished the torch in his cell and closed the distance between you. His lips melded against yours desperately, tongue slipping into your mouth. With ease, he lifted you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist.
He sat on the cot so you could straddle him, his hands wandering down your back and settling on your ass, giving it an appreciative squeeze. He groaned into your mouth, his chest rumbling against yours. He pulled your dress over your head as best as he could, leaving you in your thin shift.
His hands traced the curves of your hips and waist, like a sculptor working clay into a masterpiece. He cupped your breasts, your nipples poking through the fabric, and you leaned back to give him access. He managed to pull the shift down to your midsection, revealing your chest. He trailed open-mouthed kisses on your sternum, moving lower.
His tongue teasingly flicked one of your nipples, making you suck a breath through your teeth. He lavished them both with attention, the graze of his teeth and the pinch of his fingers igniting a fire within you. You continued trying to be as quiet as possible, even if he made it extremely difficult.
You reached between your bodies to palm his growing erection over his tunic. His hips bucked upward, seeking more of your touch. One of his hands cupped the back of your neck, leaning your forehead against his.
“How does it feel,” he rasped. “To be the only one who can disarm me so completely?”
You felt a heady, triumphant rush, nipping at his bottom lip. “I’ll keep the secret for you.”
He chuckled, surrendering to another fervent, dizzying kiss from you. You hiked up your shift as he lifted you slightly so he could free his cock from beneath his tunic. You spat on your hand and reached down to spread it on the sensitive head, moving to grip the base so you could line it up with the entrance of your cunt. You sank down slowly, your face so close to his you seemed to share breath.
“Just like that,” he groaned, hands gripping your hips tightly. “I needed this more than you know…”
“Let me take care of you,” you whispered, letting out a breathy moan, head tipping back in ecstasy.
You felt like you were filled to the brim by him, clouding all your other senses. He slid in and out of you easily, your arousal dripping down his length and pooling on his sac. His mouth was on your chest again, your fingers weaving through his hair.
“Oh, Lucius…” You sighed dreamily.
He pulsed at the sound of his name on your lips. In order to prolong the pleasure for both of you, he rolled you onto your back on the cot, keeping himself sheathed inside of you. He pushed your legs back, driving your knees past your elbows, his weight pinning you down.
His thrusts were deep and hard, but not fast, intent on letting you feel him in his entirety. Your face contorted with pleasure, the intensity of it all nearly too much for you to bear. He groaned your name with the intensity of a supplicant. His sac tightened as he felt you squeeze around him, knowing he wouldn’t last too long no matter how much he tried.
“Say my name again,” he said, eyes blazing. “Say who you belong to.”
“Lucius,” you panted deliriously, tears gathering on your lashes. “Ah, Lucius!”
His thrusts picked up the pace, frenzied, the sound of flesh slapping together unmistakable. You cupped his face in your hands as you felt yourself coming apart under him, trembling. A cry threatened to escape you, but he covered your mouth with one hand, muffling it.
He shushed you gently, but his breathing became ragged as he reached oblivion himself. You felt warmth flooding your cunt, his last thrusts shallow, fucking his spend deeper inside you and making sure no drop was wasted. He uncovered your mouth and kissed you as if in apology, both of you dazed and content.
He rolled over to lie very closely at your side, the cot barely big enough for the two of you. His strong arms enveloped you once more, making you feel safe perhaps for the first time in your life. There were still a few hours before sunrise – before Rome and everything else that came along with it became real again – so you could languish with him for a little while longer.
The last thing you wanted was to untangle yourself from him, anyway, instead nuzzling closer. Your fingers softly traced patterns on his forearm as you pondered what this might mean for the two of you.
“Do you… really intend to stake your claim on me?” You asked tentatively. “Outside of this?”
You deliberately avoided any specific labels, not foolish enough to presume anything. Things were still precarious and new, but you already felt bonded to him in a way you couldn’t truly explain, and a part of you had to believe he felt the same way.
“Of course,” he said, but seemed hesitant to say more.
You shifted onto your belly to look at him, his fingers now tracing up and down your spine lazily.
“Are you certain?”
He nodded, sighing deeply. You’d already known there was a lot weighing on him that he did not speak about, and while you didn’t want to add to his burden, you needed to know this. If only to save yourself some pain.
“There are a great many things at stake right now, including my freedom,” he said, looking up at the ceiling pensively. “Much of what I still have to do is dangerous, and only the Gods know the outcome of it all. I intend to do everything in my power to protect you, in the meantime, and I cannot allow you to become a part of what must happen. I cannot risk losing you.”
You weighed his words for a moment, then nodded in understanding. “You are lucky, patience is a virtue I possess in great quantities.”
He looked back at you and kissed the tip of your nose affectionately.
“I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep,” he said, lacing his fingers through yours. “And I can promise you that as soon as I walk a free man, the first one I will run to is you.”
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#Lucius verus x reader#lucius verus x you#lucius verus smut#gladiator fanfiction#lucius verus fanfiction#lucius verus#x reader#minors dni
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Love and Legion│Act Ⅰ
Summary: 𝑳𝒖𝒄𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂 𝑨𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒖𝒔 adopted you almost 14 years ago, after a catastrophic invasion of your country from the two tyrannic Twin Emperors of Rome, only just two years after sending her son away, she can't help but feel pity and guilt at a little child who was just a years younger than her son should've been right now and in an indisputable argument with some of the senators, she successfully stole you away from the hands of your unknown parents.
Lucilla meets her beloved husband and courageous General, 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒖𝒔 𝑨𝒄𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒖𝒔 many years later, and marries him in hopes of finding protection and love she once seeked in another-- and she did of course. Only a few years later when tensions began brewing between you and your beloved 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑-𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓, a tension that should not and should've never existed in the first place.
And even more chaos prevails when 𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐, a Gladiator brought by the war catches your mother's undivided attention. You don't know why she's so interested in some vicious gladiator until you confronted him to cure the growing dislike h̶a̶t̶r̶e̶d̶ you have towards him.
𝑨 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑-𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒖𝒔 𝑨𝒄𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒖𝒔 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝑳𝒖𝒄𝒊𝒖𝒔 '𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐' 𝑽𝒆𝒓𝒖𝒔 𝑨𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒖𝒔 𝐹𝑖𝑐
➪ 𝘿𝙊𝙉'𝙏 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘿𝙊𝙉'𝙏 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘗𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘺.
➪ 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘴 𝙁𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡, 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙡, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦.
➪ 𝙉𝙊𝙉𝙀 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘎𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳 1 𝘢𝘯𝘥 2.
➪ 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦. 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴.
Series Masterlist
Realm's Delight the poets willed you, just not long after Lucilla rescued you from near death. Despite the hushed whispers of resistance, no one dared to speak up against the Princess of Rome. And not long after she brought you back, the people were singing and celebrating outside your home, holding festivals and carnivals.
And of course, the twin emperor's annual gladiator pit was a way of celebrating your new 'birth' as the 2nd princess of Rome, though the title was quickly obliterated and made it as it is now.
Over time, the twin emperors grew fond of you and dubbed you as Emperor Geta's 'Dundus', which your mother was greatly offended, but chose to keep mute on the subject, not wanting to anger the two.
Your mother always dresses you in the most grand gowns. Never would one catch you dead in a garment made of wool or linen, gods let them see you or Lucilla will be their end. You had maids assist you everywhere you go, not like your mother lets you go out when you were 8 of years, but when you do, there were not less than 6 of them hovering around you, much less than your Equites (knights), if you think the maids were suffocating, how much more was your battalion of hundreds, exaggerated obviously, but it was how it looked like in your eyes before.
Your magistra, or they also call it teacher, was your mother’s when she was a child, she didn't trust anyone outside to teach and govern her only daughter, so it was her until you grew old enough to have her removed.
And as trees withered, you grew, the young girl hiding behind her mother's skirt has departed but not forgotten, for people would always remember her, like your very first name day, though it was the 6th name day in your honor, everyone had gathered in your mother's gardens while you stuck yourself in her bosom the whole time, you would not leave her until they all left for their beds.
She laughed the whole night, maybe even now if you would remind her. She told you she loved you not any less than her son. The older maids told you when you pestered them that the princess has never been this happy in those 2 years she 'lost' her son. Of the cause of losing her son, they did not speak. Others say that he was assassinated the night following Maximus' death. But every maid and knight tell other tales, or many of such tales, each differs from the other, so you learned not to listen to their story of theories.
"My lady," your focus broke as a voice cut through your thoughts. "Huh— what?"
"Ah, the silk, my lady. Might I inquire as to the color that would best please you?"
You give your maid a smile before leaning in the stall to browse the silk sheets. "Hm,"
"I do like that one," you point to the baby blues, then your eyes get caught on the burgundy.
"Oh, how splendid this shade of red appears! Truly, it is a vision of beauty." Your other maid sang, and all the others nodded and agreed. "Very well. We shall take the burgundy, the baby blue, the pink, and the purple adorned with gold, if you please. My thanks."
You were about to reach for your money when the maid pulled out a bag of coins that was clearly from your mother and handed the merchant the payment.
"Thank you, Aemma. " You bowed your head slightly in her direction, even though you obviously didn't need your mother's money. Aemma had been your maid since your mother took you in. Only being a teen when she was hired, she quickly gained your favor and your mother's. The both of you grew up together and your friendship remained steadfast throughout the years.
"Shall that be all, Princess?" The merchant says, handing your maids the boxes of silk. "It is. I bid you good morrow," you bow and smile. You wait until the maids situated themselves with the boxes before you continue to stroll farther down the market.
You pull the hood of your cloak over your head, shielding your eyes from the scorching sun. You opted to wear a lighter and thinner fabric than you usually use because of the heat that's been torturing Rome for a while now; you wonder if someone angered the sun god for Rome to suffer like this.
You sigh as you fan yourself harder. Your gaze falls on the structure, its gigantic walls impossible to ignore. The Colosseum. Every day, gladiators from every corner of the world fight there, a place you’ve been wanting to visit but have been strictly off-limits, thanks to your mother and Acacius.
Every one of your friends had already watched a gladiator fight once while you didn't even get to step near it, a curse or a blessing?
A—
"..Bullshit,"
You hear your maid's gasp behind you, except Aemma, for she's already used to you. Your hood fell from your head, exposing you to the heat, but you did not pay care, your focus remained on the grand Colosseum, towering and timeless, there was a time where man didn't even know how to make a fire, and now you stood in front of its arches, carved by centuries of wind and whispers.
"My lady?" You snapped out of your reverie, turning your head over your shoulder to look behind you.
"Are you coming?" A knight says. You looked back to the colosseum, then back to your maids and knights.
Your shoulders sagged as you turned your back and departed, disappointment etched in your every step.
"Let's go." You murmured, they followed behind you as you dejectedly turned in the direction of your house. But just before you could take another step, Aemma pipes up.
"Ah! The General returns home this day, my lady."
𓃗
You dressed yourself for bed, the not so sheer fabric sliding across your body as you yawned for the umpteenth time of the day. You're just so bored these days, even shopping does not entertain you no longer.
He's coming today though. The thought gave that spark in your eyes. You won't be so bored anymore, just watching him entertains you, but isn't that his role though? To entertain the emperors in their futile attempts at making Rome great again, you wonder why he tolerates their company. You can clearly see the disgust on his face whenever they say something.
You sat on your vanity, lighting the candles one by one. Then you took your hair out of its style, carefully removing the ties and clips embroidered in by your mother, then untangling the knots. You let your hair free for the night as your arms stretched up. Maybe today's shopping did tire you, but still it did not amuse you.
You took tentative steps towards the door, softly opening it and closing when you got out. Then you jogged quietly to the sitting room, careful not to wake Aemma, or she'd be obliged to stay with you until you slumbered.
You sat down on the sofa and waited for the time to pass. The hours seemed to stretch on like an endless, quiet hum in the background. You played with the board game, then read a book to which you abandoned after almost falling asleep. You peeked out the window yet again, but still no sign of him.
You let out a small sigh, shifting uncomfortably on the soft sofa, your mind wondering at the patterns in the room. You grew bored enough that you started pacing circles around the low table.
You don't know how much time had already passed as you were already fast asleep on the couch, your hands under your chin supporting it, your mouth wide open as you drooled on the pillow.
You only heard the gates creaking open, and the sound of hooves running in, but you were too tired and weepy to even open your eyes that you succumbed to slumber. Then you heard his heavy footsteps approaching you. The deep rumble of his voice as he spoke of something you didn't make out. One second there were voices and another you were in the air, hands secured under your neck and knees, lifting you up. He didn't even grunt or struggle, like you were something inanimate.
"..amor.. here.. go," you frowned, but remained still, not like you could wake up. You could only hear a few words, barely clear, and that was it all before you completely slept in the darkness.
𓃗
"He called it, The Dream of Rome,"
"Dream of Rome?"
"Yes, where good people rule instead of the big, bad people."
"Wow! I want that too! I want to build the biggest statue of you and I'm, I'm gonna put mine beside it! I'm gonna make sure that all the people in the world are rich! A-and I’m gonna give the money to the people outside too!”
"Me too, Carissima" Lucilla kisses your head. "Me too."
𓃗
"No, I heard the emperors are to host a private gathering later, where two gladiators shall fight for their amusement!"
"What, truly? Ye cannae be speakin' in jest! I’m certainly goin’ to see this for meself!"
You rolled your eyes, eyeing your unfinished bitter tea.
You woke up with a start earlier, your hair disheveled and dried drool on your chin. Your memory was hazy from last night, but you definitely don't remember sleeping in your room, and you surely don't sleepwalk, do you?
"Lady Aurelius~!" You snapped from your thoughts when you heard that bitchy voice beside your ear.
"What." You say. Clenching your jaw as you gripped the teacup. "Coming with us later, or are you going to chicken out again?"
You grip the teacup till your knuckles almost turn white as their shrilling laughs reach your ears. You absolutely don't 'chicken out', you scoff. It's just that your mother doesn't like you wandering off and risking yourself getting in harm's way.
But you certainly don't chicken out, no way, and you're undoubtedly not going to ruin a quarter of your reputation to these degenerates.
".. I shall go." You wince as they jump off their seats, clapping and howling as they excitedly 'plan' the escape. Most of the parents of your friends have not less than the rank of patricians and nobles, so they are also on high prison level monitoring, but yours was the highest in the friend group, if you can even call it that.
"Okay, sae this is gaun'ae be our final plan fo later, we must arrive in this designated place after 4 hours sharp, enouch time for ye tae escape, got it??"
"Sir yes sir!"
"Aye!"
"Let's go battalion!"
𓃗
"I shall catch up on my rest. Please, do not disturb me!" You yelled, making sure it echoes around the place so it reaches everyone.
You exhale in a short, hurried breath, dusting your disguise as you turn your head to Aemma, who dressed up as you.
"M-my lady, this far is t-too dangerous, my lady will have my head—"
"Fear not, Aemma. I shall return here you can even blink."
"But my lady—"
Without letting her finish, you stood on the edge of the window, gripping the blanket you tied together into a makeshift rope tightly. A thick blob of sweat slid down your forehead, your breath hitched at your chest as you tried to steady yourself.
There isn't going back, anyway.
And for the last time before you violate the very thing your mother was so strict about, you glanced over your shoulder at your maid; she was dressed in your most expensive gown, her hair hidden beneath the veil you gave her. While you were dressed in her daily attire as a maid, the both of you switched closets just after you had convinced her for nearly an hour. You can tell she wants to stop you, but who was she to do that?
And turning your face to her, you clutched the blanket tightly in your two hands, it's fabric rough under your fingers, slowly, you lowered yourself, feeling the fabric tug at your hands as you began to slide down, the rope beneath you swaying from side to side, you held your breath trying to discern if your mother heard, after a few seconds of nothing, you continued your venture.
Your hands were beginning to hurt and turn red from the rope, but you're too far ahead to back out, so you quickly doubled your speed and not long after your feet finally hit the ground. You celebrated internally, huffing and puffing with your hands on your knees.
You looked up to see Aemma looking relieved, you smiled and waved at her, to which she returned and shooed you away.
She mouthed you the word hurry before you quietly ran for the gates.
Good thing you weren't that tired tonight or you would've given up running halfway across the yard. Another thing, though, was the gate. If you open it and it makes that loud shrieking sound, you're dead.
You frowned and looked around, trying to think of something, anything. You were almost out of wits when you spotted a huge stone just beside the wall.
Thank the Gods.
You let out a deep sigh of relief, your shoulders slumping from the tension escaping your body. You almost thought you had to go back and just accept death, but good thing the Gods were with you.
You jogged to where it was, the rock was slippery, but enough for you to stand on, you just have to grip the wall and jump over.
You groaned as you lifted yourself from the rock, holding onto the wall like your life depended on it. After regenerating your lungs, you swung your right leg over the wall, then pulled yourself up to sit on the wall, then you swung your other leg over, and like sitting on a tall chair, you hopped off the wall.
Your landing on the ground felt so good your knees gave out and you landed on a soft patch of grass. Beads of sweat filled your forehead, and you wheezed, panting heavily.
But you have to hurry. The other set of guards were already arriving in minutes after a small break from their shift. You looked up at the sun. 10 minutes.
Enough time for you to run out of the estate.
You took a deep breath and pushed yourself off the ground, your legs pumping into motion. Then you took off, your legs pumping as soon as you took your second step, the air was cool, but speed quickly warmed you up, you were sweating almost everywhere, but you couldn't stop, the rhythm of your breath matched the beating of your heart.
In the next few moments, you could hear your heart beating from everywhere across your body, the sound of your feet hitting the ground, and the weight of seconds passing by.
Every step was sharper, harder. You swore the ground almost shook. The clock in your mind ticked down, 10 minutes—you could make it. Your muscles burned, but you didn't slow down, obviously.
And finally, you reached the bustling market of the main city. You guys were supposed to meet up behind the bank. You frowned and looked around. With all these people, it would take you half a year to get to it.
Your eyes scanned around until you found the enormous building up ahead. You were just about to jog to the back when you felt a sharp push on your shoulder from behind. The unexpected jolt threw you off balance for a moment, and you stumbled slightly before catching yourself. Whipping around, you saw who had bumped into you, a mix of surprise and annoyance flashing across your face.
That was before you realized it was a knight of high status, much like your knights but this one was bigger, more bulked. He scowled in your direction, you quickly siddled backwards, he was beside a carriage with a cage behind it. It was withered and old and rusty. You had expected an animal or maybe food for delivery inside, something small, easily handled. But what surprised you was something much bigger. There, sitting on a wooden, worn bench, was a man. His arms rested on his knees, and his head hung low, as though in silent prayer. You blinked, trying to make sense of the strange sight. Your gaze lingered a moment too long, and suddenly, as if he felt your stare, his head shot up. His bright blue eyes locked with yours, and your breath caught in your throat.
Your eyes widened in shock, but his expression remained unreadable, unblinking, as though this moment was nothing new to him. His glare burned holes right through the back of your head. You willed yourself to look away from the man, his gaze overwhelming.
You were roused from your thoughts when another guy in armour knocked into you, sending you stumbling backwards yet again.
"Fucking—" he hisses, brushing off his armour. "Move aside, whore." He spits on the ground near your foot.
You gasped and involuntarily stepped back in shock. Whore?! You are not a whore! You've never even kissed someone! Much less go whoring around!
You clenched your jaw. "Excuse me but I am not a whore mister."
He halts his movements. "Big mouth for slut like you huh? Bet you could fit the whole of Rome in there," he snorts, his laugh ugly to the ears.
"I beg your pardon—" The slap landed hard on your face, you clutched your cheek and winced as it stings from the touch of your hand.
"Tch, that's what screaming whores get from me. Now move aside, harlot"
A shakey breath disguised as a scoff escapes from your mouth, both your hands clutching your tender cheek.
What you didn’t notice was the piercing gaze of the man, unwavering and fixed on you as the scene played out in front of him.
𓃗
"Oh—! Good gods! We've been standing around for ages waiting for you!"
You pant, your cheek still tender but less puffy and red. "M-my apologies. I had—"
"There is no time for such nonsense; let us proceed!"
You exhaled heavily as they ushered you to hurry behind them.
"Ugh, I'm so focking excited!" Squealed the girl beside you.
"Shut your pie hole, Alyssa! Should we be discovered due to your loose tongue, I shall your arse once and for all!" The ginger in front of you whispered. If you weren't so distracted by what happened earlier you would've laughed at them and their antics, they always were bickering like children ever since you met them, but honestly, as the only children of their respective families and being cousins wasn't so shocking when they would clash their heads off.
Not long after, you finally arrived at the 'party'. But the party was certainly... Unique.
There were these almost naked exotic dancers on poles. They wore thick and clumpy makeup but still made it look good. Their attire was.. quirky, resembling a jester but the fabric was of silk which was very expensive.
Then there were tigers chained to the walls in cages as people gaped and checked them out.
Almost everyone was wearing masks, except the servants, and of course the emperors, they were cheering and howling loudly as they conversed with their... Escorts.
You cringe inwardly, shuddering in repulsion as one of them licks Emperor Geta's neck.
"Oh. My. Word!" your friend behind you whispers. "Indeed! This is truly extraordinary! I find it most delightful!”
"I have never attended a gathering of this nature!”
It was said the two emperors would often engage in.. unconventional parties. One of those was this.
No one would say anything more in front of you but you heard they did things here, in an unusual but particular way, but you didn't understand what they meant until this. Maybe they meant how wild the guests and the party were?
"Look! Look! It's starting!" Your friend exclaimed, tapping your shoulder as she pointed at the center of the room.
A hush fell over the crowd and a man with gold crowns and green robes entered.
"My emperors! Ladies and gentlemen! And senators," he bows dramatically, whipping his head down as his hands stretch outwards to the side. Then he flicks his head up like he had hair, then proceeds strutting around the center.
"For your entertainment," he pauses, looking around proudly like he owned the crowd. "The art.. of combat!"
The crowd gasps in awe, as well as your friends, who murmured in astonishment.
"May I present— The Barbarian..." Your gaze is immediately fixed on the man as he enters the room, though you could not see him clearly as you were at the very back of the crowd, the people were towering over one another as they wrestled for a look at the barbarian. Moments later the crowd erupted into a flood of cheers and claps.
"What's happening?" You whispered to your friend, who was also busy hollering.
Alyssa, who was nearer to you, replied. "The barbarian and the renowned warrior are about to engage in combat!"
You bit your lip and stood on your toes to get a better view of the fight, but as you do, so did the others, so now you're stuck in an endless domino effect with the greedy people in front of you.
"I— can't see—" you choked out. It was getting real tight in the back when you started hearing the punches and grunts.
"Oh! Goodness!" Alyssa gasped. "What is it? What is it?"
"He just shattered that precious vase upon the other man’s head as though it were of no consequence!"
"How would you know it is of such value?"
"Pray, it is simple! My mother owns one as well! The artisan crafted but fifty of them in all the world!"
Each blow and strike sent the crowd into a frenzy of gasps and hollers, their excitement building with every move.
Seconds later you hear a thud echoing around the room, you see a pillar from afar slightly shaken. And not long after a loud bang was heard across the room, the crowd gasped, either at shock or amusement, or both.
But you, on the other hand, just did not feel it. You came all this way and struggled for what seemed like so long, violated your mother, and you couldn't even see what you battled for.
The audience clapped for what you assume was the winner, then the sound of a sword clattering on the ground.
"Remarkable! Remarkable!" You hear Geta clap.
As the emperor began walking to the winner, the crowd began pushing and pulling in front of you, wanting to take witness to the event transpiring, and so it results in you getting pushed away and abruptly separated from the rest of your friends, you tried gripping the hood of the one nearest to you only for your arm to be swatted away by some bystander.
"H-hey! Guys!" You yelled, but the crowd was too loud and they were too distracted to take notice that you were already drifting away from them.
"Stop!" You clutch the hood of your cloak, careful not to reveal yourself as the crowd pressed in around you, constantly shoving and bumping as they moved, making it hard to stay balanced.
"Guys I'm here!" You yell yet again, but tour attempts are futile when the crowd easily overpowers your voice of alarm.
Mere moments after you're struggling when the crowd pops you out of them, finally getting the chance to breathe without smelling their uncured body odors.
And just as you thought you were free, a firm grip seized your arm, yanking you to the side before you could react.
"W-what! Stop! Help mmphm!" Your eyes widened as you were met by a knight, one with the same armour as the guy who called you a whore but it wasn't him, he was bald and the knight holding you now wasn't.
"Are you a servant in this establishment?" His gruff voice says. "W-what? No, certainly not—!"
And before you get a chance to speak, he drags you with him deeper into the hallway. You pulled and tugged on your arm from his deadly tight grip, but no matter how hard you did, he didn't budge.
While you kept writhing and struggling beside him, you already arrived in a room, he yanked the door open, impatient to get in, your eyes flicker to the jail-like door which his other companion opened with a key, once it was open, he dragged you inside a bathroom like room, complete with a tub, sink and toilet.
Then your eyes fixed on a man in the gigantic tub. He also seemed surprised at the commotion when his eyes opened sharply, scanning his surroundings and finally landing on you.
"Do your job, whore," the knight grumbles. You yelped as he shoved you on the ground, your hands slipping on the wet floor and just falling on your face.
"This is preposterous!" You yelled, groaning as you held your nose. You felt a trickle of liquid down your nose, your eyes widened as you saw the blood dripping on the floor.
"My n-nose!" You pushed yourself from the floor, your hood sliding off your head. "Urgh,"
"Who goes there?" You hear the man say, a low grumble in his voice. "Do not inquire of me, for I am the one cast into this place!"
You rolled your eyes as you turned to look at him. You looked up and stilled, the blood still dripping down your nose.
He's the barbarian? You were locked in a staring contest with the barbarian, his glare unwavering while yours were shaking.
"Y-you're.." your mouth opens in shock while still clutching your nose.
"I'm what?" His eyebrow raises up. "You're, the, b-bar—"
"Barbarian?" He scoffs but says nothing further, flicking the coins on the tub to the ground.
You huff. "Tch, rude.."
"What'd you say?" He tilts his head upward, not sparing a glance at you. "I said get me out of here."
"Pray, tell me, why would I do such a thing?"
"B-because—!," you shoot him your best glare, hoping he'd follow, but a deep, rumbling chuckle echoed from his chest, a sound that seemed to vibrate the air with a dark, almost animalistic undertone.
It wasn’t the kind of laugh that invited warmth or joy—rather, it was low and menacing, like the growl of a predator stalking its prey. The sound felt heavy, as though it carried the weight of something far more dangerous lurking just beneath the surface.
"Very well, Your Highness. What benefit would it bring me to set you free?" He spoke coldly. "Hm? Did the man not give you a direct command to perform your duties, or was that only me?"
You scowl, jaw clenching over your growing irritation.
"Release me, I implore you." You grit your teeth. But still, he didn't budge, ignoring you completely.
What the fuck is his problem. It was already noon and your mother might've already sent Acacius's battalion to find you.
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🖤 ₊˚⊹ — eldest daughter of the malfoy family (2) #DISCONTINUED
parring ➵ draco malfoy x sibling f!reader
summary ➵ the beginning of the end, the initiation ceremony.
age of parring ➵ 16 - 18
warnings ➵ angst, mention of pain inflicting, broken families, flashbacks.
extra ➵ thanks to @cafekitsune for banners, extremely special thanks to @helendeath for supporting this story! mind you this chapter is long, you are responsible for your consumption. first chapter here.


before you knew it, the following school year was rapidly approaching. apparently it was the perfect time for him to conceive the dark mark.
for whatever reason for father, lucius, thought it was best for your younger brother to receive the dark mark. not thinking about the mental toll it will bring him.
the next moment, you were in draco’s room helping him get dressed and ready out the door. you weee buttoning his blazer and you then ran you hand though his hair, keeping it down. you then sigh.
❝ are you ready? ❞ you asked in a soft spoken voice, genuinely curious about his wellbeing.
❝ i-i guess, still unaware how the process will go. ❞
you then sat on his bed, patting his silk sheets to a spot next to you. he took the hint and approached you and took a seat.
❝ well whatever you feel uncomfortable, just reach out to me okay? ❞
he replied in a hum, he cleared his throat forgetting how observant his older sister was. like the both of you were in a in a pact and however he felt it will affect how you acted.
❝ how did you, yknow deal with the aftermath of embedding of the mark? ❞ draco asked hesitantly, wondering how you would answer his question.
you then stared off into space, all of the sudden the ceiling captivated your attention as you vividly remembered how it went down.
it happened in a different circumstance, but that you couldn’t remember why and when it happened. you wanted to spare yourself from revealing to much or it would most definitely get your brother more anxious then he already was.
you were also sixteen years old when your left forearm was tainted with the mark. the bubbling of a cauldron filling your mind also being the center of attention, plus witnesses taking your branding as amusing.
the pain was excruciating. it felt as if you were being held in the one of three unforgivable curses, the cruciatus curse.
the noises of your soft cries and the hot tears streaming down your cheeks fillings your memory as the dark lord announced your current loyalty to him to the rest of the death eaters.
the glittering green skull with a snake protruding from its mouth was now visible, you rubbed and pinched your skin as you were trying to rub fast drying ink off your skin.
how much you needed to see your baby brother in that very moment.
the final vision you saw was back at the manor, you were embraced by your father and you choked back sobs as he caressed your head. trying to comfort his eldest daughter, narcissa with tears welling in her eyes wiped tears away from your eyes.
draco was only fourteen when this all went down, of course he want present due to his young age. he wasn’t aware until much later that you had the mark.
how much you pushed him away from you, afraid of how would then perceive you. how much he wanted to be there for his big sister but it hurt him how painfully obvious you wanted nothing to do with him until these uncontrollable feelings subsided.
as you told him everything he wanted to hear, you noticed how much facial changes he made. slowly and slowly worsening his mood as he took in how he sister handled that all on your own.
not even able to take a full breath in and out, you embraced him as tightly as you physically could. sniffing being heard as mumbled, because you laid your face into his neck.
❝ i-i just want you to know i will be always be here for you, im so worried for you draco! ❞
draco eyebrows furrowed, responding in a hug back is his breathing struggled hearing you be in undeniable pain hurtes him because what you faced will happen to him next.
just without emotional support from him, which filled him with guilt although it was never his fault. he was just to young and still naive.
❝ i hate for you to go through this alone and just knowing i can be present makes me so relieved you have absolutely no idea! ❞ you hiccuped, whimpering.
you let yourself from a hug you know he needed. both of hands grabbing his face and making eye contact with him. his eyebrows furrowed, in a frown as he desperately tried to blink his tears away.
your fresh manicured fingers in a gentle manner rubbed his eyelids, you then kissed his temple as you always did. it was evident that it worked.
you pressed your forehead together looking at each other in a platonically loving way. reminding you of back when the both of you were kids.
the malfoy family, besides lucius, were now present in knockturn alley. where draco’s death eater initiation ceremony will take place.
as evident as it was, knockturn ally wasn’t the same as before. previously full of life, color, & and people of every blood status, it was now dark, gloomy, and isolated. reminding you of malfoy manor in a way.
how you wished to be home at this very moment, knowing you needed to prepare for the worst.
dressed formally, hair laid down held up in a ribbon. you made sure that your robes covered the dark mark. people were still around and you needed to have social awareness.
you and draco, in a quick pace, followed narcissa. stealing rapid glances around it seemed to be clear, you continued followed your mother and swiftly grabbed draco’s hand as the closer you got to the location he almost stayed put.
as if he even had a choice. it pierced you but it was the truth no matter what. little did the both of you know, harry potter, hermione granger, and ron weasley were watching you from a distance.
❝ harry, is it me or do draco, his elder sister, and mummy look like three people who don’t wanna be followed? ❞ ron asked as he observed with harry, which led with hermione whipping her head around.
then there you guys were, as mentioned previously, narcissa entering into a alleyway. and the sight of you and draco holding hands and following right away.
the golden trip exited, staying in a logical gap between the malfoy’s. awaiting for what revelation was about to arise.
the long alleyway lead to a staircase leading down, letting go of draco’s hand and lifting your dress just a few inches of the ground to prevent any tripping.
the next turn lead to the site of where the initiation would take place. borgin and burkes. you and narcissa entered simultaneously while draco stayed out, he makes eye contact with you as you held the door open for him. the ceremony would begin shortly.
the both of you were being lead to another room where the vanishing cabinet was stored. as that was happening, the trio went onto the roof as quietly and sneakily as the possibly could.
harry then observed through a window how close you and draco were than he initially imagined. the noticed the small detail of the matching stacking ring on the same finger. he thought it was a soft touch but let those thoughts subside.
you and draco ran your hands over every corner and crevice of the vanishing cabinet and exchanged in small talk in form whispers before narcissa and distracted draco by planting a kiss on her only son’s cheek, while you looked at other items the antiquarian held.
then the reason why you were held up here commenced.
a group of voldemort-sympathisers, including bellatrix lestrange and fenrir greyback encircled an old cauldron containing a bright green potion and, in the centre of the circle stood draco.
as draco extended his left arm, the potion in the cauldron exploded with light and, quickly, the group dispersed.
୨⎯ 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐥𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡 ⎯୧
#minaleigh#leighbaylee#harry potter#harry potter and the halfblood prince#harry potter books#harry potter x sister reader#draco malfoy x f!reader#draco malfoy x sister reader#younger draco malfoy#draco malfoy#narcissa malfoy#bellatrix lestrange#malfoy manor#older sister reader#sister reader#death eaters#voldemort#lord voldemort#knockturn alley#borgin and burkes#lucius malfoy#draco lucius malfoy
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AMOR MEUS AETERNUS
(Marcus Acacius x Ofc)
Chapter 1: Sol Invictus
Summary: You are an assistant to a costume designer on a busy movie set, where the pressure is high and the work is exhausting. One difficult evening during a lunar eclipse, you suddenly spot a man in a Roman military outfit materializing out of nowhere. Chapter Word Count: 14k (sorry but I had to introduce characters properly :)) authors note: It's a bit of a romantic-comedy-drama stuff because Marcus doesn't know that he traveled to 2025, LMAO poor baby (and you know I'm a hopeless romantic). I'll explain in more detail in chapters why he ended up here and what led him to meet the reader, but I'm avoiding spoilers. And the reader will help him get back to his time but accidentally travel to ancient Rome because of something; i can't talk more, lol. Wait for the episodes, please thank youuuu. if you wanna be tagged lemme know! Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Ofc!Reader (Her name is Rose, and her hair is dyed) Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI, Smut Chapter Word Count: 14k (sorry but I had to introduce characters properly :)) Warnings: Harsh, cold, grumpy Marcus, and the reader is NOT innocent a little bitchy, Lucilla is mean, Lucius is a jerk, its Septimius Severus' era but Geta and Caracalla are the prince of Rome, time travel, modern-ancient era travels, falling in love, slow burn, rough sex, smut, sex, oral sex (both f&m receiving), all sex, dirty talk, gladiators, battle, war, violence, blood, ancient time language, fluffy, injury, forced marriage, arranged marriage, sexism, haters to lovers, first love, angst, vestal virgins, vestal priestesses, age gap; reader is 25 Marcus is 42, reincarnation my masterlist series masterlist

....Chapter Theme.....
**Rome, 205 AD***
"Acacius! Acacius! Acacius!"
"Saviour of Rome!"
"Hail to the new general of Rome!"
"Hail Acacius!"
The streets of Rome reverberated with fervent cheers, a tidal wave of voices rising in tribute to a singular figure: Marcus Justus Acacius.
At forty years of age, Acacius had recently ascended to the prestigious title of general, his fame forged in the fires of battle and cemented by the decree of Emperor Severus. A man of unwavering loyalty and formidable skill, he had never tasted defeat, a fact that resonated deeply with the hearts of the Roman people.
As he emerged from the shadows of the grandiose triumphal arch, bedecked in gleaming white armor that caught the sun in a dazzling display, the crowd surged forward, intoxicated by their adoration. The very air around him crackled with electricity, a palpable sense of reverence enveloping the scene.
For the citizens, he stood as a titan, almost a god among men—a triumphant commander, a stalwart soldier, an indomitable leader whose very presence instilled terror in the hearts of enemies. Joy radiated from the crowd, their faces alive with hope and gratitude, caught in the spell of the day's celebration.
High atop the temple of Jupiter, Emperor Severus basked in the same jubilant spirit, joined by the Roman princes, Geta and Caracalla, his twin sons, all eagerly awaiting Acacius's arrival. Laughter and cheer rang out like festive bells, painting a tableau of optimism for the future.
Yet amidst the fervor and celebration, one heart was not aligned with the jubilant chorus.
Marcus Justus Acacius wrestled with a storm of unsettling emotions. While the victory was undeniably sweet for Rome, a bitter taste lingered on his tongue.
Inside, he simmered with frustration and discontent. Shadows clouded his thoughts; the thrill of his triumph felt hollow. He couldn’t escape the dark fantasy that had taken root in his heart—a yearning for death, an echo of despair that whispered sweetly of peace.
He envisioned his lifeless body passing beneath the triumphal arch, believing it might convey a deeper significance than his living presence ever could.
But that notion, in this moment, felt like a cruel mirage in an unforgiving desert. What was left for him now but emptiness, a void peering back at the mask he wore for the thrumming, joyous masses?
The sword’s brutal strikes, the faint scratches from arrows, the battle scars etched upon his skin—each bruise and cut, still glistening with crimson remnants, tells a tale of relentless struggle. These visible wounds bear testament to his long, agonizing wait and evoke the depth of his longing for eternal rest.
Yet, fate has thwarted him once more.
He found himself back in this city, a paradox of breathtaking beauty that thrived, yet concealed a well of sorrow beneath its surface. He had returned as a harbinger of victory, bringing new territories and a flicker of hope, but for himself, there was only void. He was a soldier, defined purely by duty, reduced to the relentless cycle of war and struggle.
Tomorrow would bring the same grind, as it always did. Day after day, he would rise to the call of arms, trapped in this existence until his weary soul finally departed from its mortal shell. Until that fateful moment, he walked as a living ghost, haunted and hollow.
The pain of loss had transformed him, for it had been this way since the day he lost the one he loved most dearly, and perhaps it would always remain so. Deep down, he might have yearned for oblivion more than his fiercest enemies ever could. Yet, the fires of his fighting spirit, relentless and unyielding, refused to dim.
It felt as though he was cursed, damned, ensnared by divine forces that reveled in his struggle — a pawn in a game that pit him against his own fate. Mars, the god of war, must have wielded his destiny with cruel hands, stripping away his heart and filling the gaping void left in its place with a relentless tide of pain, turmoil, and unquenchable rage.

The following day, as the resonant echoes of the Colosseum games, held in his honor, continued to reverberate through the streets, Marcus found himself immersed in the elegant atmosphere of the evening banquet. The air was thick with the intoxicating aroma of spiced wine and savory roasts, yet he felt like an outsider, trapped in a performance he neither wanted nor understood. Banquets and grand gatherings had never been his domain; he was an island amidst a sea of laughter and merriment.
His social connections were tenuous at best—a woman who was his father's second wife and his half-brother shared their deceased father's vast villa. He remained a mere shadow in their presence, offering nothing of himself except the occasional nod. Only his brother, Julius, his father's son from a second marriage, was a solitary beacon of understanding in Marcus's otherwise lonely existence.
Rumors clung to him like ivy on crumbling stone, painting him as a frigid, soulless warrior. The tale of his coldness often traced back to the haunting loss of his mother in childhood, yet the truth lay deeper, buried beneath layers of unspoken grief.
"General Acacius," a voice rang out, cutting through the revelry. Severus approached him, the gleeful cheers of the crowd fading into the background as he placed a hand on Marcus's shoulder.
“Emperor Severus," Marcus replied, straightening to salute, the laurel crown still uncomfortably perched upon his brow—an ornament he detested.
"I hear the medicus has been tending to your wounds. You owe it to yourself to find rest now; no new wars loom on the horizon. Our foes cower in fear before the prowess of our expansive territories, all thanks to you, my glorious commander,” Severus proclaimed, his expectant smile radiating insincerity.
Marcus remained a stone wall, responding only with a slight nod. Nearby, the young princes Geta and Caracalla watched him, their expressions a blend of awe and envy, their ambivalence swirling around him like shadows.
“While you recover, I need you to contemplate another matter,” Severus continued, his tone shifting with purpose, eyes flicking toward the animated guests. “You’ve earned the title of general, and it is imperative that you embody that honor. I envision a worthy marriage for you—one that reflects your esteemed status.”
The tension in Marcus’s features tightened, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on the emperor. “I intend to arrange a union for you with a woman deserving of a general’s stature. I have my sights set on Lady Octavia, the eldest daughter of Consul Sextus. Her family traces an illustrious lineage among the Roman patricians, steeped in history and prestige. And I daresay they boast a legacy known for producing fruitful descendants,” he added with a hint of jest.
Marcus’s eyes, cold and unyielding, settled upon the beautiful, charming woman beside the senator, her allure seemingly reduced to mere decoration.
He felt nothing.
The wine glass nestled in his hand suddenly felt far more inviting than any prospect of romance. "What say you?” Severus pressed, confidence bleeding through his words.
“I am honored, Your Highness,” Marcus responded, his voice steady yet underscored with reluctance.
“Should I take that as a yes?”
“With all my heart, no.”
Severus’s brow furrowed, caught in a limbo between amusement and frustration. “You’ve reached this age without a wife. If not now, when? Or is your heart entangled elsewhere?”
Marcus shook his head, the familiarity of this conversation wrapping around him like a well-worn cloak. There was comfort in the predictability. “I am a soldier, eager for the next battle. I would never want to make Senator Sextus’s beloved daughter a widow. Lady Octavia deserves a far richer union than I could offer.”
Severus exhaled slowly, the weight of the moment pressing heavily upon them. “Or are the rumors true? Is your heart still bound by grief?”
Then he saw a flicker in Marcus's eyes, a brief spark of something unnameable, before the mask fell back into place. “What can I say? People will always talk. As I said, I have no such intentions, nor will I. My duty lies with serving Rome, you, and your sons. That is my happiness.”
Severus drew a troubled breath, disappointment washing over his features. “I hadn’t expected such a sharp rebuttal. You remain a steadfast soldier; that much is clear.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “What about Lucilla? I thought there was some chemistry brewing between you two. Although she is no longer young enough for childbearing, that’s why I didn’t suggest her. Would you hesitate to marry her simply because she was the lover of your former commander? Surely, she would choose you as her protector; after all, she shows weakness for soldiers, I presume.”
“I would never allow such thoughts to bloom regarding Lady Lucilla, nor would I presume,” Marcus’s tone cut through the air, sharper than the gladius resting at his side.
Severus, sensing the unyielding edge in Marcus's voice, took a measured sip of his wine, the edges of his mouth curling into a sardonic smile. “Very well, so be it. As my glorious and modest general wishes, I shall not press you further on the matter.”
Marcus dipped his head in gratitude, a flicker of relief breaking through his hardened demeanor. “I appreciate your understanding, Your Highness.”

One night, Acacius, the new general of Rome, sat alone in his barracks headquarters, trying to decide whom to choose as his second in command. His restless mind, always in motion, could not bear the silence that surrounded him. It was almost unheard of for a war-weary general to return to the barracks so soon after a battle to devote himself to the drudgery of duty. In fact, it was rare, perhaps unprecedented. It was astonishing that he would limit himself to mundane duties when he could have had anything he wanted. He could have spent the evening with any number of women from the pleasure houses, or ordered his men to bring them to him, but he didn't, didn't even think about it. This bizarre behaviour led to gossip among the soldiers in the barracks, many of whom could not believe it. After all, what man, especially an unmarried, handsome general, would do such a thing? It might have sparked rumours that he preferred men to women, were it not for an earlier event that had already dispelled such notions.
Suddenly, a voice shattered the stillness outside, echoing through the dimly lit barracks. At this late hour, only a handful of soldiers remained, their slumber deep and untroubled. When Acacius noticed the lack of sentinels, an uneasy instinct stirred within him, compelling him to grasp the hilt of his sword. His instincts, finely tuned by years of combat, alerted him to danger just as a dark figure leaped from the rooftop, descending like a shadow. In a swift motion, he overpowered the masked attacker, enveloped in a black robe that concealed their identity. But Acacius was not alone in facing danger; from the depths of the night, more cloaked figures emerged, their intentions as sinister as the darkness that surrounded them, all eager to bring the general down.
It was a very despicable attack, there were about six of them and they chose the darkest hour of the night. A group obviously with military training who had come specifically to kill him. He wouldn't have had a hard time fighting against them if he hadn't been so tired. But he still managed to overpower four of them with skill and agility, with accurate sharp blows and lethal cuts.
After a long resistance his strength began to fail and he received a cut on his shoulder and one of them managed to knock him down. But even on the ground he cut another one. Then the last one, in a split-second after his attack, aimed for Marcus' chest and stabbed him with the knife he drew with his other hand. Marcus was fast, he grabbed his hand first with one hand but the knife was going deeper, piercing his armor and then the skin and strong pectoral muscle just below it.
He gasped, moaned, groaned with sharp pain, with rage.
With the instinct of survival he grabbed the attackers knife, this time with both hands, but in that moment he understood.
When the sharp metal pierced his ribs and reached his heart, when he felt the wave of blood rushing to his throat.
Even in that state he killed his attacker with a short knife, which he found by groping on the ground with his other hand.
But it was too late.
He coughed, followed by a bloody eruption from his mouth. The blood from the cut on his chest didn't stop, it was like a river.
But it was a relief, like a steady release, a fleeting moment of freedom—almost. The very moment he had long anticipated had finally arrived.
So this is what death feels like, he pondered, gazing up at the half-blackened moon suspended in the inky dark sky. The pain had been unbearable; it clawed at his insides with merciless intensity. Yet, in a strange twist of fate, he felt nothing as his body surrendered to its finality. His ears fell silent, and a profound numbness enveloped him. The pain had vanished.
A blink of an eye.
Darkness.
Another blink.
And suddenly, he felt again.
How could this happen? What did it mean?
Then he saw it—the familiar visage of someone he hadn’t encountered in ages.
Maximus.
A serene smile graced his lips, reminiscent of days long past.
“True. Elysium. I must have ascended there,” he thought.
Maximus shook his head, as if he had heard the silent longing behind his words.
“Not yet, brother,” he whispered, his voice gentle yet firm. “Your time has not yet come.”
Marcus frowned, confusion etching lines across his brow. “But why?”
Maximus’s expression shifted, dimming like a candle flickering in the wind. “Or have you forgotten your prayer, your supplication?”
The depths of confusion deepened within Marcus. “My prayer…” he murmured, trying to grasp the fading memory.
“Your prayer was answered, child.”
That voice—it was unlike anything he had encountered.
It wasn't Maximus, he was now gone at his sight.
The sound that transcended humanity; it could not be earthborn or mortal. It was an ethereal quality, a melodic and divine sound that ignited every nerve in his body, powerful enough to raise goosebumps and destructive enough to permeate every cell of his being. The tone held both confusion and promise, intertwining hope and fear.
Suddenly, light began to pour forth around him, casting everything in a radiant glow, while a gentle wind kissed his face.
Another blink of an eye.
His body felt as though it were being drawn forward, tethered to the swift pull of an invisible chariot.
But instead of pain, there was only the caressing touch of the wind.
Then another blink.
He found himself still lying on the ground, and once again, he raised his gaze to the moon, a celestial sentinel in the dark sky. This time, it was shrouded in total darkness, its edges enveloped in a halo of brilliant white light. As though awakening from a deep slumber, his senses returned in a rush; first, he felt his heart start beating once more, as if claws that had pierced him were now pulled away. Then the warm breeze danced over his skin, breathing life back into him. Control of his body surged back.
With disbelief coursing through him, he turned his head. What he saw was astonishing. Light flooded the landscape, blinding in its intensity—so much that the stars themselves seemed to vanish against its brilliance. He was taken aback when he stood up and touched his own body. His armor had tears where cuts had been, yet there was no blood—no trace of his former suffering. He could breathe easily, and a newfound strength surged through him, more potent than he’d ever known.
He was miraculously, completely healed.
It felt like…
Rebirth.
It should have been a miracle, a divine blessing. Yet he wrestled with surprise and disbelief, knowing he had seldom uttered even a single prayer in his life. Anger boiled within him for the gods; why should they reward him after all?
Was this reprieve the reason he couldn't set foot in Elysium?
How had his prayer been answered then?
It was all so strange. The Pantheon loomed nearby; some of the structures were familiar while others stood oddly illuminated, foreign and surreal.
Perhaps this was a realm of torment.
Just then, something occurred that cemented his apprehension.
He heard footsteps—soft yet deliberate—approaching from behind, followed by a feminine voice that sliced through the air with unexpected sharpness.
When he turned, disappointment washed over him like a cold wave.
This was not what he had envisioned. This was not his prayer.
Surely, this must be a punishment.
Before him stood a woman dressed in garments unlike anything he had seen before. Anger flared within him again as he noted the disdainful grimace on the woman's face; she hissed a phrase that was foreign to his ears.
“What the fuck?” the woman exclaimed, her tone dripping with contempt.
Yes, he was undeniably trapped in a place of torment, and he realized with growing dread that his suffering was only just beginning.

***Italy, Rome, 2025***
Earlier that day.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” The words tumbled from your lips as panic washed over you, eyes zeroing in on the cruelly bright numbers glowing on the clock: 7:45. You sprang out of bed like a rocket, hastily shedding your pajamas and tossing them behind you, landing who-knows-where in the fray of your cluttered room. Clothes lay in chaotic heaps, sketches of costumes scattered like fallen leaves, remnants of your frenzied creative process. You had been drowning in work on the movie set, and though you promised yourself time and again to clean up, that day didn't afford you a moment to spare. With a hasty comb through your tousled hair, you bolted for the door.
But just as you reached the door, you realized you had forgotten your bag. You backtracked, grabbed it, and hurried out again. In your rush, you slammed your sister's door twice to wake her. “Lizzie! Hurry up, or you’ll be late for school!”
The sound of a scientific discussion filled the air, coming from either the TV or her laptop: "Time is characterized as a motion; however, it is fundamentally impossible to traverse backward. Moreover, to progress forward necessitates the existence of a specific negative mathematical function. Nevertheless, from a mathematical standpoint, there is no inherent rationale preventing such movement. This phenomenon illustrates the complexities associated with the concept of time as described in Einstein’s theory…"
“Ugh, not this again,” you muttered under your breath. Your sister was a total science fiction junkie and often had those brainy shows on first thing in the morning.
“Hey, nerd! Turn that off and get to breakfast, now!” you called out.
Moments later, she emerged, phone in hand, video chatting with a friend. “Yeah, it’s been a crazy day,” she yawned, plopping down at the table. You rolled your eyes at her. Worst of all was having both a science geek sister and a best friend who was just as obsessed.
“Every damn morning...” you grumbled while munching on your toast.
She eyed the nearly burnt toast you’d made and poked it with her finger. “I’d better eat at school,” she remarked.
You had to agree; you never quite mastered the art of cooking. The more skilled you became at drawing and sewing, the worse you were in the kitchen. It was almost tragic that you couldn't even toast a simple piece of bread.
“Sorry, I was in a rush, honey,” you replied apologetically.
“You can’t give a proper toast, even when you’re not in a rush,” she replied with a smirk. “The real issue is that you just can’t let things go.”
“Hey, how about being a little nicer to your sister?” you said, trying to defend yourself.
“But you’ve been seriously cruel to this poor bread!” she teased, pretending to listen to it. “What’s that?” she joked, acting like she was having a conversation with the toast. “It says it’s going to sue you!”
You narrowed your eyes and grabbed the tongs, playfully pointing them at her. “If you want to avoid the same burnt fate, you should run to school now!”
She held his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m teleporting!” she declared, leaping to her feet, snatching her bag, and sprinting out the door, making you giggle as you followed her.
You took another tentative bite of the almost burned toast and scrunched your face, nudging it away. “Oh man, the next time I walk into the kitchen, it’ll just be to tackle the dishes,” you joked, embracing your cooking woes with a laugh.
As you drove with a mouthful of croissant, you tuned into the radio, soon catching the latest world news.
“On this sunny spring day in Rome, the city is buzzing with life once again, full of energy and charm. This magnificent, romantic city never truly sleeps and is always teeming with tourists.”
You flipped to another channel.
“Tonight, around 1 AM, there’s an exciting celestial event on the horizon. Known scientifically as the ‘Total Lunar Eclipse’ and popularly nicknamed the ‘Blood Moon,’ this event will be visible from Italy and other parts of Europe. Unfortunately, folks in North and South America and Eastern Europe won’t get a glimpse.”
“Just what we need—more tourists,” you muttered under your breath.
Historic sites were already packed to the brim, a reality you faced almost daily. While most filming typically took place away from the city, a brief scene was scheduled to be shot near the Pantheon, drawing you back for three consecutive days. Permission to film at this busy location had only been granted by the Ministry of Culture after 6 PM, adding a layer of tension to the crew’s dynamic. Everyone was eager to wrap up filming quickly over those three days, leaving you with some errands to tackle before heading back in the evening.
Your first stop? The hospital.
Yes, the hospital. Your father had been in a coma for ten years following an accident—the same tragic event that had taken your mother. You visited him every day. Your family had moved from the States to Italy when you were just five, and while you adapted to the language and culture fairly quickly, the accident forced you into a dual role, needing to be both a mother and father to your younger sister.
As you pulled up to the hospital, you checked your watch—only thirty minutes left until you had to head to the set. You placed the fresh flowers you had picked up from the florist into a vase in your father’s room and began your usual update about your day. Although talking to someone who couldn’t hear you felt a bit silly, it brought you comfort. When Givorni, a member of the hospital board who knew your father, stepped into the room, he brought unsettling news.
“Look, honey, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but it’s been over ten years now. The head doctor mentioned that the chances of him waking up are getting slimmer, and soon, you may have to make a tough decision.”
How could you let him go, your father? You stuck to your resolve, as you had every time the doctors suggested there was no hope. You wouldn’t pull the plug on him. Maybe one day he would wake up—you held onto that hope. But, of course, these decisions came at a price; paying for his hospitalization meant you had to work more than one job.
You threw yourself into work, juggling multiple jobs to keep afloat. The design gigs you found online were mostly project-based—some involved theater costumes, others were special designs for wealthy families, and a few focused on accessory design. Yet, nothing compared to working on a film set. Despite the exhaustion, the pay was decent, and you gained invaluable lessons under the head designer, essential for your career advancement. You knew that hard work was necessary to eventually rise to the role of head designer or costume supervisor.
On set, you forged strong connections with others, often reuniting for films or documentaries with similar themes. Another perk of being on set was the chance to mingle with famous actors and actresses. They weren’t always what they seemed; some were charming in front of the camera but difficult behind the scenes, while others proved surprisingly kind. However, some would overstep and forget your role as a costume designer.
You still recall that time when an actress had you rush out in the rain to grab her some coffee, only to scold you because it had gotten cold by the time you brought it to her.
Cruel bitch.
Despite being part of the cast, you chose not to watch the film afterward out of sheer annoyance.
During a break before the night scene, the other girls on set invited you to lunch. Although the food provided on set was good, space was tight, and meals were only served at 6 PM before filming resumed. So, you were relieved when they suggested stepping outside for some junk food. As you exited the trailer, you found yourself surrounded by tourists, eagerly snapping photos with their phones, hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite stars. The security team was struggling to manage the crowd, a daunting challenge that would only ramp up over the next three days—all for a mere ten minutes of footage.

“Girls, check that out!” One of them pointed to a shop on the way back from lunch, its neon sign flashing: palm reading, tarot reading - book your session today.
Love, Destiny, Fate.
“What do you think? Should we try a tarot reading?” she asked, her tone pleading.
You rolled your eyes. “Come on, guys, these things are a joke; they don’t really do anything.”
To your annoyance, they insisted.
“Let’s just do it for fun, please!”
“Yeah, come on! Just this once!”
You had always been a skeptic about such superstitions, especially after the tragic loss of your parents and your sister's autism diagnosis following that incident. You had more than enough reasons to doubt fate, luck, or even love.
As the girls eagerly paid for their tarot readings—a decision you thought was a complete waste of money—you decided to just watch. But eventually, their relentless begging wore you down, and you agreed to join them so they wouldn’t be disappointed.
When it was your turn, the fortune teller—a woman dressed in an eclectic manner—shuffled the cards and asked you to draw a few. As she laid them out in a specific spread, her expression changed immediately. “Oh dear, you’ve been feeling quite overwhelmed and drained,” she began. She turned over another card. “You may come off as a tough nut, but deep down, you really want to help others.” Then she revealed a third card. “Hmm, it seems like success is on the horizon. You’re working hard, and soon you’ll start to see the fruits of your labor.”
“I hope so,” you muttered.
When she flipped the next card, her eyes sparkled. “Ah, there’s a man here. He’ll enter your life in a way that he’ll soon become your whole world.”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, yeah, right,” you scoffed.
“Seriously, trust me,” she insisted.
“That sounds nice,” one of the girls said eagerly.
“What’s he like?” another chimed in, excitement in her voice.
“Come on, girls,” you sighed in exasperation.
The fortune teller frowned. “Love is in the cards, okay? Let’s just enjoy this.”
Rolling your eyes again, you tried to keep your cool as frustration bubbled inside you.
She continued, flipping over another card. “Look here! Again, it’s all about this guy! Trust me, he’ll settle right in the center of your heart!”
"Woooo!"
“Oh, how lucky you are!” the girls exclaimed.
As your irritation peaked, you struggled to maintain your composure.
The woman pressed on, “This man is...,” she hesitated, as if struggling with a foreign language. “from...,” she raised an eyebrow, “the past.”
“From the what, past?” you asked, intrigued despite yourself.
“Oh, it must be your ex or something,” one of the girls guessed.
"I sure hope not," you grunted.
“Maybe, but it’s a new kind of love,” the fortune teller hesitated, seeming surprised by something.
“What nonsense is this?” you pouted, pursing your lips.
Seemingly annoyed, she replied, “My insights are always spot on, sweetheart.”
Despite your skepticism, you waited as she looked at the last card. “Ah, you’ll have to make a choice,” she said, her tone suddenly serious. “You can either stay with him, or you won’t.”
Okay, that was enough.
“Again with the love nonsense? Don’t you see anything about my career?” you scoffed.
“I’m just interpreting the cards you drew, dear,” she said defensively.
You sighed and stood up. “I don’t need love. I don’t need a man; I need money.”

As the shoot finally wrapped up, it was time to tidy up for the crew, and you found yourself chatting with the girls about tarot readings while you worked. They kept inquiring about your past relationships, but you had none to share. Aside from a brief fling in high school, you hadn't been in a serious relationship. You didn’t want to bring up that one encounter, which had ended in frustration. The guy who left you at the altar would occasionally show up at your door drunk, and you’d promptly kick him out. End of story.
A man from your past, but a new love?
What the hell?
That seemed as impossible as the sun rising in the west.
Once all your tasks were complete, exhaustion hit you, and heading home felt like an uphill battle. You made your way through security to your buddy Leo. “Evening went off without a hitch, huh?” you asked.
“Yeah, just had to deal with a few overzealous fans tonight, but now that our big star's gone, they won’t be coming back,” he replied, propping his feet up on the opposite chair while sipping his beer. “Want some?”
“No, thanks. No moonlight tonight?” you quizzed.
“Didn't you hear there’s an eclipse?”
“Eclipse?”
“Yep, if you look carefully, you can see it. Guess you’ve been too busy to catch the news.”
Rolling your eyes, you replied, “Story of my life.” Then you remembered that morning when you first heard about it on the radio.
You walked a bit further outside, fiddling with your phone's camera settings to capture a glimpse of the eclipse. As you focused on the moon being gradually engulfed by the Earth’s shadow, you heard murmurs behind you. Turning toward the bushes, you spotted three girls. “What’s going on? Who are you?” you asked.
They jumped to their feet, looking nervous and frightened.
“Ah, I see, you’re fans too, huh? You must’ve snuck in; good job, Leo,” you muttered. “Alright, girls, time to head out. Our big star has left. You really think he’s just hanging around in a trailer or something? He’s off at a hotel.”
Disappointed, they exchanged glances.
“Which hotel is he at?” one of them asked, grinning.
You sighed and grabbed her arm. “Move! Get out of here, fast!”
After escorting the girls to Leo and the security team, you made your way back to the trailer, where a nightmare awaited you. It was an absolute mess—fabrics and materials were strewn everywhere, and scattered papers littered the floor. Who had created this chaos?
When you asked one of your colleagues, he told you it was the props manager and his team who had left the mess behind. They must have mistaken the design trailer for another. Some papers looked ancient, clearly part of a realistic set design, with a few appearing to be genuine antiques. Recognizing they would be used as props, you took them over to the other trailer. Just as you were about to leave, a sudden gust of wind blew one of the papers from your hands, and as you bent to retrieve it, a strange sensation washed over you.
“Whoa.”
What was that odd feeling?
You carefully picked up the scrolls and placed them into the box, something caught your eye. Drawn to the writing, you felt an inexplicable familiarity, as though you had encountered it before. A wave of emotion washed over you, and your eyes began to well up. But why were you feeling this way?
The script was in Latin—an old form, likely dating back to ancient Roman times. Curiosity sparked within you. What could it possibly say? With no one around, you reasoned that there was no harm in taking a closer look.
You fished your phone out of your pocket and opened the language translation app you had downloaded earlier, eager to decipher the text. Aiming the camera at the writing, you waited patiently. After a few moments, the app began to translate, though the phrases came through fragmented.
“Please... accept my sacrifice... I offer you..." It was all pieces meant nothing but then you realized that sentence: "If that person is engulfed in distress or peril, grant him the chance to rise to another life, another time…"
Another what? Life? Time?
“What on earth is this?” you muttered to yourself, realizing that the translation seemed nonsensical. “Stupid app.”
Suddenly, hearing footsteps approach, you panicked and accidentally tore the edge of the paper.
“No, no, no, no, no!”
Frantically, you tucked it into the back pocket of your shorts. Better to hide it than risk being caught holding it.
“What are you doing here?” the props manager snapped, glaring at you. His expression shifted to shock when he noticed the decor papers you had just brought in. “Hey, you didn’t mess with these, did you? Some are authentic; we barely got permission from the collectors' family, and they need to be delivered the day after tomorrow.”
“Are they real ones?” you asked, pretending to be innocent.
“Yes! Please don’t tell anyone—the director must have lost his mind. He asked me to use the authentic ones as props. We had no time to find replicas. You didn’t touch them, did you?”
You nodded. “No, of course not,” you lied. You had no idea why you’d even done that. “But shouldn’t these be in a museum or something?”
“No, they’re antiques, imported specially from a private collection.”
And now you’d ripped one of them.
You were really in hot water. Exiting the trailer, you returned to yours. When you pulled out the antique—likely priceless—that you had stuffed in your pocket, you felt a wave of dread.
It was crumpled and had a torn edge, but fortunately, the writing remained intact, albeit looking a mess.
But it wasn’t entirely your fault.
Why had they sent the wrong trailer?
Oh right. Wrong trailer.
Couldn’t the crew member who dropped it off have mixed it up somewhere?
Yeah, that was a reasonable thought.
At least they could believe that—until you fixed it.
You really should have contacted your friend Katie, the antiquities expert at the General Directorate of Museums, right away.
It was just Latin script on the paper with bullshit, but that didn’t change the fact that it was an invaluable artifact.
You were so fucked.

The rest of the night unfortunately took a turn for the worse after that call came in. The antique paper you had accidentally torn was missing, and everyone was turning the place upside down looking for it. But how could you admit that? Confessing it could get you fired, and it didn’t really matter that it was someone else's family heirloom. After all, it wasn't your fault. It was all the mistake of whoever had brought it to the trailer in the first place.
You tried to reassure yourself as you pretended to help with the search. While you were busy suppressing your guilt, you suddenly heard a sound. But there was no one in sight—was it one of those girls again?
“Oh, I’m really tired. Whoever you are, just show yourself now,” you called out as you walked forward. The eclipse had hidden the moonlight, plunging everything into darkness. The only illumination came from the distant lights of some buildings ahead, but it was still shadowy where you stood. As you approached to the sound, you caught sight of a shadowy figure with back turned, draped in a long black cloth.
A strange feeling washed over you. You crept closer, and the odd sensation intensified.
It was a man—yes, definitely a man—well-built, in a black robe, holding… a sword?
Your eyes widened in shock.
“What the fuck?"
He turned to face you, and the first thing you felt was a perplexing déjà vu, as if you knew him but couldn’t place him. His intense gaze and striking features seemed familiar, yet you couldn’t put your finger on it. And those clothes…
"Who the fuck are you?”
Wait a minute.
This wasn’t your first encounter with someone like him. He had to be one of those extras—probably overworked and known for causing trouble on set. He must not have bothered to change out of his costume and was relishing this unexpected role.
“Look, man, I don’t want any trouble, but I really need you to take off that costume. I’m responsible for the outfits, and if anything happens to it, my paycheck will take a hit, okay? Didn’t anyone give you a heads-up?” You stepped closer, but he just stood there, staring at you like a statue.
Taking a closer look, you noticed the armor beneath his robe was unlike anything you’d ever seen on set. Had they started filming something new without you? That couldn’t be right—or worse, what if he had stolen it? Wonderful. You reached out to inspect it further, but in an instant, he grabbed your wrist, spun you around, and shoved you away like you were nothing.
“Aaaah!” You winced, clutching your sore wrist and glaring at him in frustration. “Are you out of your mind? Get that costume off now! Can’t you hear me? Are you deaf or something?”
He sighed, casually wiping his sword with the hem of his robe and sheathing it as if he did it every day. He performed the action with such style that even a seasoned actor might be impressed.
“I see you’re really into character. Nice job!” you said with a hint of sarcasm. “But as I said, I need you to take it off. Now.”
“What kind of shameless woman are you to demand that I undress?”
What the hell was that? His accent, thick and unfamiliar, rolled off his tongue in a way you had never encountered. It was as if a whisper from another age echoed through each word he spoke.
“Undressing? Oh God, what kind of maniac are you?” You sighed. “This is your last warning; I’ll call security.”
He frowned, as if hearing the term for the first time. “Security…” he muttered to himself, clearly annoyed.
Just then, you heard someone call your name. Turning around, you spotted Leo and hurried over to him, grabbing his arm. “Leo, that guy seems either like a maniac or he’s drunk. I think he might be an extra, but he could also be an intruder.”
Leo looked just as taken aback as you were. “I’ve never seen him before. Is that a sword?”
“It’s probably fake,” you muttered.
The man glared, brandishing his sword as he pointed at you. "You two, tell me where I am."
“Yeah, he’s definitely drunk,” you whispered to Leo.
Leo played it cool. “Listen, man, I need you to come with me right now. I need to figure out why you broke into the film set.”
“The film… set...” he repeated to himself in confusion.
“Why is he acting like he’s never heard of it?” Leo asked you, both of you now staring at him nervously.
“I told you he’s crazy or maybe psycho. Do you think he could have escaped from a mental hospital or something?”
“Let’s hope not. But what would he be doing here? If I could get the cuffs on him without freaking him out, we could call the police.”
“Great plan, go for it,” you urged, giving him a gentle nudge to encourage action.
As Leo pulled the handcuffs from his waistband, the strange man eyed him suspiciously, as if he posed a threat. “I’m going to put these on you now, alright?”
The man's face remained expressionless, cold yet menacing. “And what if I refuse?”
You gulped. “What are you doing, mister? He’s the security guard—don’t make this any harder.”
“You asked for this,” Leo said angrily, pulling out his baton.
You were taken aback when the man tightened his grip on his sword in response as Leo stepped closer.
“Listen, we all know that sword’s fake—”
Out of nowhere, he sliced through Leo’s baton with a swift, precise motion.
You froze for a moment, unable to process what had just happened.
Leo turned on his heels and bolted. “Police! I’ll call the police!”
“Where do you think you’re going? Wait for me!” you shouted in panic but a hand suddenly grabbed your arm. The man’s sword was still clutched in his grip, and you couldn’t help but notice the red stains on it. Could it be b-blood, real blood? Fear began to creep in, and you started to tremble.
“Look, please don’t hurt me! I’m really sorry for calling you crazy, a psycho, and a maniac. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m begging you, forgive me!” you said, almost sobbing.
"I assure you that I have no intention of causing any harm. I need to uncover the truth of my surroundings. Please, help me understand where I am, what is this place?"
What the hell? It was like he’d lost his memory or something or his mind.
“What do you mean?” you asked, trying to come up with a way to wriggle free.
"I find myself in a familiar location; however, the surrounding environment appears to have undergone significant changes."
You leaned closer to him. “Are you sure you’re not just drunk?”
You swallowed hard as he shot you an angry glance.
“There he is!”
“Let her go now!”
Leo and the others had arrived, guns aimed and ready.
“I suggest you surrender, sir. Just do as they say, and they’ll help you. If you really can't remember where you came from, they can sort it out,” you urged him, hoping to de-escalate the situation.
“Put down your sword now,” Leo commanded.
“They'll help me, you say?” the man muttered, his gaze fixed on them.
This might be your best chance to get him to back down. “Yes, definitely. The police will help you,” you replied, offering him a reassuring smile.
“Police,” he repeated, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.
He was behaving like a little kid, learning new words by repeating them.
“I will release this woman,” he stated, finally sheathing his sword. Everyone took a deep breath.
“He'll surrender,” you relayed to your friends, then turned back to the man. “But I need to take your sword back to where you got it.”
“The gladius is mine.” His tone was resolute, as if the sword had belonged to him for years.
However, if he had stolen it from the prop crew, you could land yourself in a heap of trouble, far worse than the mess you’d made with the paper.
“But it poses a danger to them. If they can’t trust you, they can’t help you. So, please hand me the sword,” you insisted.
He paused, contemplating your words, then took the sword scabbard from his waist and looked at you sternly before handing it to you. “Promise me you’ll protect this with your life.”
You rolled your eyes, exasperated. “What is this? Are we filming a movie or something?”
He grabbed your arm and shook you. “Promise me.”
As soon as you picked it up, you staggered under its weight. It was a real sword indeed. With a sigh, you relented. “Okay, okay, I promise.”
As he relinquished the sword as if it were the most precious thing to him, Leo and the others looked on, intrigued, surprised.
He must’ve truly lost his mind or something. Watching him leave with the security guards, you couldn’t shake a sense of curiosity about what he’d been through. After they were gone, people who had heard the commotion on the film set gathered around you. This was far more interesting than searching the area for antique parchment, and they listened in fascination as you recounted the bizarre encounter.

As the security guards urged Marcus to speak, his gaze was fixed on the screens in the security room. He was mesmerized by the footage playing out before him. What he saw astonished him—moving images flickering in small boxes, an experience he had never imagined and could never have anticipated.
“Hey, look up here!” Leo snapped his fingers, trying to regain Marcus's attention. “What kind of freak are you? Don’t you have any ID or something on you?”
Marcus didn’t even seem to register the question; he was too transfixed on the screens. Leo took a deep breath, his anxiety bubbling over. “Listen, mate, for us to help you, you need to spill the beans. What were you doing on set? How did you manage to sneak in? And where did you get those clothes and that sword? You know it’s illegal to carry a real sword in this country, right?”
Just then, he spotted you on one of the monitors. The footage showed you walking out the outer door, leaving the premises.
“That woman,” Marcus murmured, “that woman said you would help me, and I gave her my sword in return.”
'She promised," he thought.
“Alright, we’re trying to help you, but you have to answer my questions,” Leo insisted.
“Tell me how to reach there,” Marcus urged, pointing at the screen. “Is that another life? I need to go there.”
Leo and the other guards exchanged glances, bewildered. “What did you just say? Another life? Come on, what kind of joke is this? ‘There’ is right outside, you fool!”
Suddenly, Marcus sprang to his feet, and Leo stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “Hey, you’re not going anywhere until the police get here!”
With a roll of his eyes, Marcus swiftly grabbed Leo and shoved him aside, causing the guards to stumble into one another in the chaos.
“Hey! Stop!” they shouted after him as he dashed away.

You were examining the sword in your hand as you stepped off the set and into the parking lot toward your car. It was undeniably real, yet it looked so pristine. Perhaps the scabbard had been restored; its craftsmanship clearly reflected a lot of effort. You had seen replicas before, but this one was strikingly accurate, almost like a genuine ancient artifact.
However, according to the set crew, the sword wasn’t part of the props. You were supposed to take it to the museum tomorrow—maybe they would decide what to do with it. You opened the car door, placed your bag and the sword in the back seat, and shut the door. But just then, you noticed him—the crazy man. He was sprinting toward you.
That lunatic.
You quickly flung open the driver’s door, jumped into the seat, and turned the key in the ignition. As the engine roared to life, Marcus approached, bewildered; he had never encountered a car door before. Taking advantage of his astonishment, you drove onto the bustling street, and to your surprise, he dashed after you, but soon he captivated by the scene.
Standing there, mesmerized, he absorbed the chaotic sight of the vehicles surrounding him—their strange forms, the symphony of sounds, and the dazzling lights. In that moment of realization, he understood: in this extraordinary place, horses were no longer needed for riding. These remarkable machines forged their own path, free from the constraints of the past time, his time.
A taxi pulled up, and the driver, who must have seen way too many movies, rolled down his window and leaned out. “Hey! Do you want to catch her?”
Marcus was taken aback but nodded eagerly.
“Jump in then, man!” The cabbie said, chuckling at Marcus's surprised expression as he opened the back door for him. He thought this strange carriage didn’t need a horse, but seeing how you had gotten in earlier made it a bit easier for him. He climbed in and followed the cabbie’s instructions, pulling the door shut behind him. He was astonished when the cabbie hit the gas and effortlessly steered the vehicle. Looking out the window, he couldn’t help but marvel at the unfamiliar street, the other cars—everything felt so foreign and unusual.
“Don’t worry, mate, we’ll catch your girlfriend!” the cabbie reassured him.
“Girl...friend…” Marcus mumbled under his breath, another strange word to add to his growing list.
“Awkward outfit choice, buddy. No wonder she ran away,” the cabbie laughed. “Did you try to surprise her like this? Maybe next time, try a Batman outfit—it worked with my girl.”
Another odd phrase and a joke that flew right over Marcus’s head.
After a short drive, the cabbie brought the car to a halt, noticing that your taxi had stopped as well. “There’s your girl!” he announced.
Turning his head, Marcus spotted you getting out of the other taxi and heading toward an apartment building. He tried to recall how the taxi driver had opened the door for him earlier. The cabbie noticed his bewilderment and smirked. “Seriously? You can’t open the door? You must be pretty drunk,” he teased. “Come on, mate, you’re gonna wanna dash now.”
“I owe you one, coachman,” Marcus said, grateful.
The cabbie laughed hard. “You owe me 26 euros, that’s right.”
Once again, Marcus encountered another strange term, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. The moment the cabbie shouted at him, “Hey, you haven’t paid!” Marcus felt the pressure to hurry. He pressed the door shut, but the cabbie opened his window, yelling, “You didn’t pay!”
The honking alarms from the cars behind startled Marcus, but he stayed focused. “You didn’t pay!” the cabbie shouted again.
You turned around at the ruckus, nearly fainting when you spotted him.
“No way!” you exclaimed, worried.
As you hurried toward the apartment block, Marcus pulled out a denarius from a pouch on his belt and tossed it to the taxi driver. The cabbie caught it, turning it over in his hand, recognizing the face of Emperor Severus, which he swore he had seen in a museum. “What the hell is this? A prank? Where's the damn camera?” he muttered.
How could he still be chasing you? You reached into your bag for your keys. It was late, and the streets were nearly empty, but he appeared resolute in following you.
“Stop!” you called, holding your hand up.
You pulled your phone from your pocket. “Stop, or I’ll call the police!”
For your words to be taken as a threat, Marcus had to understand their meaning, and he didn’t, he had no idea. “Give me back my sword,” he demanded.
“Okay,” you replied, opening the car door and grabbing his sword. “Just take it and leave me alone.”
He reached for his sword, examining it, while you quickly grabbed your bag. Your hand searched for the pepper spray you kept for emergencies.
While you were rummaging, Marcus noticed a parchment in your bag.
“Okay, now can you go?” you said, turning to leave. “Good night.”
“Wait.”
“What now? I gave you your sword. Please, just leave me alone,” you whined.
“That parchment—let me see it.”
He noticed it?
“Why?” you asked, wary.
“I may have seen that before,” he murmured.
You were exhausted and just wanted this absurd night to end. Reluctantly, you handed it to him. As he read, his eyes widened in surprise.
“This...” He looked up at you in awe. “Did you read or spelled any of this, by any chance?”
“Yeah, so what?” you replied defensively.
“You’re the one who called me.”
You raised your eyebrows, baffled. “What did you just say? Why would I call you? I don’t even know you!”
He took a step toward you. “Those words—this is what brought me here, I’m certain.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” you shot back, taking a step back yourself. “Look, I’m done with your nonsense, okay? Just leave me alone!”
"I need to return. Whether I traveled here or was brought here, I certainly need to head back to… my own time."
You erupted in laughter.
Did he really just say that? Maybe you were stuck in some ridiculous dream. “Seriously? That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. Tonight has been full of absurdities. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m heading home to rest, and I warn you—stay away from me.”
Just then, you heard your sister call out from the window.
“Get inside now!” you shouted at her. Fumbling with your keys, you opened the apartment door and stepped inside. The man remained outside, but you ignored him, shutting the door firmly behind you and starting up the stairs. As you climbed, he repeatedly scanned the words written on the paper, hoping to find a way back to his own time.
But nothing happened.
Why had this girl—you—read it and made him arrive here? What was the secret to unlocking the path back?

For the first time in ages, you woke up not to the blaring sound of an alarm, but to the ping of your mobile phone. It was someone from the set, and they sounded quite anxious about the events from the night before. They informed you that a strange man had taken you hostage and assumed you must be feeling pretty shaken. As a result, you were given the day off. You felt a wave of relief; in fact, you were eager to see Katie and sort out the whole parchment mess, so this felt like a great opportunity.
After hanging up, you snuggled back under the blankets, but a sudden thought nagged at you—what if that man was still out there? He was a maniac, after all.
But could he be crazy enough to have spent the entire night on the street?
Reluctantly, you peeled yourself out of bed and peeked out the window. To your relief, there was no one in sight. However, you soon noticed a commotion below. People on the sidewalk were stopping, giggling, and snapping pictures of something. Straining to see from your high vantage point, you could only make out the awning of the pizza shop below.
“Could that lunatic be down there?” you wondered aloud.
His outfit undeniably could capture people's attention and spark their curiosity.
A voice inside you insisted, “Forget about it. You don't know him. It doesn't matter what he does.”
But your conscience nagged at you—maybe he was a mentally unwell person who truly needed help. Perhaps his family was searching for him. “Fuck it,” you muttered, sliding out of bed and throwing on your dressing gown as you made your way downstairs.
Stepping out into the street left you in shock. There he was, just as you remembered.
It wasn’t a dream or a nightmare.
He was sitting on the ground, still dressed in that strange outfit from yesterday—his Roman soldier costume. Passersby, especially tourists, were snapping pictures. He didn’t react at all; his head hung low, probably accustomed to the attention after sitting there since morning. A pang of guilt hit you, seeing him like that. You inched closer. He caught sight of your feet first, then looked up at your face, and immediately stood up, turning his head away for some reason.
“Do you really have nowhere to go?” you asked. He shook his head. People were still stopping to take photos, but you warned them off and pulled at the man's arm. “Come with me, you pain in the neck.”
Just then, you heard a familiar voice call out—Enzo, the owner of the pizza place below your apartment. “Do you know this guy? He’s the reason I’ve got so many customers today,” he said with a grin.
You glanced inside the bustling restaurant. It was packed. You smiled at Enzo and explained that he was a friend and kept tugging the psycho along.
“Where are we going?” he asked, clearly confused.
“To my apartment. Would you rather just sit on the street?”
His expression hinted that he would rather not engage. You walked in silence, hoping that Mrs. Costa, your landlady and the owner of the flat, wouldn’t spot you as you passed her door. Every glance at the peculiar man trailing behind you revealed an expression of wonder, as if he were seeing an apartment building for the very first time. When you reached your apartment, you unlocked the door and said, “Come in.”
He peeked inside, his eyes darting around. “Is this... where you live?”
“Yeah, technically.”
He seemed to avoid looking directly at you, which felt strange. What wasn’t strange about him was the real question.
“It’s not safe for a woman to let a stranger into her home,” he remarked.
You raised your eyebrows playfully. “Seriously? Wasn’t it you who followed me here?”
“It wasn’t my intention,” he replied.
“What do you mean by intentions? I'm trying to help you!”
Suddenly, you heard a door open downstairs, and instinctively, you shoved him inside. “Get in quickly, or go back to the street. I really don’t care!” you snapped.
He complied, and just as you were about to close the door, you heard your landlady's voice call up to you.
“Sweetie, is there a problem? I thought I heard a man's voice.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Costa! Everything's fine, don’t worry.”
“My ears must be deceiving me. Good morning, dear. I thought it was that man again.”
That man being your ex-fiancé, whom you'd kicked to the curb just last week.
“No, he didn’t come. He can’t come back.”
“Okay, cara mia, see you later.”
“See you.”
You closed the door and let out a deep sigh. As you turned around, you nearly collided with the psycho who had followed you right behind. You stumbled, almost losing your balance, but he acted quickly, wrapping his arms around your waist. Both of you were taken aback by the sudden closeness.
“Who the hell is this guy?” your sister Lizzie asked, staring wide-eyed at the two of you.
He quickly pulled his hands back, and you stepped away.
“Wait a minute, isn’t that the guy from last night?” she questioned.
“Don’t you have to get ready for school?” you responded, glancing at her.
“Don’t you have to get to work too?”
“Nope, I’m off today.”
“Oh, really?” She examined the man, they exchanged confused looks.
“This is my sister Lizzie, and this is... um... what’s your name again psycho?” you stammered.
He didn’t answer, keeping his gaze averted. Lizzie looked between you both, clearly intrigued by what was unfolding.
“Do women in your world always walk around with their legs uncovered?” he whispered, leaning in close to your ear.
Ah, so that’s what the sidelong glances were all about. You glanced down at your short shorts. “Do you have to get weirder every second?” you snapped through clenched teeth.
“Or is he just a friend from the film set or something?” Lizzie chimed in as she returned with her bag.
“What makes you think that?”
“It’s the outfit he’s wearing. That looks like a Roman soldier’s garb, probably a general’s,” she observed.
“Your sister is quite clever,” he said with a smile.
Your jaw dropped the first time you saw him smile.
And it was also when you realized he was rather handsome.
What on earth?
Was it really time to think that?
“Anyway, I’m late for school. Bye.”
“Bye, sweetie.” You shut the door and turned to him. “Are you seriously just going to stand there? Come inside.”
Suddenly, he grabbed his arm. “Could you hand me a piece of cloth?”
“What did you say? For what?”
He removed his black robe, and your eyes widened at the sight of blood running down his arm. “What happened to your arm?”
“A pugio grazed it.”
“A what?” you exclaimed.
“In a fight. Not here. Back in my time,” he explained.
“Here we go again,” you muttered as you headed to your room for the first aid kit. When you returned, he was in the living room, observing everything with his usual expression as if seeing it all for the first time.
You studied him before entering—his armor fit him as if he wore it daily, and he moved and spoke with a familiarity that was unsettling.
Could he truly be from another time?
Did time travel actually exist?
If so, why had you never encountered it before?
And why was it happening to you?
Shaking your head, you tried to dismiss the ridiculous thought.
Come to your senses girl.
You steered your thoughts back to logic. He was strange, or maybe just nuts; there had to be a rational explanation for this, had to be.
“Why don’t you sit down? Let me take a look at your arm.”
“What’s this?”
“First aid kit. It’s the first time you’ve seen one, isn’t it? This is tincture of iodine. We need to apply it to the wound to prevent infection. I’ll bandage it too,” you said as if explaining to a child. You reached for the supplies and began cleaning the wound. It was deep, but he didn’t flinch as you treated it. Instead, he focused intently on your face, avoiding looking down at his injury.
“Acacius...” he murmured.
“Excuse me?”
“My name is Marcus Justus Acacius, commander of the Roman Legions, having recently been entrusted with the esteemed position of General of Rome."
Your jaw dropped.
He said it in such a way that it was difficult not to believe him.
How could he pull that off?
You bit your lip, stifling a laugh. “Of course you are, and I’m Queen Elizabeth, by the way. Nice to meet you, Mr. General.” As you extended your hand, it was clear he was unsure of what to do next with the handshake. With a sigh, you stood up after wrapping up his arm.
“In this place, do you people really think everything is a joke?”
“Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but if you decide to go to the police, you must tell them everything. They’re the only ones who can truly help y—”
Suddenly, he seized your wrist. His rudeness was starting to grate on your nerves. “Read the parchment again. I need to get back to my own time; I’ve already lost too much of it here.”
“You can’t be serious.”
"I find myself in a precarious situation. Upon my initial arrival in this place, I believed I had entered a state of bliss akin to Elysium. However, I have come to realize that this environment is far worse than one might imagine. The Rome I once knew has vanished entirely; I am uncertain of how much time has elapsed, but it is clear that I cannot remain here. So please, read this.”
“Why not read it yourself?”
He released your arm. “I tried; it did not… work.”
“Maybe it’s because it doesn’t do shit and there's no such thing as time travel at all.”
“Listen, at this point, woman, I don’t care if you believe me or not. Read this at once. Someone betrayed me, and my brother might be in danger too. I need to return and find out. So spell it.”
“You must have a fascinating life. Fine, Mr. General. As you wish.”
You took the paper from him and reread the lines you had seen earlier.
"If that person is engulfed in distress or peril, grant him the chance to rise to another life, another time…"
Marcus glanced around, a look of disappointment spreading across his face. “I’m still here.”
“Yes, you’re still here. I told you. Maybe you’ve got brain damage or something, and lost your memory or mind. There’s got to be a logical explanation though. Just come with me to the police station; the cops will help you.”
“What does ‘cops’ mean?”
You rolled your eyes. “You’ll see when you get there. Trust me, okay?”
He nodded. “You trusted me enough to let me into your house. I guess you’re the only one I can trust here.”

How could you have imagined things would become even more complicated once you stepped into the police station?
“No ID, no passport, no fingerprints, no phone records in your name… no family, no home, and no birth record… nothing.” As the officer spoke, you found yourself wondering just how much more surprising this situation could get.
“I was born in the year when Consul Postumius Albinus and Atilius Serranus were in power in the Senate.”
Everyone stared at Marcus in shock—officers paused their work, and even the criminals in the holding cell burst out laughing. The officer shook his head in disbelief as others struggled to control their laughter. You buried your face in your palms, mortified. The officer, clearly racked up, signaled to the other officers to seize Marcus by the arm. Then turned to you.
"Is he a refugee? Did he enter the country illegally? And let's not overlook the clothes he's wearing, which seem to match his strange way of speaking."
“Illegally? No,” You glared at the officer as they shoved Marcus into the holding cell. “Look, officer, I think this guy might be—” You gestured around your head, making a circular motion. “Have you checked the mental hospital records?”
“I told you, ma'am, there’s no record under the name he provided. I’d be surprised if there were any.”
“Are you really planning to keep him locked up?”
“He assaulted a security guard and vandalized a film set. He’s scheduled for court.”
“What if they drop the charges?”
“Then he’ll be released soon, but not without providing us with some form of ID.”
“Okay, thanks.”
He looked so out of place in the cell, standing apart from the other criminals who were looking at him like he was from another planet. You felt a pang of guilt for bringing him there.
“You said they’d help me, but now they’ve locked me up. Are they going to execute me?”
“What? No, of course not! Look, I thought they’d be able to find your family with your name, but I was mistaken. Are you sure you have your name right?”
He shot you an incredulous look. “Why would I lie about my name?”
"Well, it sounds ancient and a bit strange. Just like you," you muttered.
“It’s complicated. You don’t have any ID or passport. I do have a plan to help you get out of here, but you might need to spend the night.”
He gripped the iron bars, thinking. “I can wait one night.”
“If you have amnesia or something, you need to shake it off and remember your family. Otherwise, you’ll end up a refugee, and I could find myself in here with you for trying to help.”
He frowned. “I don’t have any of those things.”
You exhaled a troubled sigh. Had he really lost his mind? Based on his appearance, he seemed to have Italian roots. His accent was odd but articulate; he couldn’t possibly be a refugee.
“My bulla—why did they take it?”
"Bulla?"
He pointed to his neck. "The thing I was wearing."
“Ah, your medallion? Unfortunately, you can’t have accessories while in custody. It's good we left the sword at home, like I suggested,” you whispered, ensuring no one could overhear.
“That item is very important to me. I want you to take care of it, just like my sword, or maybe even more.”
“Look at you giving orders. I’m starting to think you really are a commander,” you joked.
But he stood there, still and serious. “It’s General,” he corrected you.
“Right, Mr. General,” you replied with a smirk, but he frowned. “Fine, I’ll take your precious medallion and head home. Tomorrow, I’ll chat with Leo, the security guard, and have them drop the charges against you. Who knows, maybe someone from your family will show up by then.”
“Will you return tomorrow?”
“Yes, don’t worry.”
He nodded. "I trust you."
You felt goosebumps ripple down your spine at that deep tone. How could he express such conviction? He truly was an extraordinary character.

When you stepped into Katie's spacious office, filled with antiques, in the General Directorate of Cultural Heritage Protection and Museums, you still couldn’t shake the feeling that yesterday had been a dream. It was all too surreal. You shook your head as you glanced down at the medallion in your hand, a tangible sign of that extraordinary day with the mysterious man named Marcus.
It was hard to believe that everything actually happened. You hadn’t come here for him, but rather to discuss the parchment you had accidentally damaged. Katie, an expert in antiquities and assistant manager, was someone you trusted implicitly. She had known your parents well and had been incredibly supportive, particularly when she took your sister Lizzie under her wing every summer. Lizzie had been diagnosed with mild autism, but her intelligence shone brightly, and you were thankful to Katie for giving her a supportive environment.
After a brief catch-up about your father's health, you finally pulled the crumpled parchment from your bag. “Please tell me you can fix this.”
Katie examined the paper closely, putting on her glasses. “Wow, this is the real deal. The keeper must have taken great care of it, despite its age.”
“Yeah, until I got my hands on it,” you mumbled, feeling sheepish.
“Well, we’re lucky it didn’t tear all the way through the writing. But you really need to be more careful; this is a rare artifact.”
“I truly didn’t mean to,” you admitted, your embarrassment evident.
“It might take a couple of weeks,” she replied gently.
“What? I need it sooner! It's only torn a little; can't you just glue it?”
She shot you a look. “This isn’t like sewing a costume, you know. First, I need to analyze the type of material. To repair tears in parchment, I’ll need to use gelatin or other animal-based products, and I have to determine the right one. As for smoothing out the wrinkles, the entire document might need to be placed in a humidity chamber.”
You stared at her, wide-eyed. “Seriously? I had no idea restoring paper was that complicated.”
She chuckled. “Parchment isn’t like your everyday paper. It’s made from animal skins, and you should be grateful it’s not papyrus, which is made from plants. Parchment has some serious advantages, like being more durable in humid conditions and allowing writing on both sides. But if you need this so bad, I can whip up a replica for you; it might just fool the decor crew.”
“Oh, that would be amazing,” you replied, relieved.
She smiled and headed to a large cupboard brimming with various papers and parchments. “Here,” she said, returning with a similar piece of parchment. “This one looks a bit like yours.”
“Katie, thank you so much,” you said sincerely.
“Anytime.”
“You can read what’s written on it, right?” you asked, curiosity piqued. “I looked it up on my phone, but you know, the scriptwriter is really after authenticity.”
“Of course,” she said, glancing at the paper. “It’s a prayer.”
“A prayer?” you echoed.
“Yep, according to this, it’s addressed to Janus, the god of beginnings and endings, who’s second only to Jupiter,” she explained, pulling out a book titled *Ancient Roman Mythology and All the Gods*.
“But Janus has two faces,” you remarked, examining the page in the book.
“Exactly—the past and the future,” she replied, shaking her head. “The prayer mention like 'another time' and 'another life', which possibly could be hinting at escape or a peaceful death. The meaning of many artifacts like this often remains a mystery, even to historians and archaeologists.”
You paused, suddenly uneasy. Could it be true what happened with Marcus?
No, that seemed impossible.
But what if it was?
“Can I ask you one more thing? I was talking to the scriptwriter earlier, and I think he could really use your help with something he’s stuck on,” you said, pulling the medallion out of your bag. “He’s trying to figure out how someone wearing this medallion could travel through time. Is that even possible, or does it sound kind of ridiculous? Does that make sense?”
Katie furrowed her brow, scrutinizing the medallion with her magnifying glass before holding it under ultraviolet light. She looked at you, astonished. “This is incredibly rare. Your scriptwriter must really be into these. But the engravings aren’t connected to time. Did he notice the sun-like symbol?” It was prominently displayed at the center of the medallion, next to the inscriptions. “That’s Sol Invictus—the official sun god of the Roman Empire and protector of soldiers.”
A wave of realization washed over you. “Did you say soldier?” your voice quivered.
“Yes, it’s an amulet or talisman designed to offer protection to the wearer against all evils. The inscriptions indicate this. It’s beautifully preserved. Most in the museum are worn down, but this one looks almost brand new,” she remarked, her admiration evident.
Yet, as you absorbed her words, a tightness gripped your chest. Part of you wished she had dismissed the medallion as a fake. Why did it have to be real?
“But I’m not quite sure how the prayer on the paper connects to time or anything like that. It seems we’ll have to do quite a bit of digging to unravel that mystery,” she added with a grin.
“Maybe it has something to do with the symbols,” you suggested, noticing the same sun sign on the necklace, which was also etched small in the corner of the paper.
“No, I don’t think that’s it. There’s no symbol on the paper—just the inscription. The purpose of the parchment serves a different role, but—”
“There it is,” you interrupted, gently pointing to the symbol with your fingertip. Katie looked at you, puzzled.
“Honey, there’s no symbol there—just some wear and tear.”
How could she not see the symbol you noticed? You glanced again to double-check; it was definitely there, but she remained firm in her denial. Or could it be that she simply couldn’t see it, while you could?
What on earth was happening?
Maybe you were truly starting to freak out. As you got ready to leave Katie’s room, a question bubbled up inside you. If, by some impossible chance, that man had traveled forward in time to your era, how would he ever make it back to his own? “Katie, let’s say—it’s unlikely, of course—but how could this time traveler, from the film, have arrived? And how would he return? Do you have any logical ideas?”
“This might sound a bit far-fetched, but if it were possible, I’d suggest a portal would have to open, and it would need to reopen in the same spot for the person to get back,” she explained.
“In the same spot,” you echoed quietly.
“Exactly. The audience would be blown away, right?” she replied. “Oh, absolutely,” you chuckled, a bit nervously.
“Just one more thing, Rose,” she said before you left the room. “It sounds silly to mention this without thorough research, but it’s quite possible that the individual who wrote that parchment and the one who inscribed the medallion could be the same person.”
You nodded slowly, “Yeah, I see what you mean. Thanks.”
You sat in the car for hours before finally starting the engine, resting your head on the steering wheel as you drifted into thought.
How was this even possible?
This man was from another time, an era long gone.
But how?
How did you end up in this bizarre situation when nobody makes films or TV series about this kind of thing anymore?
Was Marcus correct?
Did reading that parchment somehow summon him or cause him to travel in your time?
Suddenly, a wave of sympathy washed over you. It must be incredibly hard for him. Then you recalled the harsh words you’d thrown at him: “freak,” “maniac,” “psycho.”
With a deep sigh, you turned the key in the ignition. You should have freed him from the police station sooner.
When you arrived, it was a challenge to convince the officer. Fortunately, after you called Leo for assistance, the crew from the set decided to drop their complaint since no damage had been done. You signed a form acknowledging that you were responsible for knowing this stranger and agreed to return his lost ID soon. Before long, a policeman escorted him inside.
You swallowed hard as your eyes met his, still struggling to wrap your mind around the fact that he was a soldier from ancient Rome.
“You came as you promised,” he said as the car rolled away.
He still didn’t seem accustomed to the ride, curiously fidgeting with everything around him.
“Yeah, I had to—considering your obsession with promises,” you managed to murmur, your voice shaky.
“Or do you believe me now?” he asked, hopeful.
“I’m still unsure and in shock, to be honest. But I think I’ve figured out how to get you back to your time.”
“Is that right?”
“I’ll read the parchment again, in the same place,” you explained, the plan crystallizing in your mind. He nodded slowly, contemplation etched on his face. "That is a logical conclusion."
“By the way, I’m Rose,” you said quietly.
He turned to you, intrigued.
“Rose,” he repeated, your name lingering in the air. “Rosa,” he repeated again, trying to pronounce it in his own way.
“In Latin, yes,” you confirmed, your smile widening as his expression softened. “It’s a beautiful name,” he remarked, the tenderness in his voice stirring something deep within you.
“Thanks, yours is nice too, I suppose,” you replied shyly as you pulled into the parking spot.

“Here?”
It was dark now, and fortunately, Marcus had led you to a secluded spot where the set wasn’t too crowded. He mentioned that this was where he first opened his eyes.
“Forgive me for not providing you with clean clothes,” you said, noticing he had been wearing the same outfit for days.
“That’s alright. There were times when I didn’t take off my armor for twenty days,” he replied confidently.
You grimaced. “Ew. Didn’t people around you douse you with water? You must smell terrible,” you joked, laughing.
You couldn’t help but notice the flicker of a smile across his face—was he smiling?
How could he be that handsome?
“Let’s get on with this; I need to head back,” he said, fastening his medallion around his neck again. “A present from someone important?” you mocked.
He brushed off the question, his expression shifting to one of seriousness. “Spell the words,” he instructed, his tone commanding.
Where had the smiling guy gone? Regardless, he was about to leave, slipping back into whatever life he had come from, and soon he would be entirely out of your world. Why did it matter to you?
You pulled out the parchment from your bag and draped it over your shoulder before glancing down to read. “I guess this is goodbye, Mr. General.”
He shook his head. “It is.”
You extended your hand. “It was nice to meet you after all; I hope everything goes well for you.”
He looked at your hand, seemingly unsure of how to shake. You grabbed his hand with both of yours and smiled. “That’s how you do it,” you said, initiating a proper handshake. He nodded but quickly pulled his hand back, clearly eager to return. You looked back at the parchment, and shock gripped you as you witnessed the letters begin to shift.
Yes, they shifted. They fucking moved!
"This is just some magical shit," you barely muttered.
Whether they danced before your eyes, or you were losing your grip on sanity, you couldn't quite tell.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, noticing your sudden change in demeanor.
“Nothing, it’s just…” How could you articulate the absurdity of it all?
You fumbled through your thoughts without reading the text, aware that the words had morphed, and your grasp of Latin was sufficient to recognize the difference.
"If that person is engulfed in distress or peril, grant him the chance to rise to another life, another time…"
In that instance, a blinding flash erupted behind Marcus, framed between the ancient stone pillars of the temple. Oh, fantastic. Everything behind the brilliance blurred, and a peculiar wind started to stir, filling the air with an unsettling energy.
“It worked,” Marcus declared, excitement radiating from him. He boldly approached the radiant light, but oddly, it didn’t seem to pull him in. He furrowed his brow and glanced in your direction. “Something’s not right.”
“Tell me about it,” you retorted, your mind buzzing like a beehive with confusion. This was all too overwhelming.
He stepped closer and snatched the parchment from your grasp. “What’s written here has changed. What kind of lesson is this, gods?” he bellowed, frustration edging his voice.
“Hey, I’ve done my best. I’m done, okay? Just go back to your own time!”
“It doesn't say ‘that person’ here; not anymore at least. It says ‘those... two," he murmured, suddenly contemplative.
“So?” you asked, regretting it immediately. You didn’t like the look on his face.
He moved toward you. "You called me, and I believe you should come with me."
You backed away. “What? Are you out of your mind? I didn’t call you! Stay away from me!” you wailed.
But he kept advancing, and just as you were about to turn to escape, he grabbed your wrist.
“Let go!”
"I assure you that I will bring you back. I must return now, for this may be my only chance."
“Let go of me! No, you can’t! Please.” But your struggles were futile, like fighting against stone. Why couldn’t anyone on set hear you, for heaven’s sake?
With a fierce determination, he pulled you toward the blinding anomaly, despite your protests. The last thing you remembered was the wash of light enveloping you.
And then, in the blink of an eye—
A strange wind giving you goosebumps.
Another blink. Marcus stood before you, a triumphant smile on his face. The bastard was elated.
But why?
You quickly grasped the reason as your eyes scanned the surroundings, the realization hitting you like a painful shock. “This is impossible,” you gasped, disbelief washing over your features. There were no skyscrapers, no trailers, no street lights—only temples, countless temples, all illuminated by the flickering light of torches lining the streets. “No, no, no, this can’t be happening,” you exclaimed, frantically searching for the rift or portal.
Where had it gone?
Marcus watched your frantic search, his brow furrowed.
“We have returned to my time.”
Was he smiling???
That was the last straw. You glared at him, anger boiling inside. “We? We have returned? Are you fucking kidding me? You dragged me in here! Why did you do it? How could you?” With all your might, you punched him repeatedly in the chest.
"Stop it. I gave you my word that I would help you return in your own time. You can trust me on that."
“How? How do you plan to do that? Do you think this portal or rift or whatever it’s called just pops up everywhere, asking, ‘Hey there! Anyone want to time travel?’ I can’t believe you. After everything I’ve done to help you, you’re just a jerk, ungrateful bastard! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” You kept punching him on the shoulders and chest, but he didn't even feel hurt; he only sighed deeply.
Suddenly, he covered your mouth with his palm. “Call me whatever you wish, but I swear I’ll keep that promise, on my life. Now, please, keep your voice down. The guards are patrolling nearby, they might hear us.”
You didn’t care; tears streamed down your cheeks as your mind struggled to comprehend this unreal situation. How? Why? The questions spiraled endlessly.
In the distance, the Colosseum came into view. It was undamaged, intact, perfectly circular. This bizarre reality only deepened your confusion, and you could take it no longer. You crumpled to the ground, unable to stand.


hope you enjoyed the chapter guys, thanks for reading ❤️
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Summary: After years of missing your husband, your suitor decides to take matters into his hands.
Pairings: Dark! Suitor! Marcus Acacius x Queen! Reader
Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Noncon, unprotected sex (p in v) forced infidelity?, plotting of rape, historical inaccuracies, manipulation, rough rough sex, loss of virginity (and related blood), breeding kink, size kink, corruption kink, bondage, planned murder, dark dark and dark,
Inspired by the Epic Musical and the original Odyssey!
Series Masterlist
After the Twin Emperors had fallen, the Gladiator Hanno rose to power, being recognized by Lucilla as his long lost son, Lucius Verus. Succeeding his rise to power, his first order was to have Macrinus, a wealthy businessman and slave owner, executed for his treason against the Democracy of Rome and clear General Acacius' name.
Having decided not to love another woman after the death of his wife, he opted for a political marriage to benefit the city. Cherry picked by senators as the finest of eligible bachelors, you were a perfect match for the new Emperor.
Arriving to Rome from your certainly smaller yet blooming city, Lucius had clarified that he didn't intend in taking you as a lover, rather than as a companion and ally for his ruling; and when the day of giving the kingdom a heir came, the affair would be short and, well he didn't exactly said that word but, meaningless.
You weren't discontented in his boundaries, you weren't there to find a lover but to enlarge the possibilities of your kingdom. As years went by, Lucius had become tender with you, unlike the city that suddenly demanded a Prince. However, as Rome transitioned into a prosperous city, the people seemed to be appeased by being fed and war-less.
As a way to erase Geta and Caracalla's history, Lucius decided to free the colonies in Africa himself, so two years after your marriage he had embarked.
"Take care of Rome for me." He smiled in your bittersweet goodbye, holding your hands in his.
"And who will take care of me then?" You joked, feeling the rough finger pads of his work torn hands; his eyes fell behind your frame, with a confident smile.
"I actually have that covered;" You followed his eye line to see the broad, dark figure behind you. General Marcus Acacius himself, for some a Valiant Hero of Rome, for others, another victim of the deceased emperors' terror. "Acacius will be your personal Guard, in case anyone attempts anything against the Empress of Rome."
Despite the eerie way the General's big brown eyes seemed to narrow over you, you learnt to feel safe with his presence, despite being behind you at all time. It kept you calm as people begun questioning the Emperor's absence, a you begun to question it too.
A year passed, and rumors spread about wars breaking out in the colonies due to their new found freedom. Exploited colonies at war trying to survive from spoils of war, predictable really, but Lucius had wrote to you, soothing you that he was aiding the reconstruction of those societies. That was the last time he had wrote.
Another year went by, and the flourishing nature of Rome kept people from questioning the Emperor's absence, but not you. Your nights became sleepless, as you pondered around your room, perhaps hoping for sudden news, confirmation of something, anything. It was a cold night when your insomnia made you think about the man standing outside your bedroom door. General Acacius.
Silently, in case you regretted it, you tiptoed towards the big ornate door from your shared chambers, and cracked it open. There he stood, clad in his armor as the dim lights of the hallway torches illuminated his face; his right cheekbone held a scar, visible in the warm lighting as he slowly came to look at you. In his two years as your shadow, you had never taken your time to look at him.
"My Queen," He whispered sternly, eyebrows furrowing. "Why are you still awake at this hours?"
You licked your lips guiltily, and his gaze fell onto the thin, almost see through sleepwear you had on under the blanket draped over your shoulders. He could trace the outline of your navel...
"May you come in?" You asked, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your shoulder as you realized how inappropriate this was, but you didn't care; perhaps his war experience could help you calm down. "I cannot conceal sleep, and someone to talk to could be nice."
He obeyed silently, sneaking through the crack on the door. The Emperor's chambers held an extravagant amount of luxuries, left behind by the old Emperor Geta; Lucius had wanted to get rid of them, but as producing an heir, he never got the time to do it.
Acacius' gaze fell over the bed, only your side disrupted as if Lucius was coming back anytime soon. You had sat down in a velvet chair beside the fireplace, hands clutched over a golden cup of raspberry wine. He walked over to you in slow steps, as if expecting you to tell him the issue and leave when commanded. If you hadn't gazed expectantly at the chair beside you, he probably wouldn't have sat down.
"I am unease by Lucius' absence," You confessed, despite the obviousness. "I heard rumors he was fine, back in Numidia, building houses, but he hasn't written to me in over a year."
Acacius hummed, showing he was listening, however your wild eyes indicated that you wanted an answer. "Your concern is reasonable, my Empress, the city shares your discomfort."
You furrowed your brows at his words, surprised the matter was relevant enough to discuss. "I had only heard some questions, but I believe the people knew his circumstances."
"It isn't that they dislike you;" He clarified, sending relief down your stomach. "In fact, they adore you."
You felt your lips twist into a small smile in his words.
"They adore you so much they trust you to rule if, of course let's pray not, Lucius doesn't return."
Your stomach sank once again at the possibility, but Acacius gave you a warm smirk, as if it was a compliment.
"The issue is..." He hesitated, and you saw the reflection of the flames in the brown of his eyes as he looked at you, seriously. "the succession."
You hummed, intrigued to what he was meaning. Your eyes asked him to explain more, and he let out a breathe when the blanket slipped off your shoulders, allowing him to see the outline of sometihing far more tempting than your navel.
"If Lucius hasn't been home for almost two years by now, and you haven't been with child yet, the senate fears the throne may spiral once again to a tyrant after your passing."
You shook your head in confusion, a new worry appearing and attaching itself to your chest. "Why haven't I been informed of this fear?"
Acacius chuckled lightly, as if you were too naive to understand; it made you feel small, stupid.
"They do not wish to offend you, my majesty." He explained, and you scowled. "Now, you are in your prime age for...carrying an heir...but if Lucius is to be gone for longer, let's say four more years, you'd be pass that age, and thus..."
"Anyone could take the throne." You completed, understatement dooming in your features. "But I couldn't...Lucius could be back tomorrow for all I know."
"There still is time," He reassured, taking the cup of wine from the table. "but the lack of knowledge of his stance is, as you say, uneasy for most of the Senate, and of course the people of Rome."
As you sipped more wine, you leaned over the armrest of your chair, as if wishing to keep the conversation as private as possible, but all he could see was the way your breast, unconsciously, became visible from your neckline. His breathe hitched.
"As a knowledgeable and prestigious General," You asked, eyes wide and frantic. "what should I do?"
He pretended to think for a while then sighed. "In confidence, I believe you should wait for him, perhaps a year or two, and if he isn't here by then and you haven't received any notice, you should remarry, just for the sake of your wellness and the city's."
You almost gasped from his words, the alcohol inhibiting your senses. "My sake?" You manage to question him, words starting to slur. Of course they did, you had been drinking for hours trying to catch sleep.
"The people may believe that you are intertwined in the fall of the city," he whispered, eyes wild as if he was personally offended by what the people may do. "They can believe you have arranged it all to set someone in the throne, they might riot, and we know from our old Emperors that rioting never goes well; imagine what they could do to a women such as yourself."
Acacius' words stained your mind for the next year, as Lucius failed to prove his existence once again. You had proposed the idea to the Senate, who seemed surprised by your initiative; Acacius had later told you that they didn't expect a woman as devoted as you to determine that if Lucius didn't appear or made himself known in the next year, you would seek another man to remarry to provide the heir, but that it was what all of them believed to be correct. You had grown fond of him in the last year, inviting him for wine in those restless nights and him informing you from what the Senate was too scared to tell you. As Lucius had grown to be a close friend, so did Acacius.
Which is why, after two years had passed and you had to teary-eyed greet the suitors that had came wishing to become the Emperor of Rome, you were taken a back when General Acacius presented himself before any of them, asking for your hand. His thick frame, clad in his white honorary attire along with ten of his best trained soldiers trailing behind him, had profusely scared all the other suitors that stumbled and staggered on their words after him.
Which is what made you jump on him like a rabid dog once they had gone to their rooms and Acacius was the only one i the throne room with you. Standing up from your golden throne, identical to the empty one beside you, your feet stomped near him. He was awfully tranquil, almost smirking at you.
"May I know why you have proposed as a suitor?" You bellowed at him, praying this was a sick, twisted joke, like you had joked that your "Guard dog" of a General would scare them off.
"Because, my Empress, the senate and I believe that a true Emperor needs to be one who knows how to handle the rise of Rome into democracy." He explained, and you felt a pang of betrayal, jealousy even, as the Senate had allegedly preferred to discuss such matters with him rather than the actual Empress. "One that has aided in it's rise and is skilled at controlling the city; one that could guide you through ruling."
"You said they trusted me." You protested, looking up at him; despite being furious, you could see by the way he craned his neck to look down at you that he didn't feel threatened, at all.
"They do, I assure you that; but the uneducated and starved people of Rome won't take a women as an Emperor, much less if she has some foreigner as a husband." The way he sneered at you told you he had this planned. "But you and I know that you are smart enough to know I am your best opportunity; I am a war Hero and a symbol of democracy, my Empress, the people would riot if you chose any other man."
You glared, never expecting this from him. He enjoyed the way you stormed out of his view, silky dress swishing as he laughed so hard, he almost dropped the carefully stacked letters that told him Lucius would be home in six months.
Almost as if you knew, you had delayed your choice for four months by then, posing impossible challenge after challenge, simply to get on Acacius nerves. But he did not even falter; even if it was bringing dozens of water buckets across the city, taming wild horses or swimming with crocodiles to retreat minuscules gold pieces from the bottom of the murky river, Acacius managed to have win after win. For most people, it was becoming clearly ridiculous how adamant you were against Acacius.
If he had proposed the idea to you things would have been different, but he had planted seeds of doubts in the Senate about your capabilities, evidenced by your revengeful behavior in presenting tasks. The more you fought with Acacius, the more the Senate seemed to become wary of you and the more the people of Rome called you frivolous. You acknowledged the last part, as you were now dedicating more time in plotting unachievable tasks than governing the city.
As grief for mourning Lucius meddled with the new issues of the city, Acacius looked at you victoriously; naked war torn torso and a shining emerald in his hand as he retrieved from the river, almost waving goodbye to the last bunch of suitors you have scared away.
Almost 5 months had passed since you had greeted the suitors, and the only one still standing was Acacius. As you walked into the Senate's room, you caught wind of something that drove you wild.
"If the wedding is going to be next week, then we would need to at least levy taxes until the end of the season to compensate for the rise-"
"What wedding?" You bellowed, and the Senator who was speaking quickly silenced himself as the whole room turned their heads towards you. Marcus stood, dressed in his best, before rising his goblet to you; it took you a while to see from where he was rising from, Lucius' throne.
"There aren't anymore suitors," He informed, and his name rolled out of his tongue mockingly. "Next year you'll turn 28, and we cannot risk it anymore."
"And has this council decided this over me, their Empress?" Your gaze fell on the senators around you, men who rolled their eyes as if you were taking up their time; as if calling your self the Empress was a mockery. "Has the council forget Lucius had chose me to rule by his side and not just to produce an heir?"
"This Council had chosen you," Acacius corrected, and you felt the tips of your ears burn up in embarrassment. "and if Lucius had given the city an heir this wouldn't be an issue, but he didn't and thus, I am the most suitable option."
You dug your nails into your palms, seething at him.
"And this Council believes it is correct to plan a wedding without consulting the bride?" You hissed at them. “What do the people think?”
"There had been riots in the south due to the succession," A senator informed you. "You would have known if you had attended the last meeting."
You felt fury pile up in your throat, as if itching to scream, because no one that even told you about the last meeting. You felt caged by these men, and Acacius grinning peacefully at you, that conniving snake of a man had turned the Council against you.
You sighed, tears kissing the brim of your eyes in frustration before clapping your hands together. “If the people of Rome wish me to marry, I will, however please give me a week to mourn, properly, the loss of our Emperor. I will marry Marcus Acacius in two weeks time, without complaint.”
Acacius’ smiled fell, and you believed your surrender had annoyed him.
“Haven’t you got two years already to do so?” He bit at you, and the Senate looked around bewildered by Acacius sudden lack of manners.
“Oh I know it is a selfish desire, but it would facilitate the process for me.” You pouted to the people of the Senate, who became more understanding after you agreed to marry him. “If that is all, I am to leave.”
You walked through the door calmly, running the second the Council could no longer see you. He had trapped you, backed you up against a wall and showed your scared self to the whole Senate of Rome. As you unlocked the door, precaution you took everyday since Acacius had proposed, you felt a shadow lurk around the corner. You almost jump when you saw him, striding towards you. If you were to open the door, he could have pushed inside, and if you stayed there, god knows what he could do. So you stayed frozen.
He called your name, rather than my Empress; it was a way of stabilizing dominance. You glared at him, hand on the door knob.
“I hope that you can come to see our marriage as more than a political ploy.” He grinned, as if he was one of those brand new suitors that attempted to gain your trust while flirting. “I certainly can’t wait to give the city an heir.”
The way he looked at you urged you to run and hide.
“I have nothing to discuss with you, Acacius.” You responded, pushing the door slightly open to slip inside. “You have betrayed my trust.”
As you were about close the gap from were to entered, the General placed his big hands on the door, speaking to you from the ajar door.
“What is it, my Empress?” He pressed, the door becoming thousand times heavier under his strength. “Are you scared about the consummation, because you and Lucius had never really…?”
With a burst of strength you managed to push the door closed, resting your sweaty eyebrow to the cool ornate door as tears begun pouring from your eyes. Since Acacius had proposed you stopped inviting him at night, and locked the door. Some nights, as wind rustles trees and all you heard was his feet creaking the floorboards outside your room, you could also hear a faint rustle, and attempt to open your locked door, as if you could have forgotten to lock it some day.
That was another thing that was slowly driving you mad.
The next week went by organizing wedding affairs, and you begun to question what your plan was after begging to get married in two weeks. It had been stupid, you guessed, something that had strikes over your head as you looked over at a statue of Athena. You prayed for her strength.
Acacius loomed over your figure as he had done years before your friendship had bloomed, although the ghost of a creeping grin appeared in his face more than usually. You attempted really, to see the good side, but the fact that he had manipulated you into proposing the idea and then used it to his advantage deeply sickened you.
It was about two days from the wedding day when Acacius had disappeared almost all day, and you felt at peace by his absence. As the tailor arranged your wedding dress, clearly just a reconstruction of the old one, you heard him gallop through the entrance of the Palace, holding something on his hand.
“The Emperor is dead.” He told the Senate, holding up a letter he had received from the colonies. “Let the news not startle us from guiding Rome towards glory.”
You furrowed your brows, Lucilla next to you breaking into a deep sob.
“What does the letter say?” You asked him, and he looked at you as if you were testing him.
“Would be cruel to discuss the details of the dead infront of his mother, my future wife.”
You almost felt bile rising up to your throat from the words he said.
That night you became even more restless, so much it physically hurt. The night had been one of the coldest the was and a thundering storm had grown from the coast of Rome up until the palace. It felt like a message from the Gods, with all the thundering you couldn’t hear the door knob nor the hushed whispers behind it.
Your eyes were closed but just a thin layer of drowsiness was on top of you, not enough for you to peacefully sleep without the hammering at your temple. That is when you felt the bed dip beside you, and his scent brought you jumping up.
“Lucius?” You questioned through the darkness of the night, his perfume thick in the air.
“I am so sorry to inform you that Lucius is gone.”
Acacius. Your blood froze as your eyes fluttered open. In the darkness, the door hadn’t been opened because you could have seen the torch lights from the crack. There had been another way he had gotten in.
“However, he will return tomorrow night, to find his wife has remarried.”
You looked over his figure, lit by the moonlight entering from the balcony.
Broad shoulders and the willowy of his Roman nose.
“But he might as well return tomorrow morning, and that is why I must secure my claim.”
He spoke with such tranquility it send shivers down your spine. The fireplace had gone off, leaving burning embers. You looked at the door once again, still locked, by the time you could have gotten there he would have caught you. He was stronger, faster and more agile.
“Why are you doing this?” You asked him, voice quivering. He begun untying his armor, letting it clank slowly into the ground, accompanying the sound of lightning outside.
“Because I had been tempted with you from the day you arrived, little girl.” The nickname felt warm, but it spat out of his tongue like poison. “I was the one who had saved the city, but Prince Lucius got the crown, the power, and he got you.”
“Wh-What is it about me that you want?” You choked out, breathing startling as his robes pooled at his feet.
“If Lucius is set to return and you have already consummated your marriage to me, my heir would be on the throne.” He explained, and you got a deja vu of that night when you had invited him in; the same tone. “You’ll probably still be married to him, due to the coincidence, but you will be carrying my child. It will be our secret to history; an Emperor, son of a General.”
You slowly pulled the blankets from your body, thinking that if you were to arrive to the balcony, perhaps you could scream for help.
“Wasn’t it me that you wanted?” You persisted, entertaining him to distract him as you feet softly touched the cool marble floor, he had hunched over to undo his sandals.
“Well, of course, but the Emperor is gone a lot, he is too busy to notice-“
The sound of your feet padding against the floor made him turn, seeing you race until the balcony. He jumped over the bed, eyes rabid as a predator chasing a prey. The cold air of the balcony struck you, along with droplets of rain that all over you. Gripping onto the bannister, you screamed, but no sound came out, his hand clapped tightly over your mouth as his other clung to your torso, securing you to him.
“Stupid girl.” He bellowed, dragging you inside. You could feet the heat of his naked body, chest pressed against you, as you felt his stiffening cock against your lower back. It all felt too real, suddenly. He tossed you to the bed, climbing on top quickly and caging you. Just his immense back was enough to restrict your movements. You cried and punched his chest, attempting to push him to no avail.
As one hand splashed across your chest to keep you still, the other moved down, slipping between your silk gown. It dragged punishing between your tights, forcing them apart with his thick waist. It found the patch of pubic hair, hiding something sweet for him in its center. You could almost hear him smirk.
“Are you wet?” He asked, teasingly as his index finger ran across your slit. He then took his hand back out, presenting two fingers to you. “Suck, and make them wet or I’ll fuck you as dry as you are right now. Don’t you dare bite.”
You opened your mouth slightly, and he introduced two thick digits into your mouth; your tongue swirled around them, tasting the strong taste of perfume. He had taken the time to put on Lucius’ scent, perhaps to taunt you.
Once pleased, he pulled them out of your mouth and directed them to where they were before, bunching your dress at your hips. His fingers now grazed more softly, wet, and he rubbed them into your slit, finding a beaded nerve at the top.
You had touched yourself before; sometimes Lucius would come back drunk after dealing with claims and work all day; you excused him such actions, he had a lot to deal with. And he wouldn’t touch you, but he would hug you and hold you close, and that minimum amount of contact would drive you wild. You knew what was coming when he began circling around your flesh, the wetness that spread and threatened to burst at the tip of your lips.
“Feel how wet are you getting for me? has your husband ever get you like this?” He pressed, slipping one thick digit inside; your walls swallowed it, hugging it tightly; he almost moaned at the heat, the tightness of your core. “Are the rumors true? that you have never consummated your marriage?”
His voice was stern once again, as if he was one of the court ladies asking you about it; you thought to tell him the typical lie, that you had consummated but the stress of running the rising Rome had taken a toll on you, and that you will wait. However, you thought for a second that if you were honest perhaps he would stop.
“Yes,” you spat, eyes shut tightly as you felt your body betraying you, hips almost buckling. “we never…never had the chance.”
He chuckled, deep in his chest. “Then I’ll have another thing he doesn’t.”
His jealousy was almost childlike; he wished you because you weren’t his.
His fingers worked inside you, preparing you. Your mind, fogged with pleasure, attempted to see any way you could fight back; perhaps he’d be weaker once he entered you. Perchance you’d loose that part of you but escape his seed.
Seeing you still, the hand holding you down came up to rip the top of your night gown as a thunder cracked the sky. Your peaks hardened under the unforgiving cold night, and your body started to yearn for the heat of his body. His gaze roamed your tits, recalling the first night you had invited him in, perfect in form and size for him despite you not being keen on them.
“Such a fucking good pair,” He murmured, hand skimming over them, groping them barbarically as his other hand sped up, adding another finger, eliciting a gasp from you. “once you are my wife you aren’t going to parade around court with those skimpy dresses you love, or invite any guards inside at such hours of the night.”
Through your gasp you had realized that his words were becoming sloppier, he was forgetting his plans. You had to wait. He pinched your nipple as he begun curling his fingers, sending a jolt of energy and pressure to your core, places you had never reached.
You felt sudden emptiness when he pulled out his fingers, and you met out a shuddered sight of relief. Tears ran into your scalp, tears you hadn’t notice you were crying. His hand dipped between his naked body as the other finished ripping your nightgown, and as he let out a grunt you knew he was grabbing his cock. It bumped against your leg, and its own weight made you cry harder; you knew he was big.
“Still,” he commanded, seeing you shake. “Or I’ll shove it all in.”
You did your best, clenching your eyes as you attempted to wake up from this nightmare. Praying that it was once, that is.
He pressed the tip in, almost as big as your fist. The big head slowly broke through your walls, and he was shaking now too, lips parted and eyes clenched, that was all you could see as lightning striked the sky once again. “Feels so good,” he muttered under his breath, gripping your shoulders tightly. “I’m sorry-I can’t-“
He pushed in, all eight inches of himself and you let out a sharp cry he shushed pressing his lips towards him. Full and tasting of wine, a breathe than had fanned over your cheek but you had chosen to ignore. The scruff of his beard scratched against your face, but the pain of his cock was worse.
Thick and long, it had broken through the thin barrier of skin; your hymen or constricting walls, you didn’t know. He planted his weight in his knees and forearms, caging you as your legs dangled at the side of his imposing hips.
“I am not sorry for what I am doing.” He clarified, voice airy from delight. “But I am sorry for this, my queen, I cannot control it.”
Before you could confuse yourself about what he meant, he begun thrusting into you, curling his hips as some animal in heat. Your moans were in pain and his were in pleasure as he melted onto you; he was fucking you so hard you felt as if he was trying to imprint the shape of his cock into you; it felt like hours, and it probably was too, his lips momentarily trying to catch your unresponsive ones, silencing moans and cries.
You knew then that there was no escape, no way you could push this man off you. You felt something wet growing, but now you were sure it wasn’t arousal.
“So good of a pussy,” He grunted into your ear, now gripping your thigh as if he was attempting to spread you even more open. “gonna fuck a son into you, make you finally mine.”
His words only created more tears, as if that was their only aim.
“Such a sweet Empress, s-so eager to please everyone, such a fucking. Good. Girl.”
He synced his thrusts with the last words, each more punishing than the previous.
“So loyal too,” he cooed, mockingly, teeth kneeding at your neck. “loyal to her absent husband.”
He was leaving marks, you knew that. His arm suddenly wrapped around you waist, muscle flexing as he hoists into the air and you fell down deeper into his cock. Your arms braced itself in his shoulder for support, sheets almost sticking to your back due to the sweat that had pooled. One hand in your lower back and and the other groping your ass tightly as he fucked into the air, making you feel every ridge and vein in his member.
“Gonna cum,” he confessed, unashamed. “right into this cunt.”
“No no please-” you mustered all your strength to say, but he was far too gone, plopping you once again on the bed but then bringing your thighs together and slinging your legs over his shoulder, clutching them together as his cock came in and out almost fully. His final thrusts felt as if he was trying to reach your guts, cock tensing and twitching inside you, before shooting hot ropes of cum right into you as his full body weight fell onto you, stretching you to the point your knees almost touched your face. He caught himself in his hands a few moments later, pulling out.
You hadn’t noticed, but the sun begun to peak from the balcony, signaling morning. The tears had dried from your face. As your legs fell back onto the bed, you saw the blood. Around your thighs, into the bed and around his cock and pubic hair. Staining the scene as a gruesome crime scene.
You felt your cunt start to throb, painfully. Your hand stopped by your pelvis, also in pain alike your legs.
“Took it so good,” he praised, and now you could see him better. Body scarred, some fresh scars from your scratching, wild brown curly hair, his take tell scar on his left cheekbone and blown out dark eyes. He was terrifying as he observed your core, blood and cum and arousal just peeking through the swollen folds. “but I forgot something.”
No, you thought, too tired to protest as his fingers found your sensitive pussy once more. You shook your head as your hand attempted to grip his, but he looked at you as a warning.
“Need to make you cum.” He demanded, fingers slipping in way easily than before. “Quickly.”
It sounded like a promise, but it was his aim. Two fingers lodged inside you, a thumb in your clit and his other hand gripping your fighting wrists. Curling his fingers and rubbing you, was all it take. You felt the pleasure build up, and shame spread through your face as the faucet turned on and you sobbed once again.
If he was to rape you, that was one thing, but if he was to make you cum on his fingers, make you feel pleasure in all of this, that was twisted. That was a blow in your honor.
He wouldn’t stop, a bit more forceful that you would have desired, but he was a man on a mission. You suddenly felt as if you needed to pee, shame flickering over your body as you tried to shut your legs, but his hand was stern and no amount of pressure would make him retreat.
He managed to bring you to your climax, pleased smirk plastered on his face as your pussy begun shooting arousal. You cried harder, choking through moans from the pleasure he was forcing upon you, seeing how you soaked his softening cock and hand. He took his hand out, wet and crimson stained, and brought it to his lips. He hummed at the taste of you.
“Gotta taste this pussy some day, perhaps tomorrow in our wedding night.”
You were too gone to actually listen to his words as he used the scraps of your night gown to clean the blood on his body, and slipped into his armor once again.
He then walked over to you, picking once again the scraps and tearing them into long pieces. He grabbed your wrists and you allowed him, too tired to fight him.
He used the straps to tie you to the bedhead; then pulling another piece to go around your mouth. It was futile to attempt anything.
“A Numidian ship is embarking today, carrying your precious husband, let’s see if I can get to him first.”
And he left you, bound and naked.
#dark fic#dark! marcus acacius#dark! marcus acacius x reader#marcus acacius x reader#gladiator ll#gladiator ii#gladiator 2 fanfiction#marcus acacius#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader
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Downhill
Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader
I’ve never spent a moment loving anyone but you.
And maybe that’s just something people say - but I hope it’s the truth.
Summary:
Draco knows his place in the world. He is a Malfoy, he is Pureblood. He is supposed to marry, carry on the Pureblood line. He is supposed to do everything that his parents would - including killing, if it's what his Dark Lord wishes.
Draco Malfoy is not supposed to hesitate. He is not supposed to feel fear. He is not supposed to have room in his heart for fondness, or even love. Not even when it comes to his bartered and bought fellow Pureblood fiancee.
Love is nothing but a weakness. And Malfoys are not weak.
Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader. Arranged Marriage/Hesitant Lovers. Emotional Angst and Smut. Set during Half-Blood Prince.
Word Count: 20,100
Harry Potter Masterlist | AO3 Link
This is meant to be a standalone oneshot, but it was written as a prequel to the fic My Bleeding Heart. Because the other fic is chronologically second, you won't be missing anything if you read this one first, but if you have read it before, then this one ties in nicely and informs more of the emotions between the characters.
Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.
Warnings: this fic is equal parts smut and emotional angst; this fic does technically take place around Christmas (with the Slug Club Christmas Party being the biggest signal of that), but Christmas is not a huge overarching theme or presence in the fic if you don't celebrate or don't like Christmas; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; implications of the reader being fat/plus-sized (which happens with a lot of my fics); it is mentioned that the reader is wearing a dress and high heels to the party; the reader is a Slytherin; the reader is a Pureblood (and for the sake of the fic, I made up a random 'important' Pureblood family that she is from, but because she wasn't raised by them, she goes by a difference surname that can just be your literal actual surname); the reader is an orphan and never actually knew her Pureblood parents; this fic DOES use Y/N; the reader is called 'brilliant' and comes off as very intelligent and skilled with magic (skilled enough to get into the Slug Club); Draco and the reader are in an arranged marriage for the sake of carrying on the Pureblood lineage, and it is discussed that the reader was 'bought' for Draco (a very large dowry was paid) (during the course of the fic, they are only engaged and not yet married); most of this is written from Draco's perspective and features self loathing, emotionally stunted Draco; jealous!Draco - Draco hears that the reader was talking to Harry and gets upset; mentions of the reader being left to the Malfoys by a neglectful godmother; I know there is debate about whether it's canon or not, but in this fic Draco's parents are abusive toward him - his father much more so and his mother is more of a neglectful bystander, and there is a lot of themes in this fic about Draco's trauma surrounding that and how he starts taking his first steps to break free from his abusers (this fic implies that Draco has been physically and emotionally abused by his father, as well as being severely emotionally neglected by both his parents); the reader character in this fic is also abused by the Malfoys when living with them - including an incident where she is hit by Lucius Malfoy and has her hand smashed into broken glass; an incident is described where Lucius casts a spell that chokes Draco (briefly) with the intention of physically punishing him, and the reader stops the spell; Lucius calls the reader 'slut' and 'whore' as insults; mentions of house elves and elf 'slavery' (feels like a warning I'm putting in here specifically for Hermione but I know people get upset about this stuff now lmao); descriptions of dead animals - a bird is killed while being transported through the not yet working Vanishing Cabinet; mentions of canon deaths (Cedric Diggory); mentions of 'Death Eater culture' - discrimination, violence against muggleborns, blood purity, etc.; discussion of Draco's mission to kill Dumbledore (and his mission to help the Death Eaters break into Hogwarts) and the stress that it causes him.
In his internal narration, Draco calls the reader 'naive' and 'innocent', but this is not a statement about the reader's level of sexual or romantic experience (the reader character is NOT A VIRGIN in this), this is a statement about the reader's level of experience with violence and death (and how Draco feels a need to protect her from being corrupted by the dark forces in his life); Draco grabs the reader's arm (in a slightly painful way, while arguing) - but they don't have a major physical confrontation and it does not escalate (their relationship has slightly toxic vibes, but they are forced to depend on each other); mention of Draco being 'thin'/losing weight due to not eating properly (due to the stress of a life or death mission hanging over his head); for the actual smut section - Draco has a kink for the reader wearing stockings/tights (don't ask me where I got this idea from, it just feels like it would fit Draco really well); the tone of the whole thing is very sweet, affectionate, passionate love-making; Draco calls the reader 'darling' and 'love'; oral - reader receiving; Draco fingers the reader while eating her out; a lot of passionate kissing and body worshipping (towards the reader); multiple orgasms/overstimulation (reader receiving); squirting (not played up as a major kink, but it does happen); Draco is anti-breeding kink (I know this is a new one, but try to stick with me) - Draco knows that the only reason for their engagement is to carry on the family blood like (to breed) and he is against that (because it means carrying out his parents' wishes and putting the reader in danger) so he refuses to fuck her because he doesn't want to get her pregnant, because he thinks that it will be cursing her with an attachment to him and he still wants to give her a chance to bail, so he specifically avoids PIV sex for this reason; the ending of the fic has some slightly dubious consent - because Draco starts thinking about the fate of the arranged marriage and feels self loathing but continues with the encounter anyway (he is romantically and sexually attracted to the reader, and there is no force, and the reader is enthusiastic about her consent the whole time, but Draco starts to withdraw his consent and is slightly unsure - it's adult and realistic and complicated); Draco masturbates while sitting on top of the reader to avoid having sex with the reader (in a way, this could be considered 'forced orgasm' because Draco is having a lot of complicated emotions and literally forces himself to orgasm to end the sexual situation); Draco cums on the reader's thighs; Draco cries after sex because of all his complicated emotions; Draco and the reader do talk about their feelings and (mostly) work things out; the ending skews toward light-hearted/sappy.
A/N: This fic is titled after the song Downhill by Lincoln - and I actually had a really hard time choosing which lyrics to go at the top, because I genuinely believe that all the lyrics from the song are so, so fitting here. So I do highly encourage you to go and listen to the song while you read this!! I actually started writing this fic many months ago when the idea came to me, and I got stalled on it, and then I randomly got inspired to finish it around mid-October, but I wanted to wait to post it until it was closer to Christmas because it is so rare for me to have a seasonally accurate fic on my hands so I actually wanted to post it during the seasonally accurate time lmao. I had a lot of fun writing this and exploring the relationship between these two characters, and I do want to write more for them in the future - especially because I am obsessed with the arranged marriage concept. (I feel like I need to write more fics with different characters that use arranged marriage as a trope because writing this just showed me how much fun it is.) Anyway, for now, I hope you enjoy this, and please let me know what you think of it in the comments.
...
Moving from the bustling atmosphere of the Slug Club Christmas Party into the cold, empty corridor was certainly a drastic shift.
It felt like stepping through a curtain that drained all happiness from you, even if that happiness was only temporary, feigned, and fueled by the jovial holiday atmosphere rather than coming from anywhere true inside of you. It was a show you had put on for the sake of the social occasion. As an automatic response, you felt the fake smile fall from your face as the last murmurs of the guests and the last echoes of Christmas music disappeared faintly behind you. You were then fully flipped from the warm, welcoming environment of the party to the cold shell that was Hogwarts in the dead of winter as the cool air coming off the stone kissed against your skin.
You couldn’t resist the need to hug yourself in order to cover up your bare arms, sharp gooseflesh already forming there. Such an occasion insisted upon something showy rather than practical, and with the December weather, you were finding it chilly.
As you walked a few steps down from the entrance to the party, you found that a certain cloud of darkness began to consume you - even with the Christmas trees glistening brightly at either end, reminding you of the supposedly cheerful season.
You walked toward Draco, where he was waiting for you, just as Snape had promised when he had come up behind you like a looming storm cloud and pulled you away so suddenly, so rudely from the rousing conversation you were having with Harry and Slughorn. But you had to turn your mind off from any showmanship that you had been forced to put into those conversations, and turn your mind onto something else now - someone else.
Draco had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his expensive suit, a stiff posture that could be seen even through the matching, all black attire. He was pacing along the mouth of the hallway rather frantically, threatening to wear holes in the soles of his custom leather shoes, muttering under his breath to himself.
So far, this was the worst you had ever seen him. And that worried you greatly.
“What’s wrong?” You asked, the question naturally on your tongue.
The sound of your voice in the otherwise empty corridor pulled Draco’s eyes up from the floor, snapping his attention toward you in a way that stopped his pacing in an instant, causing his posture to stiffen up tall as he turned toward you. It was an ingrained instinct - facing someone, giving them your attention when they spoke. Well trained unconscious physical etiquette whipped into a boy who was often very rude and careless with his words.
For a moment, his fist tightened in his pocket, and you knew that he was clutching on his wand instinctively, his eyes flickering around, looking for an intruder - so perhaps, not entirely ingrained etiquette. Perhaps quite a lot of unconscious physical panic living within those muscles as well. Fight or flight instincts that never got a chance to turn off.
When his eyes fell on you, recognition flooded his features, and his stiffness relaxed - even if only slightly.
“Draco, what is it? Why did you pull me out of the party?” You prodded further, your curiosity growing into annoyance when he took too long to answer you.
“Trust me, I wouldn’t have called you out here if it wasn’t important.” Draco sighed, shifting from one foot to the other, not looking at you.
“Well isn’t what I’m doing supposed to be important too?” You snapped back.
Truthfully, you didn’t care about your ‘mission’. You knew that there would be consequences for you if you failed - but at this point, you weren’t all too afraid of being killed.
When Draco’s parents had discovered that Slughorn was once again teaching at Hogwarts, they had sent you a letter asking to join his ‘Club’, telling you to get close to him. They knew that because of your brilliance, he would already be interested in you joining - and he certainly was. But you had turned him down multiple times because you found it to be an annoyance, and you didn’t want to have to worry about attending ‘club’ meetings on top of everything else going on in your chaotic life.
Snape was the one who had explained to you why they wanted you to take him up on his nagging offer. The Dark Lord, who used to be known as Tom Riddle, was also once a part of that Club. And they needed to know how much Slughorn remembered about him, and if he was spilling any of the Dark Lord’s secrets to Harry Potter. They needed to know if Slughorn was revealing anything that might make The Dark Lord vulnerable towards Potter.
Truthfully, you had been grateful towards Snape, and towards Draco for pulling you out of that social hell of fake laughter and performity and into the cool relief of the corridor. You had been dreading the thought of going to the party since Slughorn had first informed everyone about it, and you were grateful to escape it. Even if it gave a chance for the general darkness that Draco carried with him to begin biting at your sensitive heart. And even if it left Harry alone with Slughorn and his endless yammering in your wake. (You pitied him slightly, but you knew that he would be fine on his own.)
You were mostly irritated with Draco because you hadn’t seen him in days. You felt that he had been strategically avoiding you. Somehow, even in the Slytherin common room or even when you looked for him in his own dorm, he never seemed to be there. And now, he was interrupting you during a crucial moment, daring to show his face when you had spent the better of the last week alone.
You had invited him to attend the party with you. You thought that you would look like a fool, showing up without a date. And you had. Especially when nearly everyone at Hogwarts had your engagement as hot gossip on their lips just a few months prior.
“Yes, but-” Draco began to explain himself, but you cut him off, your bubbling annoyance overtaking you in the moment.
“I was talking to Slughorn when you so rudely interrupted me.” You said, emphasising the words in a way that made Draco childishly roll his eyes. “He was just about to invite me and Harry to look at some of shitty old mementos from previous class years when you had Snape pull me away-”
“Harry?” Draco repeated the name back, mouth gaped as his face twisted in disgust, getting far too caught up on the way you referred to his once rival - now someone who was very background to the rest of his problems. “What? Now you’re getting all cozied up with Potter, are you?”
At the end of the day, Draco knew that you didn’t owe him anything.
Essentially, his parents had bought you for him - just like they would have a new racing broom or a fancy set of robes. Since then, you had been nothing but kind to him. Well, aside from your mouthy attitude - which Draco actually found to be refreshing a lot of the time. And he wasn’t even sure how much of it was genuine kindness and how much of it was putting on a show for his parents in order to demonstrate to them that you were a good purchase - that you weren’t something to be disposed of.
You had held his hand, been cozy and complimented him. He had been surprised the first time you kissed him - surprised by how genuine it felt, and how much he felt himself getting sucked into the emotions of it. But he knew that it was all just for show.
Because at the end of the day, he knew that no amount of money could force him to own your heart. If you fell in love with someone like Potter, then he could do nothing to stop it. And frankly, he wouldn’t blame you. The heroics, and the genuine kindness, the niceties, the softness - Potter could offer you everything that he couldn’t.
And in all honesty - something that Draco would only admit to himself deep within the confines of his own, quiet, quaking soul - that thought utterly terrified him.
“Seriously, Draco?” You barked back, absolutely insulted at the insinuation. At the idea that you had been having fun at the party with Harry when it had been a pretty miserable time for you. “What kind of person do you think I am? I wasn’t there to flirt. Especially not with Harry Potter.”
“Yeah, that’s an awfully convenient story, love.” Draco scoffed, his voice brimming with disgust.
When you made no further moves to defend yourself - when you didn’t beg for his affection or further insist that what you and Draco had was truly genuine and worth fighting for, it only filled Draco’s mind with more doubt. It only further inflated the idea that indeed, you liked Potter as a romantic partner. And you liked him better.
“Fine then.” Draco sneered, turning on his heel and marching away, his shoes clacking loudly against the floor as he walked, creating an eerie echo in the empty hallway.
You hated that your stomach curled with dread at the sight of his quickly retreating back. It had been a long, lonely week without him, and you hated to think of how much longer he would isolate himself if you didn’t take the chance to snag him now.
“Draco, wait!” You rushed to stop him.
He was the only person that you truly knew at Hogwarts.
Yes, he had introduced you to his friends. Pansy Parkinson was nice enough, and she always tried to make girly small talk with you, which you usually returned. Often, her problems about which outfits to wear and how to do her makeup seemed insignificant compared to the literal life and death that Draco faced. But you could always go to her for a conversation that was distracting, a good mental escape.
Blaise Zabini was more of the strong, silent type. Sometimes the two of you discussed books you had read (when you weren’t feeling too stressed out to read). You usually ended conversations with him early due to colliding opinions on such books. Naturally, he sided with the rich oppressors and you found yourself rooting for the underdogs in every single story.
Somehow, out of everyone you found yourself surrounded with, Draco was someone you considered a friend. It was difficult not to after the summer the two of you had spent together.
When your godmother had told you that some ‘old friends of your parents’ were interested in meeting you, you had been surprised. She had always been good to you - she had been friendly, always given you the basics and more in terms of what you needed. She was a very work-minded woman when it came to her job dealing with cursed objects, so she travelled often and left you to be watched over by the Muggle neighbours. Those were experiences that you treasured and often found to be fun.
You had always grown up with the underlying knowledge that your godmother was not your ‘real’ mother. She always had you call her by her first name - never ‘Mama’, or ‘Mom’. Occasionally, you were mocked in school (because she had enrolled you in Muggle school for a basic education) because you were ‘adopted’. One day, this had led you to asking your godmother where it was that you had come from.
She told you that your parents were from England, and they died fighting in a war against a terrible dark wizard. They had named her as the person who would take care of you in the event of their death, and though your godmother barely had any traces of an accent left, she told you that she once went to school with your parents at a place called Hogwarts in England.
Your whole life, all you had known was Muggle New York City. When you turned ten years old, you knew Salem’s Academy for Fine Young Witches, which sometimes had social events (like Quidditch matches and weekend outings) with a brother school, Magorium’s Institute for Upcoming Magical Men. You had dated boys before, but you had never experienced anything too serious. You were a social butterfly well into your magical education who rode the subway during your summers and spent your time going to concerts, enjoying the Muggle library, watching television, going to the movie theatre.
Even though you never knew your parents and you mourned the dreams of a life you could have had - your life was simple, and you liked it that way.
Until your godmother took you on a trip to England, promising that it would be a pilgrimage to know more about your heritage, and nothing more. And then - over one dinner, she sold you out to the Malfoys for a dowry of two thousand Galleons.
Apparently it was enough for her to retire so that she could write a book, as she had always dreamed of. And she was more than happy to be rid of the responsibility of a child that she did not birth. Something that you had heard her whisper to Narcissa when she thought you had not been listening. Up until that point, the only thing binding her to you had been a magical contract that she had signed with your parents before you were even born, naming her your carer in the event of their untimely death.
The moment she signed a new contract - bidding you to the Malfoys as Draco’s future wife - she was completely free of her responsibility. The new contract that she signed dictated that the Malfoys would have to be responsible for you now.
So - what you had thought would be a nice visit to explore more about the two dead people that you had never known quickly turned into a permanent relocation with only a small suitcase full of personal belongings, and little clue what the future held for you. Suddenly, you were in a brand new country, living with people you had never met before, betrothed to someone who seemed to hate you.
And the more the Malfoys talked about The War and told stories of your deceased parents, the more you realised - your parents had died fighting alongside the terrible dark wizard, and not against him. But still, Narcissa and Lucius spoke about your parents as though they were heroes. Valiant heroes who had died at the hands of Aurors, protecting Voldemort’s cause.
At first, it felt instinctive to hate Draco Malfoy.
You wanted so badly to hate him.
He was your betrothed, and though he was very handsome, he had been bitterly rude to you. It seemed that the forcefully polite kiss on the hand that he had given you upon first meeting - something that had given you butterflies in your stomach - had been nothing more than a front, a show he put on for his parents. Because he quickly soured towards you after that.
He made it very clear that he was not a fan of the arranged marriage either. Even when his parents continually tried to pitch the idea to him and fluff it up for him - as much as they acted like you were a present being given to him on a silver platter (something that only made you feel more isolated and empty).
There was a distinct point that made you come around to Draco Malfoy.
The night when you had found out that it wasn’t just a visit, that the idea of the marriage wasn’t just being ‘floated by’ your godmother, but in fact, it was set in stone and you were being left at Malfoy Manor while she silently escaped in the middle of the night with her bag full of gold without even saying goodbye to you. You had sat on the edge of the guest bed they had you in and simply sobbed. You had never felt more alone in your life, never more abandoned, and all you could do was cry your eyes out.
Draco’s room was across the hall from yours, so naturally, he heard this. It had been a purposeful move from his parents, putting the two of you in close quarters in the hopes that you would talk and interact more, wanting the two of you to at least like each other before getting married. After a few hours of being forced to listen to your chest-racking sobs, you heard a knock. You had been expecting it to be Draco, telling you to shut up so that he could sleep, but instead, a tiny voice asked permission to enter.
It was one of the house elves - one you later learned was called Pippy, and when you gave her permission to come in, she shuffled along with a large tray in her hands and placed it on the nightstand. A teapot and an empty teacup. She poured you the cup of tea, and after she handed it to you, she patted you on the knee and said:
“Mister Draco says peppermint tea is good for the bad days,”
You took the cup in two shaking hands, thanking her meekly, enjoying it as a small comfort. When you watched the tiny elf shuffling back toward your door, you caught a glimpse of a bright blue eye peeking in through the crack, clearly trying not to be caught looking in.
Even if he would never admit it then, he was growing soft toward you.
And he had spent the next three months, the entirety of the summer, fighting with that softness as it grew within himself. He constantly battled between pushing you away with feigned annoyance and coldness and wrapping you in warmth, a wordless care.
He would spend some of the nights in your bed cuddling you while you cried, staying completely silent as to dare not let any fond words slip out. He would defend you against his parents when you didn’t participate in their properly deemed etiquette (such as when you treated the house elves ‘too nicely’ or when you spoke about Muggle technology a bit too much). And yet, he never brought himself to say more than a few genuinely nice words to you.
He was holding you at arm’s length. He was trying to be some snide, petulant boy toward you in the hopes that you wouldn’t like him. But truly, he was the only real kindness, the only real friend you had in this lonely new world.
Draco stopped in his tracks at the sound of you calling out his name. As much as he would never admit it, he was a puppet to your call.
He heaved out a sigh and turned back around, so utterly drawn to you. He hated to see your eyes coated in glass - fear and sadness, the ache that you had disappointed him bubbling to the surface as he stared you down with a sour face, his hands still in his pockets, his entire body still stiff.
Even though a sad face didn’t suit you, you were still beautiful. So damn beautiful. He hated that he had been so stupid as to miss accompanying you to the party. But he likely would have just been a grey cloud hanging around you, preventing anyone from talking to you and socialising with you. He would have been a roadblock to your mission.
You were wearing a dress made of a fabric that looked like liquid silver melted down and poured over your body, so sparkling and flowy that you looked like a star that belonged in the night sky alongside the beauty of the moon. It wrapped around your body gracefully, with a tie to emphasise your waist and a low neckline that showed off your cleavage. He was only human - he couldn’t lie in how it appealed to him. Sitting in the middle of your cleavage was a necklace - it was an ornate ruby beetle, the sigil of your Pureblood family. You were the last remaining member of the Scaraflos house.
The necklace had been handed down to you from your mother - literally the only thing you had from your parents. You had worn it for years without ever truly knowing what it meant. You had told Draco that when Narcissa showed you pictures of his parents and your parents from their school days and pointed out how your mother was wearing the necklace in those pictures, it was the only time you had ever felt truly connected to your Pureblood heritage. And you had no clue if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
Anytime in years previous, Draco would have jumped to say that it was a good thing. Now, though - he wasn’t entirely sure.
You were shivering slightly due to the fact that it had such short sleeves, but you were wearing black stockings on your legs (something else that Draco found irritably sexy, even though it covered more of your skin) and you had on a pair of simple, but elegant silver heels.
Silently, unable to stand the sight of goosenips forming on your skin, he took off his blazer and took the few steps back toward you to wrap it around your shoulders. With his thinner build, it wouldn’t fit you well - but at least, it would shield you from some of the cold air in the castle. As he draped it around you, his eyes caught a glimpse of your hand as you reached up to hold the edge of the coat on your shoulder, clutching onto the fabric so that it wouldn’t fall.
Draco couldn’t help it when his eyes fixated terribly on it - that damn engagement ring.
It was something his parents had purchased without him ever knowing, and they had him present it to you as a form of ceremony. As if either of you had any choice in the matter. As if it was supposed to be romantic. As if you could have said no. Later on, behind closed doors, you told him that you would wear it proudly and he scoffed. He thought that the moment the two of you got to Hogwarts, when there were no more prying eyes on the two of you (because Snape certainly didn’t care) - that you would take it off and resign it to some jewellery box, or perhaps even throw it away.
But you kept wearing it.
When you thought Draco wasn’t looking, he sometimes found you twisting it between two fingers, looking down at it with an odd kind of fondness - or perhaps, even love. Always a deep, dizzying array of complex thoughts floating through your mind.
He had no clue that you wore it because you thought of Draco as your family now. He was the only person you had in the world who hadn’t done you some kind of injustice. And you wore it to show loyalty to him. You wore it because it meant that you weren’t alone. You were an abandoned orphan, sold and bartered like livestock - but as long as you wore that ring, you belonged to someone. Someone who, despite his best efforts to appear cold and uncaring, did take care of you.
“Draco, why did you come here?” You asked again, much gentler this time, lowering your attack for now.
You stared at him expectantly as you clutched his blazer around your shoulders, trying to steal the last bits of his warmth out of the fabric before it faded away completely.
He sighed, hating to admit that he needed help. He was stubbornly, bitterly independent, just as his parents had taught him to be. It was one of his biggest flaws.
“I’m having issues with the Vanishing Cabinet.” He told you quietly, hesitant to admit it. Hesitant to admit failure.
“Show me.” You told him, and he nodded.
He led you to the blank wall on the fifth floor that somehow caused a door to appear. The first time you had seen it, it had astounded you. Even in a world of magic, some things still managed to surprise you.
He had originally brought you there at the beginning of the school year when he had explained to you that he had been tasked to fix up The Vanishing Cabinet. He had called it The Room of Hidden Things. He had explained to you that any time someone wanted to get rid of a dangerous object, for that object to never be found again, they disposed of it within this room. Sometimes it was also a dumping ground for common junk, he had theorised, and he heavily believed that items that were hidden within other places within the walls of Hogwarts - a book tucked away in a random cupboard, a potion bottle hidden under someone’s mattress - somehow, those items ended up here if they were hidden with the same intention of disposal. They were all pulled here by the room’s strong magic.
You found it to be hauntingly beautiful, like many other places within Hogwarts were. You couldn’t help but to enjoy the sense of mystery as you walked through the isles of piled up furniture, seeing all the strange items that you could barely put names to - things like dragon skulls, murky old potions rotting away in dusty bottles. Even a few trolls that had been killed and stuff (taxidermy style) that had startled you upon your first visit to the room because when you had first looked at them, you thought they were alive and waiting to attack.
Draco brought you to the back of the large room, and you saw that he had already pulled the tarp off the overwhelming tall, ornate Vanishing Cabinet, so the dusty cloth was sitting in the pile at the cabinet’s feet. Without a word, Draco walked up to the cabinet, moving in stiff mechanical motions as he pulled open the doors. You took a few steps closer to get a better look, realising that he was trying to show you whatever was inside - that must be where the primary problem was located.
You couldn’t hold in the gasp that broke out of your throat when you saw a dead bird sitting in the bottom of the cabinet.
A bright yellow canary laying against the dark wood, belly up and completely still with its soft feathers rustled, a few of them missing. You had seen very few dead animals in your lifetime. Aside from the occasional New York City pigeon, laying on the sidewalk in a similar fashion after running itself into one of the hyper reflective windows of the tall buildings. You couldn’t even stand to look at those for too long. You still felt the same deep heartache while looking at it that you had for the poor pigeons.
“Oh - oh my.” You gaped quietly.
Draco was entirely surprised when you shouldered him out of the way, letting his ill-fitting borrowed jacket drop off your shoulders onto the dusty ground without care as you crouched down in front of him. You then scooped up the small bird in your hands, cradling it gently as though it were entirely precious.
He thought that seeing the state of things, you might start suggesting spells, telling him ways that he could fix the obvious problem. But no - you were soft-hearted. The true problem hadn’t even occurred to you yet, because you were so caught up on the sight of a dead bird. You were emotional, struck by the shock of an innocent animal having its life prematurely ended.
Draco envied you quietly for a moment as you sat on your knees in front of the cabinet, looming in his shadow as you held the bird in your hands. He realised that in order for you to be so startled over this, so heartbroken - it must be one of the first times you had been brushed with death. Draco envied that naivety.
He wished he could rewind to the version of himself from a few years ago. A version that thought not being able to join the Quidditch team because of an age restriction was the worst tragedy in the world. A version that thought he got everything he wanted because he was genuinely deserving of it. Someone who couldn’t see that he was simply a spoiled brat.
He wished he could go back to a version that hadn’t seen Muggleborns slain in his family’s dining room, begging for mercy where there would be none.
When he had first seen that bird sitting dead in the cabinet, a frighteningly still, dead body draped in yellow - for a moment, he had been reminded of Cedric Diggory. Someone so undeserving, lifeless before their time. Used up and gone.
But now, seeing the way you cradled it, fussing over something already dead and unable to benefit from your care - Draco was distinctly reminded of himself, withering and undeserving in your arms.
“Draco, do - do you think we should bury it?” You asked, the gentle croak of tears in your voice as you considered a pointless funeral for the small dead thing.
You suddenly rose up to your feet then, walking around Draco to look for something among the junk in the room, something to wrap the poor bird in - some kind of cloth, or perhaps a small box to place it in.
This caused something inside of him to snap. The way your sweet demeanour ground against his nerves - his worry, his anxiety about everything mounting suddenly as you fussed over a tiny thing that truly didn’t matter.
Eventually, your good intentions would get you killed. That gentle touch, that willingness to help - it would get you on the wrong end of a Killing Curse one day. (Especially if he didn’t protect you.)
“It’s not about the bloody bird, woman!” He growled out, entirely frustrated with your delicate ignorance, your lack of seeing the true point.
Draco turned to you, and grabbed your arm so viciously that your palms jerked apart and the small, lifeless body dropped onto the floor without a single bit of grace. The bird dropped against the cold stone so carelessly, as though it were an object that had not once had any life in it at all. You let out another gasp at this, and looked from the dull tuft of yellow feathers at your feet up to Draco’s face.
“Draco!” You cried out sharply, protesting against his careless nature toward the innocent creature.
His fingers were gripping your forearm fiercely, blooming small bits of pain - but you didn’t care. You felt a clench in your gut, distinct guilt overwhelming you. You told yourself that his anger was misplaced. You had to guess so. You didn’t have words, especially not while he stared you down so coldly. All you could do was stand tall, and stare right back, even while tears formed in your eyes.
He tightly clenched his jaw.
You were surprised when he spoke again.
“How can you be so daft?” He said, almost choking on the words.
That was when you knew for certain that all his bubbling anger was truly misplaced. He had called you brilliant before, and often made ‘jokes’ about how much you outsmarted him. It was one of the only things he had said about you that wasn’t sarcastic or backhanded in some effort to deter you. He didn’t think that you were stupid, not one bit.
“Look, you know if I don’t get this thing working-” Draco couldn’t even finish his sentence before his throat closed around the words, threatening harsh sobs that he was desperate to contain.
Instead, he turned abruptly, letting go of your arm - now completely uncaring of the misplaced conflict. You felt a wave crash into your chest as you realised it. He was right - how could you have been so stupid?
Of course, he had no care for a small animal.
It was about what that animal represented. His failure. Death looming over his head.
The bird had obviously died in the cabinet, which meant that a living thing had yet to survive the transition from Borgin & Burkes into Hogwarts. If Draco couldn’t fix that problem - if there was some sort of problem when the Death Eaters tried to use the cabinet to get into Hogwarts and one of them died, then Draco would be on the line for it.
They would kill him if he couldn’t get this right.
Draco moved slowly, putting a hand on each of the cabinet’s doors and closing them. The harsh squeak of the old hinges resonating through the otherwise silent room spoke volumes.
Then, for a few long, painstaking moments - neither of you said a thing.
Your chest ached. You wished that you could find something comforting to tell him. For some reason, you knew that simply telling him ‘it’s going to be okay’ wasn’t going to cut it. You muddled in the silence and you hated it.
He stood with his back still turned to you, with his arms outstretched, leaning on the tall, imposing wooden object. It felt like a shadow of death looming over the two of you. His shoulders held nothing but pure tension, even as he used the object for support. Soon, he took on a very unnatural, un-Malfoy slouch as he allowed his head to so tiredly droop down between his spread arms.
After a few moments of that terrible silence, with you staring at his back, tossing your mind for something helpful to say as you chewed at your own lip - Draco took in a shuddering breath. Though you knew he was trying to hide it: he began quietly sobbing.
You couldn’t help yourself then.
It was something you knew that he pretended to hate, but you did it anyway. He could pretend to be annoyed with you if he wanted, but you both likely needed it right now. You stepped forward, over the dead bird, your shoes quietly clacking against the stone - and you settled yourself right up against his back, tucking your body tightly against him in a hug. You nuzzled your face into the tense muscles of his shoulders, and as you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind and squeezed him tightly, you felt some of the tension melt away as he unconsciously relaxed into your touch.
You did worry about how much thinner he felt in your arms than the last time you had done this - obviously, he hadn’t been eating properly. But you didn’t bother to bring it up, not wanting to start another argument.
Draco felt a grateful warmth spread over him. Still, he refused to touch you back. He couldn’t. At least not yet.
He kept his hands on the wood of the cabinet, almost like a bold surrender, silently remarking that he would give into your touch, to your softness, but he wouldn’t return it. He couldn’t. He let out another shuddering sob - a sound he couldn’t contain now with the feeling of your warmth at his back. It was something he hated himself for.
You hushed him gently. And then, miraculously, you found words.
“We could leave.” You said quietly, turning your head so that your cheek sat parallel with his flesh, muttering the words against the fine silk of his button up shirt. “We could just… run away together. We don’t have to stay here, Draco. We could get to a fireplace and Floo out of here, or-”
“We can’t.” Draco easily cut you off, stamping out the idea, his voice just as quiet, throttled by tears. “You know that we can’t.”
You wanted to argue the point more. Obviously, he didn’t hate the idea. He just thought it was illogical. Likely, he thought it was too dangerous. But what was the alternative - possibly being killed anyway? Being tortured and then killed if he failed his mission?
“If we leave, they’ll kill my parents because I couldn’t complete my mission.” Draco sniffled quietly. “At the very least, they’ll haul me in and have my head for being a traitor.”
Draco straightened his stance then, taking his arms off the cabinet. You thought that he might remove your arms from his waist, finally rejecting your touch. But instead, he began tracing fingers from his right hand along the forearm of his left sleeve, almost scratching at it like it was a terrible itch.
You had been there on the night when he had gotten the Mark.
You had been brought into the room and forced to listen to his screams of pain before you even truly knew what was happening. When you had tried to comfort him about it, he had pushed you off so roughly that you had almost smacked your head into one of the walls - but you couldn’t bring yourself to be angry with him. You that he was taking that fear and pain out on you in that terribly misplaced way.
Later that night, when he had been crying - sobbing harshly and running the freshly scorched skin under cool water - he let you run him a bath with soothing soaps. The two of you discussed Shakespeare’s plays (which you were surprised that he had read) while you washed his hair for him.
“Now that I have the Mark, I can’t run anywhere.” Draco muttered quietly. “I can’t go anywhere that I won’t be found.”
That part had never truly occurred to you before.
You knew that the Dark Lord used the Dark Mark as a way for his followers to show their loyalty. The magic behind it also made it a way for him to summon them or even for them to summon him. Hearing his words, you guessed that Draco having it meant that he could be ‘summoned’ at any time as a part of the loyalty he had so unwillingly pledged.
Even if he betrayed the Dark Lord morally, mentally, emotionally, and tried to do so physically by running away, as long as his arm was attached, he would still be in service to that horrible man until he and his followers decided otherwise. Especially because you couldn’t imagine Draco wanting to part with his arm anytime soon.
“We’ll figure something out.” You told him, having little faith in those words yourself. You knew it was a truth that you had to speak into existence - otherwise, you were doomed.
You laid a gentle kiss on his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt, spreading more warmth through him. He clenched his fists at his sides, highly resisting the urge to reach for your hands, but silently hoping that you wouldn’t pull away.
Draco resented your sense of hope. A lot of the time, he couldn’t help but to think that it was stupid - just your naivety poking through in a different way. Though, truthfully, in a lot of ways, he knew that your hope was the bravest thing about you. And these days, that hope was the only thing keeping him afloat in the chaotic sea that his life had become.
Draco, unlike you, was a coward.
He could come up with all the excuses he wanted not to run away, but truthfully - he was terrified. And every single day, his fear put you more and more at risk.
…
Draco thought back to a night at Malfoy Manor, when you had been having dinner with him and his parents. A night when, for the first time in his life, that streak of cowardice had somehow been broken.
“Can you believe it? It’s completely ridiculous. A proposal to convert the entire Ministry from intern-departmental memos to this - this telephone nonsense!”
Lucius ranted on as he cut into his food, taking out his aggression on the piece of meat in front of him as he recounted something that had happened a few months previous that still brought him particular frustration whenever he remembered it.
“That Arthur Weasley is a stupid old bat, downright mindless, but even I can’t imagine where he gets theses ideas from-”
“Telephones can actually be quite useful.” You piped up, interrupting his father’s ranting with a quiet, but polite comment.
Without a word, all three others at the table stared at you as you continued to mindlessly poke at your dinner. Lucius glared daggers at you, his expression full of bitter venom, while Draco and Narcissa gave you the same distinct expression of shock - deer in headlights, mirrored over both their faces. Over the years, they had learned to simply be quiet and ‘listen’ to the rantings of their patriarch, especially if it was about the goings on at the Ministry, Arthur Weasley, or any number of other subjects that he knew he was right about.
While at his own dinner table, Lucius Malfoy was not to be interrupted - much less corrected.
You had just broken the golden rule twice over. You had interrupted him in the middle of speaking, and you had contradicted what he was saying.
Draco’s gut clenched as he realised that he should have warned you beforehand to avoid such a faux pas. He should have told you that the dinner table was a place for quietly eating and answering direct questions in as few words as possible - not an open forum.
Before he could apologise on your behalf, you opened your mouth again - doubling down on this accidental, horrible mistake.
“Do you just find it confusing because you don’t know how they work?” You posed, reaching out to grab your glass for a sip of water, looking right at Lucius as you posed the question. “I know that a lot of Wizards who were born in the magical world can find Muggle technology strange and confusing, but-”
Before you could finish speaking, Lucius reached off to the side and grabbed his cane, and brought down onto the centre of the table with an intense silent fury. He smashed your hand down into the glass that you had been holding, shattering it to pieces underneath your palm. Draco and Narcissa flinched at the sound and Narcissa backed her chair away slightly - but neither of them dared to speak, neither of them moved to confront him. In fact, Narcissa was very intentionally looking away, her eyes now glued to the floor.
Draco could see blood pooling against the emerald green table runner, could see your flesh quivering in pain underneath the silver snake’s maw - but you stayed completely still, your eyes coldly locked on Lucius’ glare as he hovered out of his seat. Even with tears of pain dotting your eyes, your throat trembling as you held back cries - you kept a stiff jaw and refused to back down from the confrontation.
It was braver than Draco had ever been, and he silently admired you for it.
“If you think that stupid, filthy Muggles are so brilliant, then you can die like one.” Lucius ground out slowly, pure rage on his breath. “While you are living in my house, you will learn your place. You filthy, blood-traitorous slut.”
Draco held his breath. He knew that if you backed down, if you shied away and admitted your wrong doing with silence or even an apology, then his father would let you go easily and then this would all be over.
But of course - you weren’t going to back down easily. Not you.
“And what place is that?” You remarked, pure snark in your tone.
Draco’s throat clenched up. His father wouldn’t like that.
Lucius lifted the snake’s bite off your hand, only for a second, and then - after placing down the cane, he sharply backhanded you. Draco knew that he wore thick, heavy rings on his hand and he worried for you - especially when you swayed on your seat for a moment before falling to the floor. The heft of the hit was enough to dizzy you, make you unstable and send you to the ground.
“Your place is to be silent until I call upon you.” Lucius announced, seeming very satisfied with himself.
Narcissa refused to look in your direction, and Lucius moved to sit back in his chair. For once, going against everything he had been taught since childhood, Draco rushed to get out of his. He knew that it would have been expected for him to ignore you. For you to be isolated in your pain. But he couldn’t help himself.
Draco rushed to your side, collapsing onto his hands and knees before you - instinctively, he sheltered you in his arms, trying to get you upright again.
“Y/N?” He croaked out quietly, only now realising how close he was to tears.
“I’m fine, Draco.” You quickly lied. “I’m fine.”
“Draco.”
Lucius’ tone was entirely dead, almost calm, and somehow menacing in the same breath. Draco looked over your head, your slouched, defeated posture making you too small in his arms as he held you against his chest, and he caught his father’s eye as the man glared at him with pure violence dancing in his cold eyes. Any other time, Draco would have folded to that silent threat so easily. But with you there - with the feeling of you quivering against him, clearly holding in sobs - it truly injected boldness into him in those moments.
You were such a fragile thing. For once in his life - something he needed to protect. Something only he could protect.
“Draco, sit down.” His father ordered, clearly annoyed when Draco took too long to move away from you. “You haven’t been dismissed from my table yet.”
Draco laid a gentle kiss on your forehead, and somehow, entirely against his own will, untangled you from his arms. When he stood, everyone in the room thought for certain that it was to comply with this order. But instead, he moved toward his father’s chair with sharp footsteps, putting on his best faux confidence and standing tall as he spat out his next words.
“I swear to Merlin, if you ever put a hand on my fiance again, I will end you.”
Naturally, Lucius didn’t find this threat to be the slightest bit intimidating.
His father let out a dark chuckle, clearly amused by seeing Draco posture as a man when he knew that his son was nothing more than a spoiled, cowardly child.
“Let’s not forget who bought you the little whore.” Lucius laughed. “There’s no need to get sentimental, Draco. You should be paying attention. Learn how to train up your wife now, before she becomes a disobedient brat. You should never let anyone talk to your father like that, remember, loyalty comes-”
Draco took out his wand then, much to his father’s surprise. With it poised in Lucius’ direction, he received a sharp glare.
“I understand loyalty perfectly well. Father.” Draco said, his voice short.
“Incarcerous.” Lucius hissed sharply - then, as if out of nowhere, a thin black rope appeared and whipped around the middle of Draco’s neck. In an instant, it began tightening, choking him.
Immediately, Draco dropped his wand and fell backwards, landing beside where you were still kneeling on the floor - you panicked as you watched him choking and gasping for breath.
“Lucius!” Narcissa cried out, begging for the end of the conflict.
The man ignored her.
“You will learn to respect me in my own house, so help me, if I have to-”
“Finite.” You held your good hand above Draco’s gasping face and muttered the counter curse, releasing him from the rope, performing an impressive feat of wandless magic to get him free.
Lucius glared at you once again, locking you and Draco in a harsh stare as you helped him sit up while he struggled to catch his breath.
Before any further words could be said, Lucius pushed out his chair and stomped out of the room like a child having a tantrum, obviously upset that his intimidation and abuse had not gotten him the result he wanted. Narcissa said nothing, only giving you the saddest eyes as you helped Draco off the floor. The two of you left to go clean the glass out of your palm, spending the rest of the night locked in Draco’s room, licking your wounds in the relative comfort of each other’s silence.
…
That had been the first time Draco had ever properly stood up to his father.
Draco still wondered if that was a good thing or not.
Before he could venture any further into that very dangerous can of worms, you pulled Draco back to the present when you stepped back from the hug. Draco resisted the urge to pull you back, to steal more of your warmth.
You noticed something out of the corner of your eye that caught your attention.
A mattress laid out on the floor.
It could have just been one of those random pieces of stray ‘junk’ furniture, but something about it caught your attention. For one, the fact that it hadn’t been in that position the last time you had been in this room. And two - there were a few random, stray blankets placed on top of it in what was very clearly an improvised sleeping area. As though someone had gone through the random objects in the room in order to compose a makeshift bed.
With Draco’s bookbag sitting beside the mattress, open - you quickly clued into the truth. It was absolutely no trouble to figure out why you hadn’t seen much of him over the past week. He had been sleeping here.
It was a revelation that shocked you.
Especially considering that this looked quite shabby in comparison to the comfort of the Slytherin dorms. And you knew that at home, he was used to being spoiled with a thick, three foot tall mattress on a four poster bed and goose feather down pillows. So - why would he choose to camp out here? Why would he want to be closer to The Vanishing Cabinet - something that was actively giving him stress?
“You’ve been sleeping here.” You said, disappointment ripe in your voice as you walked over to the mattress as toed at one of the blankets with your shoe. “Why?”
“Why does it matter?” Draco huffed, picking up his jacket that you had dropped onto the floor and tossing it into the middle of the mattress. “Can you help me with The Cabinet or not?”
“I can help.” You answered simply. “But I want to talk about this first.” You said, motioning toward the area where he had slept.
Draco let out a sharp breath and turned around, rubbing his hands across his face in sharp frustration.
For a moment, you thought that he was simply going to leave again, forcing you to chase him, trying to outrun the conversation. It had been a favourite tactic of his when the two of you had been living at his parents’ sprawling estate, a place that he knew much better than you did. The second that things got a bit too personal, he would slip into some random hallway or sneak off around a private corner, and it was like he had Disapparated - with how quickly he had moved, disappearing into the bowels of the house so that he could escape talking to you.
You wouldn’t let him escape this time.
You stepped up to him and put your hands on either side of his face, and he closed his eyes at the gentle touch.
“Draco, please don’t hide from me.” You told him quietly. “You don’t have to be alone in all this. I know… I know I’m just some stupid girl that your parents bought for you, but I want to be a good wife for you. I want to be the person that you can come to with your problems.”
Draco didn’t think of you as just some ‘stupid girl’.
He didn’t think of you as a gift, as a purchased object that he could throw away like he had with every other toy that he had carelessly broken in his life.
Honestly - you were the first real friend he ever had. You were the first person who was truly honest with him, calling him out on his bullshit, barring any consequences of his reputation or anything that his parents might do to you. You didn’t flock to him for popularity or status. You were forced to be near him, but you didn’t always act polite toward him by force. When your sweetness came to him, it was in waves. And it came along with sour notes and rudeness and harsh honesty that he needed.
That kind of honesty was something that he had never experienced from anyone else in his life.
And all of it was so incredibly genuine.
You were someone who should have hated him, but you always smiled at him; someone who said his name with nothing but pleasantness in your tone, where others said it with venom or coldness. You were one of the first people he felt like he could open up to, and that was dangerous.
Of course he was hiding from you. He needed to hide from you.
He was a coward. And lately, the thing he feared most, even above losing his own life - was losing you. You were probably the only good thing he had ever possessed that was actually irreplaceable. If he lost you, he knew that he would never recover. He would actually willingly fling himself off the Astronomy Tower if he was somehow responsible for getting you hurt.
That was what kept him at a distance. Hoping that he could actually grow cold toward you. Hoping that he could learn to genuinely hate you if he escaped from your sweetness.
He also hoped that you would grow to hate him so that you could simply detach and go off on your own. You didn’t have The Mark, you could still run. At least before making your marriage vows, you could. But no - you were too good. You were too kind hearted to truly abandon him.
And every time Draco saw you, he only became more nauseated with the realisation that he was becoming more and more fond of you. He would always look for your face in the crowd at the Great Hall, he would always wait for that smile to come across your lips when you locked eyes with him.
And he couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t handle you. He couldn’t handle being the one responsible for the destruction of your life.
So he spent more nights, longer nights in the Room of Requirement, slaving over The Vanishing Cabinet, writing down increasingly stupid plans for how he could kill Dumbledore without actually waltzing up and just murdering the man. He had to complete his mission if he was going to keep you safe.
“Draco, please-”
He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t listen to the sweet sadness in your voice curl around his name like a canary’s song, another sweet little bird ready to die by his hands. He couldn’t stand you talking to him like you actually cherished him - like he was actually something worth having.
He reached up and gently cupped the side of your face, tucking his arm inside of yours to do so where you still held onto his cheek, the two of you becoming so entangled, just as he had feared.
Then - he pulled you into a kiss.
It was an addition to only about a half dozen kisses that the two of you had shared before this. And in an instant, this was the most desperate - emotions that he desperately wanted dampened off and hidden wringing through his lips and into yours. Entirely against his will, another hot tear escaped, and he let out a small gasp when you were quick to thumb it away.
You wanted to cheer at the feeling of his lips against yours. You knew that before this, he was actively pulling away from you, putting himself in isolation, marching in his suffering alone because he thought that he had to. Or simply because he was used to it, from what you had seen of his home life.
You knew what a horrible curse loneliness was, and you never wanted him to suffer through it. Especially not on top of everything else he was already going through. If he had to suffer through everything that his parents had put onto him, then at the very least, he didn’t have to suffer alone.
Having his lips pressed so tightly to yours - it felt like progress. Feeling the whimper that echoed out from his throat as he held your face so delicately, like you were a perfect, soft doll - like you were something so precious - it felt like you had broken down a wall that he had been trying so hard for so many months to keep up as a barrier against you.
This felt like saving him.
It felt like doing what little you could within your limited power to create light in the darkness he was trudging through. Or at the very least, it felt like you could assure him that he wasn’t stuck in that darkness alone.
After a few moments, Draco pulled away from the kiss. When he reached up to pull one of your hands away from his face, you worried that he might just shove you away and walk away altogether, finally coming to his senses against the affection. You worried that he would suddenly become cold toward you as he had done many other times, in an effort to turn you off.
Instead - he surprised you. He did one of the most endearing, heart-melting things that he possibly could have done.
He clasped your wrist gently between his cool fingers, thumbing along your pulse in a way that made you hold back a moan, and then he raised the heel of your palm up to his lips. With his eyes gently closed, refusing to look at you, he kissed along the fading scars that had been left there when his father had smashed your hand into a wine glass over dinner.
The marks were something you didn’t pay much mind to these days, especially not with the ornament of your engagement ring as a much more pleasant distraction on that hand. But feeling Draco’s pillowy, light kisses grazing across your skin in the best, deepest apology he ever could have offered you - it made your stomach clench with overwhelming emotion as tears formed in your eyes.
“Draco-” You choked on his name this time, and he moved your hand to sit on his shoulder as he turned his attention toward your face.
Glassy, tear-kissed eyes faced your own, and you knew that there were no words for it.
The universe had brought the two of you together in the strangest way and drowned the two of you in the most unpleasant circumstances. But you couldn’t help thinking that this is exactly where you were meant to be.
“Hush now, darling.” He told you, his voice whisper-quiet, not daring to get much louder lest he risk breaking those tears in his throat.
Darling. It was the first time he had ever called you that. He had thrown out the occasional snide ‘honey’ or ‘wifey’ in front of his parents or even behind closed doors, very rudely playing on the fact that he was supposed to treat you like a girlfriend, like his beloved. He thought it was amusing to taunt you with the sarcasm that he never actually would hold any true affection for you.
This was the first pet name he had given you out of genuine affection.
He pulled you back in for another kiss, and the moment his lips touched yours, Draco could feel himself losing it. The softness of your pillowy mouth against his, the way your fingers curled into his shirt, holding onto him like you truly needed him as an anchor. The little moan you let out - making him desperate to chase more of those sounds from you.
All of it was slowly driving him insane, leading him further astray from his goal of detaching from you.
He should have tossed you out into the hallway. He should have yelled at you, called you horrible names. He should have pulled out every single rude, bratty thing in his repertoire to make you absolutely hate him. Instead - he found himself getting lost in you more by the second. He found himself letting your softness roll over him in waves, turning him weak.
Draco held the back of your head with one hand, pinning you into the kiss, holding you against his mouth like a dehydrated man would so desperately hold onto a decanter of water. You let out another sweet moan, louder this time, and he didn’t hesitate to shove his tongue past your lips, dizzy and needing to drink right from the source, wanting to devour you whole. He needed to see if he could taste the light that radiated out of you. He needed to see if he could find that fatal thing inside of you that made you have a fondness toward him.
This was nothing like snogging random Slytherin girls out of boredom.
In that moment, Draco felt important. He felt needed. He felt like he served some grander purpose of good in the universe because you held onto him tighter, because you pulled him closer, because you kissed him back with ferocity and sucked on his tongue. Because you wanted him. He felt that if your attention shifted from him for even a moment, he would wither away and cease to exist because he only mattered under the warmth of your gaze.
Draco felt like he was tempting fate when he moved his hands down your shoulders, down your back, daring to touch more of you - daring to ask for more. That he was playing with fire, letting his well-ingrained greed get the better of him once again. But he couldn’t help himself.
He cradled his flat-handed touch across you with the intention to feel you in a way that he never had before. Yes, he had held you before - hugged you, pulled you close to him when he was stuck for words and wanting to comfort you, especially seeing as comforting words had never been a skill taught to him. But other than a few grazing touches against your hands or your cheeks, he had never dared to invite himself to the rest of your body.
Before this, he had never touched you with lust on his mind.
He had never truly thought of you as his property, something he could possess and own and take. He thought for certain, at any moment, you would push him away for being so brazen - and he would simply have to add this rejection to his pile of heartbreaks and move on.
Instead, he felt something inside of him ease with relief when you sighed with delight - one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard. And then, in a moment so perfect, you leaned into his touches. You kept one hand tightly gripping the fabric of his shirt and the other reached up and wound into his neatly slicked hair, instantly messing up the tresses and making them wild at the back.
But he couldn’t care, not for a moment - especially not when you let out another sweet moan into his mouth and leaned your whole body into him, pressing against him so that he felt every inch of your gorgeous curves through the thin fabric of your dress.
Draco had felt you pressed this close against his body before, but it had never been like this.
Before it had been like a delicate bird being held in a cage - like some sweet, innocent thing he was trying to protect.
But now, it was like a man truly feeling a woman. It was a potential husband truly seeing his future wife for the first time, and his body responded in the only way he could. He let out a shuddering moan and he felt his cock hardening up. Of course, he didn’t want you to feel it. He didn’t want this to happen. He shouldn’t let this happen.
He was supposed to be distancing himself from you, not letting you dizzy him like he was some stupid lovesick fool. He was supposed to be severing these ties, not burrowing himself further inside of you. (And just that thought sparked a certain imagery in his mind that made his cock twitch and swell to full mast. Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant. He was a fool.)
Draco pulled back from the kiss and you let out a disappointed sound - like the creek of an old door, tired and waning.
Draco forced his hands back to his sides, despite how fantastic the warmth of your flesh felt under his touch.
When he tried to step back from you, you refused to let him go. The grip you had in his hair caused a small twinge of pain across his scalp, and he was forced to open his eyes. The look on your face - kiss bruised lips, eyes still closed, a quiver across your chin, filled to the brim with disappointment, likely knowing what was going through his mind - it made him weak. It gave him pause.
He was too damn weak.
“Y/N-” He said your name in a whisper - about to tell you that the two of you shouldn’t be doing this, but you cut him off.
“Draco, please.” You whimpered quietly. “Please, don’t push me away right now.”
He reached up and gently gripped your forearm. He should have used the touch to untangle you from him, but he found that he didn’t have the strength to. Whether it was a mental strength or a physical one, he wasn’t even sure.
“I need this.” You whispered, your voice hoarse and strained, and for the first time that he had ever heard - desperate. “I think you do too. Please.”
He was a horrible, selfish man - but he told himself that a good husband would never deny you of your needs.
Draco swept you into another kiss, wrapping one of his arms around your back, firm and protective as he always had been, determined to serve your needs with more ferocity than ever. While you moaned into his mouth, he guided you backwards until your ankles hit the edge of that mattress. The one he had been sleeping on to flee from this big, horrible thing that had been building between the two of you that had now crashed down upon his head with inevitability.
Even dizzy from the feeling of his lips on yours, you instantly understood the wordless signal. He laid you down on it as gently as he could, taking the gravity in slow pauses rather than simply letting you fall backwards, and as he fixed some of the blankets under your head like a makeshift pillow, you felt like a queen, being treated with the highest affection and handled with the most gentle hands that her beloved could muster.
Part of you yearned for a rougher touch, to see Draco let loose on you - but you knew that this was what he needed. He needed to treasure something. He needed to know that he could have something good that wouldn’t end up dead or broken because of him.
Draco paused above you for a moment, holding himself there with a hand beside your head - he felt a pure, stabbing pain in his gut when he looked down at you and all he could see reflected back up at him was pure, shining, sickening love. Your eyes practically glowed with it in the dimly lit room. He didn’t want to admit it then, but he knew he was so utterly fucked.
He felt a curse curling up inside him - the urge to mirror that back to you but the inability to proclaim it. Feeling like he was some filthy dead thing that would never truly mean anything to you while wanting so badly to be the solid earth beneath your feet that you needed to function, he wanted to be your everything. His voice became strangled in his throat and instead of making that impossible proclamation, his body moved frantically as he began kissing down your neck.
It was a worship - it was a proclamation in silence. It was all he could muster, but he hoped that it would please you nonetheless.
Please.
He whispered wordlessly against your skin, tonguing along the planes of your neck as you moaned for him so beautifully.
Please, notice me. Find me worthy.
After lavishing gentle attention across your neck and your clavicle, coating you in salvia that cooled across your skin and made you shiver, he reached your bust line and easily buried himself there. He nestled along the skin so tenderly that you found your heart wanting to burst out of your chest to reach his lips, your hands coming up to cradle the back of his head in what you hoped was an equally tender gesture while he laid the sweetest, simple open-mouthed kisses in your cleavage.
This was a Draco that you had never seen before. This was not the surly-mouthed, harsh, bitter man you had come to know. And if you had fallen for glimpses of his sweetness before, then you were quickly being catapulted off the edge into full on adoration. Into something deeper and much more dangerous.
“Draco, please.” You moaned out, pushing your chest further into his touch, somehow already breathless and beating hard between your thighs for him.
Of course, he thought. More.
She deserves more.
Draco moved the hand that was supporting himself to push into the mattress beside your waist, holding his weight there now. And then, he used his other hand to reach into the front of your dress. He felt lucky when you sighed with delight rather than revoking his permission to touch you, even though his fingers were cold and icy upon your breast as he moved the fabric of your dress and the cup of your bra off to the side.
This left the deep V of the wrap sitting at your ribs, presenting one of your breasts to the open air, an absolutely beautiful sight as your nipple pebbled up with the coolness of the room. He didn’t leave the flesh cold for long before he cupped your breast with tender fingers and fed your nipple into his hot mouth, eagerly sucking - as though he could communicate better every tangled bit of emotion he felt for you with the intricate swirls of his tongue.
“Draco!”
You moaned and arched up into his mouth, encouraging him further to explore the beauty of your breast with his tongue.
You surprised him slightly when you moved underneath him, parting your legs and moving to bracket your knees around his narrow hips. He couldn’t help but to moan against your breast when he felt the overwhelming heat of your core settle against his cock. Even through his trousers, with your dress pooling up around your waist, it was like feeling the morning sun kissing your face after opening the curtains. It was a wave of warmth that threatened to overtake him.
Draco couldn’t hold back the instinctive movement, and he ground his hips downward, seeking more of that addictive heat, needing more of it on his hard, aching cock. He felt as though he had found liquid euphoria when you let out a crackling moan in response, the sound shaking everything inside of him that made him actually feel good for once.
The feeling was enhanced when you threaded your fingers into his hair harder, your fingernails scraping across his scalp as your body echoed a natural response to him - you clamped your thighs down on his hips, trapping him there, and you began to grind yourself into the hardness of his cock, clearly needed more for yourself.
He knew that he shouldn’t be allowed to have this - he shouldn’t be allowed to taint something as perfect as you. But he let himself continue to selfishly take, and take, and take more. He was a greedy brat, as he always had been, and he couldn’t bear to change his ways now.
“Oh fuck, Draco.” You moaned out so sweetly.
Draco pulled back, and began kissing along the side of your breast.
“Shh, darling. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He said quietly, swallowing sharply, desperately trying to chug in more air.
He had no clue when he had become so light-headed, but if you were the thing making him so dizzy, so distant from reality - then you were his fondest drug, and he was never going to let you go again.
Draco descended then - he had the utmost urge to please you, to hear more of his name on your lips.
A near feral groan escaped him when he finally caught a glimpse between your thighs.
With that silver skirt pooled around your waist, he could see properly now - those black stockings that he already thought were too sinful now took on a whole new meaning in his realm of fantasies. You weren’t wearing any panties beneath the semi-transparent garment - the thick seam of the stockings was stuck to your wet cunt, dipping into your pussy right where he wanted to be; your wetness leaking right through the nylon and causing it to stick to your cunt, making it shiny and utterly perfect in the dimly lit space.
Draco groaned from deep in his chest, his voice edging on whiny, even to his own ears. But he couldn’t bring himself to care about how pathetic he must have sounded. You were just too perfect. He was drawn in by the siren call of your perfect cunt, one hand with a thumb drawing circles on your hips and the other gently skimming fingers up the back of your clothed thigh as he scooted himself further down the mattress.
He couldn’t resist the urge, when he leaned down, he latched his mouth onto your cunt through the wet, shiny fabric, unable to resist the pure need to taste your essence without taking off the stockings first.
“Draco! Oh-!”
You let out a needy moan, which only spurred Draco to suck harder, even tonguing sharply against your clit through the fabric. It created a sharp itch, a raging need - it was not enough contact, tedious and harsh and something that made a vicious, rolling ache inside of your cunt. You needed more.
“Please, more!”
Again - he would have been cruel to deny you. And though, up until this point, he had been a reluctant and unwilling paramour, he was nothing but a slave to you and your desires in those moments.
Acting purely upon instinct, he raised his head slightly to give himself room to work and then brought fingers to the nylon fabric, trying to tear it apart. His head was filled with nothing but animal need now, bloated and high on the affection that he had been denying himself for months he had been unwillingly engaged to you. Months of denying that you were exactly what he needed, his other half - the other half of a lonely broken person clinging on that he had been so desperately trying to shake off.
Draco let out a growl of frustration - his nails were blunt and dull and he slipped hopelessly against the wet fabric. Before it could truly be formed as a thought inside his mind, he leaned down and pressed his teeth into the stockings against your mound, right above your clit in a way that made you whimper from the contact. Then - he bit harshly into the fabric, tearing a small hole into it that he could then rip wider with his frantic hands.
It made you gasp, being exposed to the cold air within seconds - feeling your hot, pulsing cunt quake as the cool air licked at every single bit of your wetness. It was a shocking turn-on, feeling the seam of your tights being so easily demolished, leaving you as nothing but a wanton, exposed gash from the bit of your pubic hair sticking out to the way the new edge of the fabric rubbed against your arsehole.
Now, instead of being a gentle thing he had to protect or some stranger that he was trying to distance himself from - you were nothing but a hole for him to fuck. And you absolutely loved it.
“Draco, please-” You gasped out again, feeling his fingers tickling against your thigh, feeling his breath still huffing out in harsh pants over your now bare pussy, waiting for him to do something more.
You were struck by lighting when he latched onto your cunt, moaning just as loudly as you did when he was finally able to taste you, able to feel you completely unfiltered for the first time.
You arched up wildly and your thighs quaked against his cheeks - he made little effort to hold you down, too busy selfishly enjoying your pussy now. He took in a deep breath against you, inhaling a greedy whiff of your scent so close to his nose while he gulped down a filthy slurp of your warm, wet pussy, moaning loudly from the back of his throat the whole time. You were so hot under his tongue - you were a heartbeat, a new breath, something so alive that he certainly shouldn’t have been allowed to drink from.
But you were now his to freely feast upon, as if he wasn’t already spoiled enough by the world, tainted by the mangled silver spoon he had been gnawing on since his birth.
“Draco, fuck! So good!”
You wailed out, letting out sounds that Draco had never before heard, sounds he never thought you were capable of. Back at The Manor, even when you cried, you clearly tried to be conservative, stay quiet, not to be a bother. It was only now that Draco realised he had never truly witnessed you losing control of yourself. Even when you had faced down his father’s fury, you somehow stood tall and composed, an impeccable monument to emotional control.
It was only now that he realised how truly badly he wanted to see you lose that control.
He never thought of you as property, of course - but if you were so stubbornly intent on owning his heart, his emotions, his vulnerability - then he would get to own yours as well. He would get to own your weakness. He would get to own the single moments in life when you truly lost your composure.
Draco set about devouring your cunt, keeping this mission in mind. He wrapped one arm around you from underneath your ass, holding you tightly to his face while he used the other hand to prop himself up slightly, pushing closer, easily getting lost in the beautiful heat of your pussy. He moaned against you as he drank you in, lavishing his tongue up and down your folds, intently focusing on the perfect little bead of your clit while it bounced and thrummed over his tongue.
Your body sang for more of his attention, shaking like a signal for him as you were wracked with more uncontrollable moans. He heard more distant groans in his muffled ears and hardly attributed them to himself, getting too lost in you, enjoying your taste too much. He was far too intent on burying himself in the first warmth he had felt in years, now determined to shut out the cold and make a new home for himself between these perfect thighs. Especially if it meant making you moan like this more, hearing more of his cursed name on your precious lips.
“Draco, Draco, oh, fuck! Draco, please!”
At this point, you weren’t even entirely sure what you were begging for - for him to bring you to orgasm, for him to stop because it was so overwhelming, or for something else entirely. His name just felt so right on your lips. Somehow, he seemed to understand better, seemed to know something that even you didn’t.
He rumbled out a hum of acknowledgement against your cunt, and then, snuck his free hand up between your thighs. He teased two fingers against your fluttering entrance, slippery and off-target for a moment with his shaking hand - making you moan out brokenly as you felt the touches not quite where you needed them most.
“I’ve - I’ve got you, love,”
He said, pulling away for a moment to gulp down breaths - feeling spiteful of the air, spiteful of the minimal space between the two of you; spiteful of the fact that he felt like he was drowning and somehow forcing himself further into you wasn’t the solution.
“I’ve got you.”
You curled your fingers into his hair again and tugged him close, pulling him back to your pussy, and he decided that he would never breathe again if that’s what you so desired. He swept a flat tongue across your pussy, eagerly gulping down more of your wetness while he gently pushed those two slender fingers forward, finally inside of you for the first time.
Your heat was even more evident now, even more apt to drive him insane. Your pussy surrounding him turned his cold flesh warm within seconds, causing him to drive forward without even thinking, eagerly chasing more of that warmth against his touch. Part of his mind was thankful when you let out a beautiful moan in response and wiggled your hips closer to him, rather than feeling pain at the harsh, sudden, jabbing intrusion, and the other part of him selfishly didn’t care.
You had offered this up to him, you had begged him not to turn away - and now, you would have to face the consequences of inviting a cold, dead beast into your den to feast. He was lonely, he hungered - he would consume everything good inside of you and leave you with nothing. And it would be your own damn fault.
Draco moaned against your cunt again, feeling that hunger now more evidently than ever, and you squeaked and choked on the air as he began fingering you harshly. He was desperate to feel more warmth, to explore more of that velvet softness inside of you that he so badly wanted wrapped around his cock (nearly forgotten, throbbing, leaking into his pants and making a mess). But he somehow couldn’t think too much about his forgotten cock when your next words overtook his mind.
“Close-” You breathed out, and then sucked in more air. “So close - gonna cum!”
You were going to cum.
You were going to become unravelled on his tongue.
Draco moaned against you fervently, now wildly eager for this to happen. He suckled against your clit and harshly rubbed his tongue over that tortured little bead even more furiously. He continued to fuck you with his fingers while your thighs clamped around his head, further shutting out the world, allowing him to have a few precious moments where all those deadly responsibilities simply didn’t exist. In those moments - it was just you and him. It was just his own carnal greed, a man fucking his wife. Just the small precious world he had balanced on his bitter tongue.
“Draco!” You choked out his name as your orgasm overtook your body.
You arched up again, your body practically whipping to his whims, being played like an instrument that only he knew the songs to. With your fingers entwined harshly in his hair, holding him to a place he would never want to part from while he mauled your pussy - it was perfect.
He moaned against you and nearly choked on the juices that he eagerly drank down, pumping his fingers into you with sharp jabbing motions, any effort toward technique completely gone. His mind was nothing but a pathetic soup of desperation, an animal clawing toward your warmth, determined to suck the life out of you and have it for his own.
Your cries of pleasure turned into sobs as you were crested over the hill into overstimulation, and when Draco pulled away for a breath, you thought perhaps he might finally let up. That he might pull his fingers out of you and the two of you would simply take a quiet moment to breathe.
But while your thighs continued to shake and you sucked in harsh breaths, his shoulders became tight with something utterly vicious, and he continued to stare down your pussy with rapt attention, some beast inside of him screaming out for more. More of the life you could give him, more warmth, more of everything he would ever demand from you that you had been so foolish in offering up. More of everything that you would never supply enough of to meet the bounds of his already dead soul.
“Draco-” You gasped. “Too much, too-”
“Please,”
Draco begged in return for the first time that night, peering up the length of your body to look into your eyes with the most utterly pathetic glassy eyes you had ever seen. The moment he met your gaze, it became too much for the both of you - like a stab through the gut, a connection that had always been there being tugged in the most painful way. He quickly dropped his head, squeezing his eyes shut to further avoid this, pressing his forehead into your thigh as he continued to sharply spear his fingers into your pussy. This created sloppier, wetter sounds with each passing movement.
“Please, please, please, please, please-”
He pleaded so sweetly, yet so abrasively at the same time. Begging in a chant, in a way he never had for anything else in his life.
And just like everything else in his life - he wasn’t denied of this.
You strangled out another sound, and then you were seizing up again, squeezing his fingers tightly as you were slammed into another orgasm all too soon. You gulped for air like a mermaid on dry land, tears leaking out of the corners of your eyes due to how overwhelming it all was, feeling as though the entire world was squeezed tight around you in those moments.
Draco held a sob tight in his chest as the unknown ‘more’ he had been looking for flooded over his palm - more of your wetness, more of your warmth. A wonderful flood of more that soaked across your thighs and made a small puddle on the mattress beneath you. He greedily dove down to lap it up, making your thighs clench around his head as he tongued your ultra sensitive entrance and even began using his fingers to drive more of it out of you and into his waiting mouth.
After a few moments of this, you tangled shaking fingers into his hair and did your best to force him upward. Though your body was practically jelly now, almost as if you had been jinxed, and completely devoid of any strength. He did soon get the hint, and he laid a gentle kiss on your inner thigh as he slid his fingers out of you, making an oddly loud ‘squelching’ sound in the room.
He trailed a few more kisses across your pelvis, revisited your breast, and went up your neck with his now very wet mouth before you pulled his mouth against your own. You couldn’t help but to moan quietly in satisfaction at the taste of your pussy on his tongue.
Draco thought this might be the end of it. His own cock was even more nagging now - rubbing against the warm, inviting plushness of your thigh through his pants. It was even more annoying now that he intimately knew the warmth and wetness of your cunt. That he could so perfectly imagine what it would be like to slide his cock inside of you and feel that perfect, hot wetness surrounding him.
But part of him, something in the back of his mind was screaming: bad idea. Something persistent and loud was telling him that he didn’t deserve to fuck you. That this should be a worship, only about you - he’d had his selfish moment, it was over now.
An alarming clarity was rocketing back into his head as he continued to kiss you.
It was an alarm that blared ever louder when you reached for his belt.
He snapped away from your lips and looked down, frozen with hesitant shock now as you slipped the belt out of the buckle and reached for the zipper on his pants. When you felt him tense up, and saw the grimace forming across his features, you paused with your fingers grazing lightly over the zipper’s teeth.
“It’s your turn now, right?”
You breathed lightly against his cheek, your voice so sweet, so perfect. You were too damn perfect. You snuck your hand down to grope his cock through the fabric of his pants in a way that made him shudder. Oddly enough, that selfish streak didn’t creep back in.
“Come on, Draco. I want this too. I want your cock inside me so damn badly-”
This was about you. Your needs. Your wants.
Draco tried his best to push aside any hesitation, trying to push the world back out again. He wished he could just crawl back between your thighs and live there. But you wanted something different now. Something that meant a lot more. Something that might have bigger consequences than simply spilling a beautiful mess on his jacket that was crumpled beneath your perfect arse.
He sat up on his knees, shucking away your hands and replacing them with his own, getting the zipper down by himself. Finally, he got his cock out, the hard smoothness now resting against his fingers that were still slick with you. He pumped his cock a few times, almost numb to the pleasure of it - he was supposed to be enjoying this, right? Why the hell couldn’t he?
Because his damn mind had turned back on.
You looked up at him with wide eyes, anticipating, your skin glistening with a slight sheen from his earlier efforts, your lips kiss-swollen. And somehow, a terrible flurry of thoughts attacked his mind like the snow storm raging outside the stone walls of the castle. Horrible things all able to get in now that he didn’t have the fatal projection of your thighs around his ears, keeping the world out.
As you looked up at him, more angelic than ever with your kiss-bitten lips, your silver sparkle dress askew, revealing your smooth skin and your goddess-like body - Draco, with his hard cock in hand, was persistently reminded of one stupid thing. The reason that the two of you had been forced together in the first place.
The only reason any pureblood marriage is arranged: to carry on the pureblood line. To breed - to make more pureblood babies.
Draco found himself curling in disgust at the idea that this was what he was about to do. He was about to give into their whims, about to curse you even further with the evil of his name by fucking a little Malfoy into your belly.
Somehow, out of all the evil he had so carelessly committed himself to - this was something he just couldn’t bring himself to do. Not when he would be doing it to you.
“Draco-”
You breathed out his name again, concerned by the clear warring on his face. You were about to tell him that it was okay if he didn’t want to continue - and you became deeply confused by what he did next.
He gripped his cock tightly and began rocking his arm back and forth, quickly picking up an urgent, break-neck pace as he jerked his cock - his face twisting with an expression of near pain as he circled a tight fist over his cock, urgently, again and again.
“Draco-?” You tried to question him, but he let out a groan in response.
“Look at me.” He choked out.
Zapped by the electricity in the air, the sharp demanding in his words, your eyes flew right to his. You found yourself almost possessed by the emotions lingering there - lust, regret, hatred.
You had a distinct feeling that it wasn’t directed at you.
“It’s okay.” You breathed out, reaching out to put a gentle hand on his clothed thigh. “It’s okay, Draco.”
These simple words - this tiny pacification that Draco had never before received - he broke. Your gentleness tore through his body like a dragon tearing into a fresh kill. It wounded him in a way that insults never could.
He let out a strangled cry, and unexpectedly, his orgasm punched through his gut - tears flooded his eyes as weak spurts of cum flowed out of his cock, making a mess of his fist as he slowed his touch. His release dripped down to ruin his pants, and weakly splashed against the bareness of your inner thighs were the hole in your tights gaped open, smearing onto the nylon in some spots.
When Draco was sure that he had wrung the last bits of weak pleasure from his cock, he fell on top of you. It was something entirely against his will, as he was now all too weakened by your soothing words, your soft touch, your welcoming eyes that seemed far too forgiving toward him. With his face tucked against your breast, tired and unable to hold it back any longer - he began to sob.
It was a dam broken from months, possibly years - a mask that he had been putting on long before you had ever known him.
It was an inherent shock to your system, going from that lustful tingle to feeling nothing but shock and pity for him. But you did the only thing you could do - you cradled the back of his head, holding him close, petting a hand down his heaving back in an attempt to comfort him while he wailed so harshly. You knew that it was what he needed. And it was what he had done for you all too many times since meeting you.
“Hey, it’s okay.”
You assured him, not entirely sure that he heard your gentle voice over the sound of his own sobs - your throat too sore from your own previous wrecked moaning to try and speak up any louder.
“It’s okay. Shh. Just let it out. I’m here with you. It’s okay, Draco.”
It went on like that for what felt like hours. Your previously sex heated skin became cold in the room once again, distinctly reminding you of every single spot that was ripped open and exposed by your already weather inappropriate outfit. But instead of getting up to attend to this, you simply laid there, soothing him, trying to comfort him as his chest-racking sobs lulled down into calmer cries and then died off into sniffles.
You thought he might say something - thank you, apologise.
You were even further surprised when his sounds switched again, and a low chuckle came from his throat. A small sound that quickly hitched into an epic, near maniacal laughter, puffing against your breast as he tried his hardest to heave himself up on weak arms, tearing out of your comforting touch.
He looked utterly broken - his previously near hair a complete mess, falling across his sweat streaked forehead, his teeth bared, laughing so tiredly with tears streaking down from his now red, puffy eyes.
“Merlin - I’m so fucking pathetic, aren’t I?” He choked out.
“You’re not.” You argued, your voice dull and hoarse but still firm in your conviction.
You wanted him to know that it was okay to cry. That under his circumstances, anybody would have snapped a lot sooner than he had.
He didn’t reply, but instead moved to get off you entirely. He stumbled on his feet for a moment as he stood up and began straightening out his clothes, finding his wand and muttering some cleaning spells to deal with the mess he had left on his pants.
You sat up then, your back now quite sore from the poor quality of the abandoned old mattress. And from having Draco stiff on top of you for so long, and you began doing the same to yourself. He watched quietly as you righted your clothes and did a few simple (talented, wandless) cleaning spells of your own, and then finally, he spoke.
“You should leave.”
He said quietly, moving to turn away from you completely as he tucked his shirt back into his pants. He was likely going to slip into the confusing maze of furniture that he knew better than you did in order to lose you - to avoid further conversation.
“No.”
You baulked out defiantly, making an effort to heave your stiff body up to standing level in order to look him in the eye.
“You can’t keep doing that!” You shouted at his back, growing frustrated once again. “You can’t keep running away from a conversation every time it gets a little too serious for you!”
“What do you expect that I do, then?” Draco asked, his voice strained with fatigue and heaviness, his throat worn out from the tears, his eyes still red and exhausted when he whipped around to face you.
“Stay.” You offered weakly.
You knew that in one simple word, you were asking too much of him. You were putting such a grand task onto him that he could barely surmount to.
His chin quivered as he bit his lip, swallowing down the weakness of the confession:
I can’t.
He wanted to be good enough for you.
But he wasn’t. He just wasn’t.
He wasn’t some perfect harbor you could cling to in a storm. He was a heavy iron anchor sinking you to your drowning death.
Feeling all of his bitterness swelling in the air, something truly defiant came up inside of you. A deep urge to defy everything he thought he was, everything his parents had painted into him that made him run from you the moment you treated him like a person.
You would not have a marriage where your husband held you at arm’s length. Even if you had to strangle him, smother him with your good intentions in order to get him close.
“Draco, please, I lov-”
“No.” Draco choked out, cutting you off, dreading hearing those words. “Don’t.”
It wasn’t true.
You were tied to him by force.
You were someone bought into his life through gold and cruelty, someone forced to be by his side.
If you loved him, it was as a prisoner loves their cell.
He wouldn’t let you waste those words on him.
You let out a harsh sigh and shook your head, wanting to scream. But you knew that he was far too used to screaming - used to harshness, frustration. He wasn’t prepared for the thing you needed to give him most. You swallowed thickly around the lump in your throat, and whispered your next words as a cursed promise into the chilled air:
“I love you, Draco.”
He sucked in a rattling breath, and it only took him a moment to find the strength to fight back.
“You don’t mean that.”
He said, shaking his head forcefully at you, once again resisting the urge to turn around and slink off. He wanted to slither away and hide from you like the serpent that he was - cold blooded, alone, a creature of the shadows who previously never needed your warmth.
“Shut up!”
You barked back, surprising him with the passion, the fury that lit up your face as you rambled into your next declaration.
“Draco Lucius Malfoy - you may think that you know everything, but I can assure you, you do not.”
He wanted to argue, even opened his mouth to do so, but you rolled right over his breath, speaking in such a powerful way that demanded he quiet down and simply listen.
“Your family may have bought me to marry you like some kind of broodmare, you may be rich and respected, you may be some fancy highborn pureblood - you can tell me what to wear, when to speak, where to go, but you certainly cannot tell me about my own thoughts and intentions. You cannot tell me what I feel.”
You spoke sharply and firmly, your words tearing right through him, causing goosebumps to light up all over his skin.
“You cannot tell me what I do and don’t mean. And I mean this: I love you.”
The radical truth behind your words shook Draco to his core.
Since he had known you, it had always been the truth. When you cried, it had always been with your own honesty. When you smiled at him, it had never been as some kind of act. When you called him an asshole during your private conversations - it was nothing but your own honest feelings coming to words.
He could never control or dictate your feelings, and it was one of the things that he liked best about you.
So why did he so badly want to control this?
Perhaps because… when you said this, it sealed your fate to his in the worst of ways.
It meant that even if you had a chance to escape this life… you wouldn’t take it.
It was so much easier when you didn’t like him at all.
Love was such a foolish, difficult thing to sever.
You saw the pain and hesitation written all over his face, and you stepped toward him, putting a gentle hand on his cheek. Oh-so-gently you sealed your lips against his in a sweet kiss that evoked nothing but more tears from him.
“I love you.”
You whispered against his mouth, now much more certain in your declaration.
“I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you,”
Your throat clenched with your own tears, clearly waiting for him to say it back.
His fingers shook as he brought a gentle touch to your cheek, wiping away a tear that had fallen. Sullenly, all he could offer you in return was:
“Are you sure? Are you sure that you can love someone like me?”
You were entirely certain in your answer.
“Yes.”
Draco itched with the urge to run away again - but instead, he leaned back in and kissed you.
That night, the two of you fell asleep together. You were huddled into each other for warmth, cuddling on the thin old mattress that he had been sleeping on for the past week in order to escape you. It was the easiest that sleep had come to him since the days during the summer where you had crawled into his bed, looking to be just a bit less alone.
…
Ironically, Draco woke up alone.
Sunshine was flooding the room - he wasn’t entirely sure how a room that technically didn’t exist within Hogwarts could have windows, but he didn’t care to think too much about it. Especially because it made him feel slightly less disoriented to have the bright morning sun flooding the room. Though the sunshine warmed up the room slightly, he still felt a bitter coldness in not having you beside him.
Perhaps you had finally realised what a stupid mistake you had made the night before. Perhaps you had taken your own advice - taken up on your own plan and gotten to a fireplace to abandon Hogwarts altogether. With any luck, you were far away and would never be seen again. Not by him or anybody else associated with the Dark Lord.
Draco felt a pinch of disappointment when he heard footsteps - calm, certain, someone walking a path among the furniture to be somewhere. Not someone wandering with curiosity because they had just discovered the room. It had to be you.
He sucked in a harsh breath and let out a groan as his tired body stretched, his muscles protesting the shabby sleeping arrangements as he forced himself to sit up. Surely enough, as he blinked through the sharpness of the morning light, you rounded the corner.
You were dressed much differently than the night before. Your previously neat hair was now a half-picked apart and messy style, your make-up mostly smeared off or intentionally wiped off in a haste. You were wearing a thick woollen jumper and a pair of comfortable looking loose pants, along with your favourite slippers - a pair of very fuzzy boots that he had laughed at you for wearing before, called them dead Puffskeins attached to your feet.
You looked tired, but comfortable as you came to sit on the mattress at Draco’s hip.
Somehow, with the golden light dancing on your skin, you looked more beautiful than ever. Perhaps it was a testament to the nature of your beauty, how sought after you would be if you weren’t already betrothed. Or perhaps it was that petulant withering thing inside of him that was starting to wane in the name of your death sentence of love.
(Draco didn’t want to think about the fact that you likely were sought after, despite the fact that you were engaged and it was widely known. He just didn’t have his head in the Hogwarts gossip enough these days to notice if anybody was talking about fancying you or trying to ‘steal you away’ from him. He didn’t want to think about the prats he would have hexed to hell and back if he ever heard them daring to want you.)
You took something out of the pocket of your jumper - a napkin, and unravelled it in your lap. Draco saw that you had come back with a couple of pumpkin tarts, likely from the breakfast table. It was only when you brought it up to your lips to take a sip that he also noticed you had also been carrying a large mug of steaming tea.
You offered him the mug silently over your shoulder, and he couldn’t deny how appealing it was. Though he wanted to scoff at the softness, the domesticity of sharing something off your lips, he welcomed the heat and the familiarity. He couldn’t reject it in the wintery coldness of the room.
Of course - English Breakfast Tea with just a bit of sugar. No milk. You had started drinking your tea the way he liked it. Probably because it was the way he always made it for you when you were silent and stony in your pain and he had no other choice but to be just as silent in his caring toward you. He always made tea for you this way because you never told him how you liked yours. Every cup of tea you drank at The Manor had been like this.
It was an odd, comforting habit that you had picked up from him.
“I fixed it.” You said quietly, nodding toward The Cabinet as you broke off a piece of one of your tarts and chewed it.
You offered him a piece and he swapped it for the tea mug. He chewed the small piece of tart slowly while his eyes studied the tall, dark, imposing Cabinet, wondering what you had done to it. His gaze migrated over to something new in the landscape of junk - a bird cage sitting on top of a small wooden table.
Within it, there was a live, seemingly content, purring white dove. In front of the cage, you had perched up a piece of paper. Even from a few feet away, Draco recognised the curls of the handwriting as belonging to his mother.
‘Well done.’
He wanted to ask in detail about what you had done to The Cabinet in order to fix it. But he knew that would be beating a dead horse. It was another problem off his plate, and he should be relieved.
He wouldn’t burden you with any of his other problems.
“I miss coffee.” You remarked, looking down into the mug with a sodden kind of resentment. “British people are all about tea, tea, tea… you can’t get good coffee anywhere here.”
Distantly, Draco was reminded that you had been cursed with more than a marriage to him when your godmother dropped you off with the Malfoys and left you without warning. Your entire life, everything you had known, everything you had grown up with - it had all been ripped away from you. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he had to be pulled away from his parents, plopped into the middle of Muggle America and forced to live there.
He knew it wasn’t just coffee - you likely missed so much more.
“Should we release it?” You asked, taking another sip of the tea.
You held out another piece of the tart to him, and reluctantly, perhaps not even knowing how hungry he was, how much the anxiety and worry had blocked him from feeling it - he took it.
“What?” He muttered out, unsure what you meant.
“The dove.” You clarified.
Yes. Of course. You still had pity for the small creatures. It had been meant as nothing more than a test subject for his family’s greater plans, nothing but a pawn to them. But you still saw it as a precious life.
“No, it-”
‘It’ll die out there in the cold.’
Draco cut himself off, knowing that such harsh words would have hurt you. Any time before this, he would not have cared about how his words hurt you - he would have simply told you the truth. But for some reason, now - it felt wrong to be so bluntly cruel.
“Too cold.” He muttered, accepting the tea from you again.
You stared him down during this passing of the mug, and he was fully able to see that pain glinting in your eyes. Clearly, you knew that ‘disposing’ of the bird might be the only humane thing to do. Draco scrambled for something more. Something to make you happy. Damn it.
“Bring it to the giant.” He remarked, swallowing down a mouthful of the hot tea. “He’ll care for it now, and he can release it in the spring.”
The smile that graced your lips was small, and fleeting - but it made him feel as though he had accomplished something worthwhile for the first time in a long time.
“Do you think he will? It won’t be too much trouble?” You replied, hopeful.
“He has to. It’s his job.” Draco bit back firmly, his voice swelling full of his usual entitlement.
Before - when you had been helping him clean up after he had gotten The Mark, you had discovered one of the fading scars he still had from the feathered beast’s claws slashing across his arm. When you had asked him about it, you had clearly been expecting some story of his father’s abuse, or a tale of something else attributing to Draco’s twisted internal torment.
But Draco’s father was always smart enough never to leave marks.
When he told you what had happened - how he had rushed upon such a gentle creature, reeking of entitlement and landed on his stupid idiot brat arse - it was the first time in years that he had truly reflected on what had happened. It was the first time he had come to realize that he had gotten the beast killed. Even back then, he was unsure why his father had caused such a fuss over the accident. Someone who called Draco useless and disposable behind closed doors and publicly claimed that a single mark on his arm was a world-ending tragedy.
At the time, it was just another thing about reputation that Draco had yet to understand.
“And - he likes those things. He likes his little creatures.” He added on quietly.
(And, his big awful ones - Draco resisted the urge to amend.)
Draco couldn’t take your bird there himself. Hagrid owed him no favors, that much he knew. But the man - or, half-man - certainly wouldn’t turn you down. Nobody would say no to your sweet voice and kind eyes when you asked them for something.
You nodded, content with this answer. You took another sip of the tea before you put the cup down on the floor beside the mattress, and shoved a large piece of the tart into your mouth before you put that aside too.
“For now, I have to bury this one.”
You said, your words slightly muffled as you chewed, getting up to grab a small wooden box. In a moment, Draco realised that it must have been the dead canary that you had fussed over the night before.
Now, you were telling him that you intended to bury it, rather than asking him.
“I’ll do it.” He said, standing up to come beside you, holding out his hand so that you might offer him the box.
You looked him up and down with suspicion, like he was trying to trick you. Although, as much as your relationship had been filled with bickering and discontent, he had never been dishonest with you. This just seemed strangely out of character for him. Before you could fully question it, he provided an explanation.
“You’ve been awake all night fixing my problems,” He said, motioning toward The Cabinet. “So let me help you with yours.”
He could see that you had barely slept. It was written all over you.
“Let me do this for you.” He insisted, holding his hand out once again. “And you go to the dorms and get some proper rest.”
You nodded, finally surrendering the box.
“Come find me when you’re done, alright?” You said, not entirely posing it as a question. “Don’t disappear on me again.”
Draco nodded, and you sealed this deal with a kiss.
…
He intended to walk you back to the Slytherin commons before he went outside, perhaps he would even get himself a thicker jacket from his dorm. Your path took the two of you past the Great Hall.
Draco felt a pang on one of his last nerves when a very familiar voice called out your name.
“Y/N! Hey, wait up!”
Potter. Of course.
You turned to meet Harry as he ran down the corridor toward you, and Draco slinked back to lean against one of the nearby walls - waiting for you. He hated that he felt the need to stick by you, to watch over you. But something nagging in him wouldn’t be satisfied until he knew that you were tucked into bed, resting.
Potter jogged to meet you, wearing full Quidditch gear, carrying his broom - clearly set for an early morning practice. This caused an odd pang of mourning within Draco, yearning for a time when he used to be competitive, for when he used to actually care about the outcomes of school Quidditch games. Back when his life was so simple.
“Morning, Harry.” You greeted him quietly, dully, obviously still tired.
“Hey, good morning.” Harry said, nodding at you with a smile - a look way too fond for Draco’s liking. “You left the party so suddenly last night, and Slughorn was asking after you. Nobody knew where you went, and I was just wondering - are you alright? Did something happen?”
Harry eyed Draco sharply, a sideways glance, just for a moment. Clearly, he was suspicious of Malfoy and his presence around you. Clearly believing that he was the problem in your life.
Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course. Saint Potter. Checking up on you.
Part of Draco itched with jealousy, knowing just how utterly desirable you were, and another part of him said that it was a good thing. That you should have somewhere safe to fall when you inevitably realised a life with him was a short, unlivable one. When you wanted out, when you wanted to run.
Hopefully, sometime soon.
“I’m fine.” You easily lied, forcing a smile. “It’s just - um,” You struggled to think of a convenient lie for a moment, knowing that you couldn’t tell Harry the truth. “My pet canary died very suddenly. And Draco came to get me to tell me about it. And I’m sorry, I must look terrible - I’ve been up all night crying about it,”
Draco wanted to commend you for the brilliance of your lie. Something sensitive enough that Potter wouldn’t question it - something that easily explained the small box in Draco’s hands and explained away your tired appearance. And it more than explained why you had left the party so suddenly and not cared to return.
“Oh.” Harry said, clearly unsure how to respond. His eyes flickered from you to Draco, taking in both of your messy appearances, clearly wanting to question it as something more, but having absolutely no grounds to do so. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you.” You replied quietly. “Draco actually offered to bury him for me. So, he was just going to do that.”
“Let’s get you to bed, first, love.” Draco said, pointedly steering you away from the conversation - banishing Potter off with this final thought.
He put a hand on your shoulder and steered you down the hall, away from Harry, and you began slowly walking away, believing that he was right behind you. But Harry stayed firm in his footing, and soon, Draco became captured in his fierce gaze, challenged in an all too familiar way that he was far too tired to truly engage with. In a kind of well practiced routine, he lingered back for a few moments.
“Malfoy,” Potter said sharply. “If you do anything to hurt her, I will end you.”
It was his usual hero routine. Intimidate, swell with confidence, over-inflate to seem bigger than the bad guy. It would have worked, if Draco hadn’t already been so terribly small.
“Promise?” Draco croaked out quietly, tears dancing in his eyes.
He could think of no better end than one of vengeance in the wake of your pain. He could only hope that if he did ever hurt you, he would be met with a clean, swift end. One where you would then get to run into the arms of a man much better than him.
Potter gaped with confusion, and Draco turned, walking in quick steps to catch up with you.
…
You and Draco stayed at Hogwarts that Christmas.
On Christmas morning, you did not expect to receive anything. Pansy gifted you a set of new quills in pink with a set of pink glittering inks and a fluttering giggle about being able to write ‘proper’ love letters to Draco. Blaise gifted you a history of all the Pureblood families in Europe - for ‘proper’ education. One that you had never been ‘privileged’ to have before.
There was another package, delivered by a gorgeous white snowy owl - a book. A basic guide to Quidditch with a handwritten note that said it was from Harry, remarking that you should come to his next game and ‘check it out’, in order to see if you truly liked the sport or not.
At the party, you had told him that you probably didn’t like Qudditch because you didn’t understand it very well, hoping to get out of a long conversation that he and Cormac were rambling on - which only led to him trying to explain the rules to you in a toddler-like fashion. You couldn’t tell him the truth, that when you had been at Salem, the Quidditch games between the two sibling schools usually led to a lot of loud parties and drunken hook-ups that made you mourn for the simplicity of your old life now.
Draco resisted the urge to throw the book into the fire.
(You gladly would have let him.)
There was a final package. One wrapped in gorgeous emerald paper - with your name on it, written in Draco’s handwriting. Oddly, not signed from him. When you opened it, you found a bag of very expensive looking coffee beans, a grinder, and a French press. Draco would forever deny that his joy was directly tied to the look of awe on your face as you discovered the gifts, and the tiny moan of pleasure you made when you sipped your first cup of freshly made coffee.
He didn’t love you back.
He couldn’t.
No.
...
A/N: This is meant to be a standalone oneshot, but if you liked this, then feel free to go read the chronological sequel My Bleeding Heart. I do have more ideas to add more to this by writing more oneshots in this universe between these two characters, but this is all for now. If you are going to comment, please comment about the content that has already been written instead of asking for more. Happy reading, and Merry Christmas!
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