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jinxs-gf · 6 months ago

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Black Cat!Reader x The Team Headcanons

Black Cat!Reader x The Team

note: just because you’re in place of Black Cat doesn’t mean this is fem!reader! this is very gender neutral besides the mention of lipstick briefly…even then that’s not lady exclusive :)

content/warnings: this is seemingly set during s1 like my other yj fics but I imagine everyone being way older 😔🙏🏽 it’s weird but just roll with it pretty please. also…a bit suggestive??

word count: 3.6k

a/n: I wouldn’t have done this but this anon gave me the idea and I HAD to expand on it unfortunately

THE TEAM (platonic)

Lots and lots of flirting from reader, OBVIOUSLY. do y’all even KNOW Black Cat????? it would be relentless. and no matter how annoying and probably overwhelming it got, you wouldn’t back down

with even the toughest/hardest to crack team members

it’s not even like you’re attempting to lure them in…or get romantically involved (unless…), it’s just how you are. who can blame you! flirting is fun

you started off as just another “villain of the day.” Someone they could take on easily. They thought of you as a pity mission. An bad guy as small as a simple thief? What fun was that?! They’ve taken down Gods, magicians, robots…and Red Tornado assigned them a thief??? It was a joke.

until it wasn’t. until Batman saw potential in you (because of course he did. Robin was not happy about this.)

You earned the nickname Cat, which was a nickname in itself for Kitty Cat (Wally's idea, not yours, you gave him hell for it)

your first mission with them was definitely something. messy, to say the least

it was weird, the whole mind link thing. you made jokez and flirted through the link as a way of coping because…well you felt out of place

everyone was so close with each other, not to mention they didn’t come from a background of “bad guy shenanigans”

you felt like an outcast for the longest time, until everyone was revealing vulnerable secrets with each other before a mission. you finally spoke your insecurities with your place on the team

you and Artemis had the same worries (more or less) and bonded over that

you finally were able to let loose and just…be yourself around them

you became soft

the flirting and teasing was still there, however it was saved for missions

you preferred to keep Black Cat’s reputation

individual relationships

ROBIN (romantic)

He was very much against the idea of you being on the team. Sure you weren’t a crazy villain that hurt people (maybe not physically…but you were definitely a heartbreaker, Robin concludes)

You were still a thief at the end of the day. A bad person. And he didn’t like that.

It was Batman’s idea—and usually Batman had great ideas. This was a very bad one. He hated every bit of it.

…until he got to know you better

Taking you down was easy. “Easiest job I’ve ever had,” Robin boasts.

You pout, “that’s not very nice.”

Ha. He knocked you down a peg. Good. You needed a little humbling-

“-How come you’re lying to me, Robin? I thought we had something.”

Uh oh. He absolutely hated when you used that sickeningly sweet voice on him.

Of course you didn’t believe his lie. Of course you could tell how difficult that mission really was.

It’s not apart of his proudest moments. He hesitated to stop you on the mission, completely caught off guard by your flirtatious behavior. I mean, who wouldn’t be?!

In a moment of weakness, he let you go. Awestruck by the kiss you left imprinted on his cheek. Something he got teased relentlessly for.

The rest of the team finished the job for him after that.

In the back of his mind he knows the only reason he didn’t like the idea of you being on the team was because he…knew it wouldn’t end well for him. He was sure to be on your long list of broken hearts (a list that was never confirmed to even exist)

It made sense in his mind…he was Robin. A bird. And you were a cat. A right recipe for disaster. You’d trap him in your greedy little claws and eat him alive.

Over time that perspective changed.

Robin hates to admit it, but he’s softer now. Softer around you. For you.

“I know who you are,” he says with that arrogant smirk.

“So why can’t I know who you are?”

“Only…really important and trustworthy people know. The only person who knows besides Batman is Wally. He’s my best friend.”

“Why doesn’t that include me?” you’re practically purring, rubbing a finger down his face, “am I not important enough to you?” You pout for show

He looks dejected, like he was having an internal battle with himself. And you could tell which part of him was losing.

Your fingers inch slowly towards his mask, ready to lift-

“Robin.” And the stupid, stupid monotone voice that belonged to Batman interrupted you.

You’ll get him back for that.

Robin was now being scolded, but he was having none of it.

“It was a moment of weakness.”

“It will not happen again. No more moments of weakness. You’re growing, your body is going through a lot of different things. Keep it in your pants-”

“Whoa old man! Whoa! That’s going too far. And what about Selina?! You’ve had many moments of weakness because of her. You can’t scold me for this one time.”

“It’s because of my experience with Catwoman that I know better. I’m trying to stop you from…getting hurt.”

Robin calls bullshit on that. What could you possibly do to hurt him? (Thoughts that completely contradict his first impressions of you)

The next time he sees you he’ll spill everything. He’ll let you know that he does trust you and that you do matter. That you’re important to him.

Just to spite Bruce. And maybe because he really likes you and wants you to know it.

It was his idea to bring you onto the team anyways…he’s just giving Bruce exactly what he wanted. A warm welcome to a new teammate.

WALLY (romantic)

Wally was so happy someone FINALLY reciprocated his advances. And especially with a catch like you? Black Cat?! He was over the moon.

At first.

It quickly came to be too much. He's been waiting, praying for someone to match his energy, but now that he's got it? He's not exactly sure how to handle it. He's gotten so used to being blown off, teased, and scolded for his flirting that it was weird when you flirted back.

He was of course the first to tease you when you officially joined the team. He gave your your nickname, Kitty Cat. You despised the name and him for the longest time.

Wally was annoying. Taunting you at all times. Calling to you as if you were an actual cat.

He'd click his tongue, "here kitty kitty."

And for that, your flirting was meaner towards him (compared to how you treated everyone else). Which is the exact reason why he couldn't handle the teasing from you. It wasn't the normal way Robin would, "oh yeah, Wally can't phase the way Flash does. Otherwise he gets a nosebleed. Right, loser?" Or the way Artemis would, "ugh, you flirt like a divorced 40 year old who's desperate for a rebound. Loser."

No, your teasing was quite different. You laughed cruelly, throwing your head back for show, "Come get it before it's gone, loser."

So. He was still a loser to you, but it seemed you actually liked that about him. Maybe.

Wally didn't like it as much as he thought he would. It ruined his cool guy facade (one that didn't exist, Robin would say). It was humbling, the way he suddenly tumbled over his words, face flushed red and all.

More than humbling. It was embarrassing.

You bring him down to the mat with a loud THUD. Much like the time Black Canary beat him during their first time training. Except you used your weight, tumbling on him (and straddling him in the process. Great).

Embarrassing embarrassing embarrassing.

The only person that was able to truly catch him was his best friend, Robin. And that's with years of experience with the speedster. You'd know him all of a few months and you're able to do it?!

"It won't happen again,” referring to his teasing of your name, naming you Kitty Cat and clicking his tongue at you.

“Or I’ll have to teach you a lesson. Much different from this one.” And you casually walk away.

Wally desperately wanted to get up, to humble you back. But he couldn't. He felt physically incapable of doing so.

You had really done it. You slowed down the (second) fastest man alive.

Wow.

"Wow. That was extremely painful to watch," of course Robin had something to say about it.

"Shut up man."

KALDUR (romantic)

It was "unprofessional," he said.

Unprofessional your ass. It was perfectly professional. A lot of people on the teams had partners within those same teams. Black Canary and Green Arrow, Superman and Wonder Woman (exes—but that still counts for something), Conner and M’gann acted like a couple and no one said anything! So what was the problem?

Well apparently there wasn’t a problem…seeing as this “relationship” was more welcomed—as in, Kaldur didn’t tell the Black Cat off when they made advances towards him. Besides when he called their behavior “unprofessional.” That was once. He didn’t say a word of it after that.

In fact, he allowed—dare anyone say encouraged it.

On missions you were attached to his hip. Even if he assigned you to be by Artemis’ side or assist Robin, you wouldn’t listen. And he didn’t say anything about it, instead informing the team to continue on with the plan.

His professional act as the team leader never faltered, not even you could break it down. He merely tolerated your flirting (his words, though you knew better. He loved it).

The team was each in their individual positions scoping out the area, ready to attack at a moments notice. Kaldur was squatted down and you decided it was the perfect opportunity to pounce on him (as you usually did). You wrapped your arms around his neck, now on his back.

“Does the team leader have time for some sweet talk?”

“I, we have a job to do, Cat. Focus.”

You hum, “What are we doing here again?”

He starts relaying the plan to you, you taking note of the way he doesn’t scold you (he repeated the plan to the team multiple times on the way over, he surely would’ve berated one of the other guys for not listening). You never had any intentions of listening, only wanting a chance to annoy him.

“Blah blah blah, is this your version of sweet talk?” You squish his face between your fingers and plant a kiss on his cheek.

He only sighs, “Later. After the mission is complete.”

For once, your find yourself surprised. He’s promising to reciprocate your advances?

This should be fun.

CONNER (romantic)

M'gann was more subtle with her flirting (not really, especially with the way she blushes), more timid and on the nose about her feelings. You? You got straight to the point. Kind of like how open Artemis was when she first joined the team. She had no shame letting the team know telepathically how attractive she thought Superboy was. Seriously, what was it with new recruits and taking an immediate liking to Conner? Why not the other three boys? What did he have that they didn't!

Although Artemis gave up on that crush at first sight almost immediately

You? Not so much. it was very noticeable that the Black Cat was adamant on cracking the boy of steel. it seemed like an impossible mission, but with a little determination and a couple sultry words? it was pretty damn easy

This is very much an enemies to lovers type relationship (kinda):

At the beginning, when you first met, he was open to new relationships. Getting to know people he could count on within the team, though that openness completely died down. Your flirting was nonstop. Even on missions! How was he supposed to concentrate on the task at hand when you found time to graze his arm or speak soft words to him?

You annoyed him, sosososo much it wasn't even funny. Even more than M'gann did. Both of you were insistent, that's for sure. But one was more bold than the other. He tried telling himself it was because he didn't like you: at least with M'gann he wanted a relationship to come from it (not necessarily romantic)

But with you...he hated you. No. He hated the way he reacted to your advances...he hated admitting to himself that your words affected him. That he felt something not so platonic for you. Damn you and your stupid flirting. It was surely going to be the death of him. And that's saying something: the clone of the man of steel actually breaking down? unheard of.

But you managed to do it. Unfortunately.

Conner finds himself thinking about you, more than he'd like. Another reason to dislike you. You take up his mind. Every waking moment and every dream. It's infuriating.

And now he was starting to worry about you during missions. He saw you get knocked down, away from the rest of the team. The fall looked nasty, and with the way you seem to lie there with no intention of getting back up, he's sure you've been knocked out

Conner tries to ignore the way his heart clenches at the sight, kind of like the way it does when concerning you in different context

It gives him the courage to voice his worries, he calls out to you, and as expected: he gets no response

The enemy leans down to your level, ready to do more damage. Conner is quickly snapped out of his daze and starts running over to you

Until he abruptly stops. Because you open your eyes to wink at him, jump up, and take the enemy down with ease.

It's right then that he takes back every thought of admitting he doesn't hate you. Because the stupid smirk you're sending his way reminds him of every reason why he dislikes you.

Everyone is home or in their respective rooms already, leaving you and him. You're behind him, massaging his shoulders gently (your touch wouldn't have persisted if he showed any signs of discomfort, he leaned into it in fact, allowing you to continue)

You bring your head down, cheek to his,

"Oh come on. You can lie to everyone and yourself. But you can't lie to me. I know you were worried back there. Just admit it, Loverboy."

He can only roll his eyes. And blushed. You were never going to live this down.

"I wasn't. Now leave me alone." If only his actions were as convincing as his stern words. Words that would've scared off the likes of M'gann had she been in your position. But you knew better, knew that his shaking hands and quickly warming face meant that his words had no meaning.

Your hand dragged from his shoulder to his chest, right over his heart. Yeah, his words were meaningless with the way his heart was beating for you.

Conner was finally warming up to you and you had him right where you wanted him.

And so you let go. "Whatever you say, Loverboy," and with a kiss to his pink cheek, you leave him alone to ponder his complicated feelings.

Feelings that were in fact not complicated at all. Because Conner was finally, finally ready to admit to himself and to you that he wanted you. So badly.

If only you hadn't pulled away so quickly, he couldn't reciprocated the kiss or two...it would've been an easier, showing you how he feels instead of saying it out loud.

He'll kiss you next time.

M’GANN (romantic)

The Martian can't hide her liking towards you for the life of her. She could’ve even if she tried.

It was near painful, you pitied her. You almost felt bad and stopped teasing her. Almost.

It was fun though, how could you stop?

M’gann would actively seek out your approval and attention when you joined the team. It was only natural, she did it with the rest of the members, so you were no exception.

Besides, the only teammate she was kind of close with was Artemis. Was it sooo wrong of her to want to get close to you?!

Nope! Though she does wish you weren’t so…forward sometimes. Not that it’s unwelcomed, she’s just unsure of how to act because of it. Is she supposed to reciprocate? M’gann has never seen nor experienced such a dynamic on Mars, much less on Earth. So she awkwardly blushes and smiles.

Eventually she gets used to it. And gets very much into it. She won’t vocalize her feelings, instead she’ll mind link and talk that way. Often times it’s easier to communicate through touch. Which says a lot, M’gann would rather use touch?? Not the mind link?? Which was the main source of communication on Mars? Whoa.

It was mainly because…she didn’t want to reveal all her feelings to you. She’s usually able to control what goes through the mind link, having done it since childhood, but you’ve made her mind a complete mess. She all but short circuits when you’re around.

Can anyone blame her?

"You know what I'm thinking?"

"No."

"Well you can read me, can't you Martian girl?"

She giggles at herself, how could she forget? "Hello Megan!"

Her smile turns timid once she reads your mind.

"Oh."

ARTEMIS (romantic)

It was honestly unfair how fast the blonde caught your attention. Her voice. Her stupid raspy voice.

Unfortunately for you, Artemis wasn’t exactly buddy-buddy with you at first. Well, she wasn’t really with any of her teammates. But with time she’s learned to get along with everyone.

“I just wanna get to know you, Blondie. What’s wrong with that?” You asked in the sweetest voice you could muster up, one that usually made everyone fall.

Yet she rolls her eyes.

So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? Fine.

It was right after a mission, everyone was surrounding Red Tornado, relaying the events to your mentor.

“You know we could’ve took that guy down way faster had you not been on Robin the whole time.”

“Jealous Blondie?

“Stop calling me Blondie!”

You had sleepovers, movie nights, and other hang out outside of missions. With or without the rest of the team. They were fun, the first time you were alone with her is what really got her to warm up to you.

“Ugh! Of course literally everyone else canceled but Cat.” She really seemed to hate you.

You were outside her window, watching as Artemis complained to no one but herself. She once offhandedly commented on how her place was off limits for hangouts (refusing to explain why, which was okay with the team).

You were definitely crossing a boundary doing this, but she seemed upset in the group chat. You couldn’t just leave her by herself.

And then…the Sportsmaster walks in her room. One of the team’s enigmas. A thorn in their side. What the hell?

He does nothing but berate her for not “joining them.” Joining who? Then proceeds to say he’d be happier if she ever thinks to change her mind

“I’m never going to be apart of your messed up team, dad.”

Oh.

And then he’s just…gone.

You’re stunned, and only then does she finally notice you. She ushers you into her room, now berating you for your actions and spying and breaking her boundaries and…

“Your secret is safe with me, babe.” It was meant to be a term of endearment to reassure her,

Friends called each other babe, right?

“Babe?”

“You’d rather be called Blondie?”

She rolls her eyes, “whatever.” And as annoyed as she wanted to seem, she smiled and hugged you gratefully.

It was the only time you allowed yourself to be any kind of vulnerable around her. Or any of the team for that matter.

Once she got over her high horse, it was a very reluctant friendship turned…something more? That’s to be determined. But with the way she now flirts back? You’d say that was a good sign.

“Hey Blondie.”

“You calling me Blondie is the equivalent of Wally calling you Kitty Cat. Maybe I’ll have to teach you a lesson this time around.”

“I like the way you think, babe.” (You say not so platonically this time)

ROY (romantic)

You were on him as soon as he rejoined the team. How could you not be? He was even grumpier than Conner was when he joined, making him extra fun to mess with.

You had no chill when flirting with him, he decided immediately that was annoyed with you. And did not want to be friends.

Because his actual friends brought him joy, they made him laugh and they listened to him when he had bad days. You? You made a bad first impression, therefore he refused give you the chance to do any of those things.

Often telling you to buzz off and if you didn’t he’d “choke you with a hair ball.” Kinky, you replied.

He hated it.

Until you found out about his girl, his other Cat. Cheshire. That’s when things changed. You were less…on him.

"Me and her were never a thing!"

"Getting defensive there. Afraid I'll get jealous?"

"I could care less about your feelings."

“Oh really? Is that right?”

His eye twitched. He couldn’t believe he was trying to…reassure you? Was that what he was doing?

He was trying to make sure you knew he wasn’t with Cheshire. That her feelings were one sided. It’s something he shouldn’t be doing, he tells himself. In fact, he should be doing the opposite. Tell you that she means something to him, or maybe stay quiet and insinuate that they had something going on.

To get you off his back.

You seemed to back off completely when you found out Cheshire flirted with him often on missions when the goal was to take her down. Much like how the team’s predicament when they first met you.

It made you…upset?

And for some reason that made him upset.

“So you’re my Roy Toy? Mine completely?” Wally and Robin had originally griped about the nickname until it eventually made them laugh. They came to appreciate it.

“I’m no one’s. Not yours, not Cheshire’s, not the Justice League’s nor the team’s.”

“You will be mine one day, Speedy. And you’ll love it.”

Roy doesn’t respond but he feels like…there is some truth to your playful statement.

Maybe one day.

bonus:

THE TEAM

They all slowly turn towards you.

"...you've kissed all of us?"

You only shrug, “wasn’t that obvious?”

you can tell I got lazy lmaooo

I hate how I formatted this omg

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pascaloverx · 2 months ago

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STARVE

Summary: You lost your husband some time ago while he served as a gladiator for Emperors Geta and Caracalla. General Acacius saved you from becoming an object of pleasure for the emperors. Since then, he has taken you as his mistress. In your free time, you became a disciple of Ravi, the healer, dedicating yourself to tending to wounded gladiators. All seemed to be in perfect harmony until Hanno, a gladiator driven by a thirst for vengeance, crossed your path.

Author's Note: And the gods said: Starve will be a multi-chapter fanfiction (I hope readers will follow it all the way through). Without further ado, the characters belong to Ridley Scott's Gladiator II universe, though there will be significant deviations from the film. Historical accuracy regarding life in the Roman Empire may not always be strictly observed, so I hope you can overlook that. Yes, this story revolves around a love triangle, but I will strive to satisfy everyone. This fanfiction will include adult content, violence, and potentially coarse language. Enjoy! preview two

ONE

A starry night, as though the gods themselves had blessed the heavens. You stand in the place where you often meet General Acacius to maintain appearances. He will spend the day attending to Emperors Geta and Caracalla alongside his wife, Lucilla. Meanwhile, your day will revolve around the gladiators—or, more precisely, their wounds. You have been summoned to tend to the gladiators who will participate in that day's opening of the games—battles they will wage against one another or against beasts. Your thoughts are divided between Marcus Acacius and Hanno, the gladiator you strongly suspect harbors intentions of avenging his wife’s death at Acacius's hands.

"Mea domina, you are here," General Acacius murmurs as he approaches, though his complexion appears unusually pale. He is dressed in a tunic that conceals most of his body, with a laurel crown adorning his head. The lateness of the hour and the absence of natural light obscure your view, but as he draws nearer, you notice a wound bleeding on his arm. You rush toward him, your concern overcoming any formality. Without hesitation, you expose the area of his injury, removing the fabric to inspect it. His skin is feverishly warm beneath your touch.

"Who did this to you, Acacius?" you ask, a wave of anger surging through your body, mingling with an overwhelming sense of concern. "By the Gods, you should have come to me sooner," you say, your voice laced with frustration as your fingers graze his fevered skin, causing him to shiver under your touch. You guide him to a nearby bench, urging him to rest. Knowing him well, you suspect he has concealed his injury from everyone, unwilling to reveal any vulnerability. Fortunately, all are accustomed to you tending to him—it is, after all, one of your roles as his lover.

"I did not wish to trouble anyone, least of all you, Y/N," Acacius replies, his tone steady as he attempts to mask his discomfort. "A gladiator loosed an arrow at me—it must have struck me somehow. Macrinus certainly knows how to select skilled men for his arena." His voice retains its commanding timbre, though his actions betray his weariness. He pulls you closer by the waist, resting his head against your abdomen, as though seeking solace in your presence.

"General, we must go to the place where Ravi keeps his instruments. I must tend to your wounds and return you, whole and well, to your wife," you say, holding Acacius' face in your hands, as if willing him to remain conscious. His deep brown eyes meet yours, their gaze uncharacteristically tender.

"But this is my time with you," he whispers, taking your hands in his and pressing a kiss to each. "And I have told you, you need not address me as General. Our relationship has long surpassed formalities," he says, his voice softer now as he finishes kissing your hands. A fleeting thought tempts you to lean down and kiss him, but before you can act, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupts. Guards arrive, accompanied by Lucilla and Ravi. You instinctively want to withdraw from Acacius, but his unconscious state forces you to hold him upright.

"Take my husband to his quarters. Ravi is here to see to his treatment," Lucilla commands, her tone dismissive, her gaze avoiding yours entirely. The guards comply, carrying the now-limp Acacius away.

"Y/N," Lucilla addresses you, her voice sharp and deliberate, "from this moment forward, Ravi will be responsible for Acacius' care. I trust the gladiators will suffice to occupy your attention." Her words, though polite in form, carry an unmistakable message: your role as Acacius' lover is nearing its end. Vulnerability washes over you, but you lower your head in acknowledgment, as if understanding her decree. Without another glance, she follows the guards to accompany her husband.

Ravi approaches, carrying his instruments and tools. "I need you to go to Macrinus' gladiator and tend to his wounds. Macrinus has already informed the guards of his gladiator's need for treatment, so you need not fear," Ravi instructs, already preparing to attend to Acacius himself. Fear is far from your mind. The only sentiment stirring within you is anger, directed at the one who dared harm Acacius. You nod in silent agreement and gather the necessary supplies to treat the gladiator, your resolve firm as you set out to fulfill your task.

The guards grant you entry without hesitation, their expressions indifferent. Inside the dimly lit cell, you find Hanno—his body marred by fresh wounds, his face pale but defiant. He appears battered, as though every ounce of strength has been drained from him. Anticipating the state you might find him in, you came prepared with tools to clean his wounds, at least superficially.

"The lovely healer graces me with her presence once more," Hanno mutters, his tone laced with a mix of sarcasm and faint amusement. A strained smile flickers across his lips as he clutches his abdomen, evidently in pain. "I suppose you're here to finish what the guards so generously began." His voice is hoarse and weakened, yet it retains a biting edge.

A chill runs through you as you step closer to him, fully entering his cell. The air feels heavier here, and his piercing gaze follows your every move. "They must have hurt you for what you did to General Acacius," you state, your voice measured as you kneel, setting down your tools. The mention of Acacius draws no sign of remorse from Hanno; instead, he seems emboldened, inching himself nearer to you with deliberate subtlety. As you settle beside him, his proximity becomes undeniable, his rugged presence filling the confined space. Though weakened, there’s an unsettling calm in his demeanor, as though he is testing you, seeking something unspoken within your resolve.

As you begin to cleanse his wounds, the facade of the formidable gladiator crumbles beneath the weight of his pain. Low, anguished groans escape his lips despite his efforts to suppress them. It becomes clear that he is suffering deeply, though he clings to the last vestiges of his pride.

"Ah, here we are again," Hanno murmurs between strained breaths, his voice laced with an uneven mixture of sarcasm and torment. "You, seizing the opportunity to inflict more pain under the guise of tending my wounds, and I, striving to focus on your beauty to mask just how much it hurts."

A flicker of anger rises within you, mingled with a reluctant pity for the state of his battered body. "Flattery will not grant you any special treatment," you reply sharply, leaning in closer to examine his injuries more thoroughly. "I warned you not to harm Acacius dishonorably. I thought you might exercise restraint, but I was mistaken."

With deft movements, you remove the upper portion of his tattered garment to gain better access to the worst of his injuries. He offers no resistance, watching you with an unsettling mix of amusement and interest, as if savoring the attention. "I do recall saying I would take your request under consideration," Hanno says nonchalantly, as though the matter were trivial.

Frustrated by his flippant attitude, you press a tender wound more firmly than necessary. He lets out a guttural cry of pain, his composure faltering for a moment. "Forgive me," you say with a mocking smile, your tone cold. "I must have forgotten to take your suffering under consideration."

He meets your gaze, a faint, knowing grin curling his lips as if he derives some twisted pleasure from your defiance. "If you wish to exact vengeance, then take the dagger you’ve hidden and drive it into my heart," he says, his voice low and steady, despite the evident strain. "It is the only way to shield your precious General Acacius from my wrath." Hanno leans closer, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours, the proximity of his battered form unsettling. His observation of the concealed blade leaves you momentarily stunned, your grip tightening as the tension between you hangs heavy in the air.

"Is that what you believe I should do—kill you?" you ask, a faint trace of amusement in your tone as you marvel at Hanno's audacity. He leans closer to your face, his gaze sharp and provocative.

"If protecting him is your goal, then yes," Hanno replies, his voice steady, his eyes fixed upon yours with an intensity that borders on insolence.

You smile, intrigued by how easily he speaks of his own demise. "General Acacius is a wise and seasoned warrior. He will know how to deal with you," you say, leaning in as if accepting the challenge his very presence seems to demand.

"If you think I seek an honorable battle with Acacius solely to shield him," you continue, your voice steady and measured, "then you are gravely mistaken. Look at yourself, gladiator. To achieve vengeance, it is not merely strength or skill you require. A true fighter knows which battles are worth fighting." Your hand moves deftly to clean a wound near his neck, blood still seeping from it. He winces slightly but does not pull away, his sharp blue eyes never leaving your face.

"The way you speak, it seems as though you've developed an affection for me, healer," Hanno remarks, his tone soft but probing. "If that is the case, why carry a dagger?" He gently grasps your arm, his grip firm yet careful, as if urging you to give him your full attention.

"Because the wife of General Acacius made it clear before the guards that I will no longer tend to his care. For many of the men here, that declaration is as good as an invitation to see me as their sport," you reply, your gaze unwavering as you meet his eyes.

For a moment, something shifts in his expression—a flicker of understanding crossing his features. "I see," he murmurs, his voice lower now. "Then show me. Show me how you would wield it to defend yourself." Though puzzled by his request, you reach for the dagger and position it as you would in a moment of self-defense, your stance steady and deliberate. His eyes follow your movements with a keen focus, his lips curving into a faint, almost approving smile as he observes your resolve.

"You’re holding it incorrectly," he says, taking your hands, still clutching the dagger, and guiding them to a precise spot on the left side of his chest. "Here. Strike here on any opponent—more than once, if need be—and you’ll increase your chances of survival," he instructs, his voice steady, his grip firm but not overbearing.

You had never considered the necessity of knowing how to fight; before Acacius, your late husband had always been there to shield you. But now, an unsettling vulnerability lingers, heavy and unshakable.

"You place too much trust in me," you murmur, your gaze locked with his. "I could hurt you with this dagger right now."

His lips curl into a faint, genuine smile, weak but without hesitation. "Honestly, I wouldn’t mind if you did," Hanno replies, the tension between you thickening.

You drop the dagger back to its place, snapping yourself out of the moment. "Turn around. I need to apply an herbal salve to the wound on your back so I can retire to my quarters. It has been a long day," you instruct, watching as he complies without protest. His physique, sculpted as one would expect of a gladiator, does not escape your notice. But before your thoughts can wander too far, you refocus, applying the salve with care. He grunts softly at the touch, his pain audible but restrained.

"I could teach you how to defend yourself," Hanno murmurs as you finish tending to his wounds. Once done, he turns to face you, his expression expectant.

"Are you certain you wish to help me, knowing my loyalty lies with General Acacius?" you ask, genuine curiosity laced in your tone.

He lifts a hand to your face, his touch gentle as he caresses your cheek. "Something tells me you need help, and I want to offer it. General Acacius or not, this is about you," he emphasizes, pointing at you, "and me," he finishes, gesturing to himself.

You hesitate, uncertainty flickering in your eyes, but the sincerity in his gaze stirs something within you. Perhaps it would be wise to accept his offer. "Very well, gladiator," you reply, taking the hand that had touched your face and grazing it softly with your fingertips. "Teach me what you know, and I promise to mend you each time you require it."

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sweemmy · 2 months ago

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⋆｡ﾟA family is made not just by blood, but by love, chaos, and endless adventure. And in their case, a little bit of tough love and explosions too. ﾟ｡⋆

— Vi, Caitlyn, Sevika, and Jinx.

VI.

After many conversations filled with questions and uncertainties, you and Vi made the decision to adopt and take that big step toward building a family. At first, Vi was a little unsure, afraid she wouldn’t live up to what motherhood would demand. But everything changed in an instant: when she saw the baby you both had chosen for the first time, her gaze softened with tenderness, and all her doubts vanished. In that moment, you knew you had made the right choice.

From the moment you brought the little one home, Vi became an unshakable source of love and protection. Though she still struggles with the overwhelming feeling of stepping into the role of a mother, her determination never wavers. She is ready to teach her child to face the world with courage, even when it seems like a complicated place.

The sweetest side of Vi shines through when she’s with her child. The house fills with laughter as they dive into intense pillow fights or games of hide-and-seek, where Vi, with a mischievous grin, always lets herself get “found.”

When she heard her child call her “mom” for the first time, she felt a lump in her throat and her heart overwhelmed with emotion. Tears threatened to fall, but true to her style, she tried to cover it up with a smile and her usual: “Who the hell is chopping onions around here?”

CAITLYN.

You and Caitlyn decided to turn to a sperm donor, carefully selecting someone whose values and characteristics perfectly matched what you both envisioned for your family. With her impeccable organizational skills, Caitlyn took charge of the process, ensuring that every step was supported by accurate information and well-thought-out decisions.

She’s one of those moms who’s passionate about instilling education from the very beginning. Sometimes, she goes a little overboard—like when you give her a simple bib, and she’s already imagining stitching the family name in gold thread.

Caitlyn spends peaceful, quiet afternoons walking through the park, gently pushing a baby stroller. She deeply enjoys sharing with her child the simple wonders of life, showing them the vibrant colors of flowers and the cheerful songs of birds, teaching them to appreciate the beauty in the everyday.

Though she seems to have everything under control, there’s a sparkle of emotion in her eyes every time her baby smiles. She’s a mother full of pride, unable to hide the immense love she feels for her family, and she’s not afraid to share that overflowing happiness with the world.

SEVIKA.

Although Sevika wasn't the most enthusiastic about the idea of becoming a mother, you managed to convince her that together they could build a unique family. She doesn’t talk about it much, but when the baby arrived, something in her changed profoundly.

Even though she tries to keep up her tough exterior, there's a softer side to her that comes alive only for her child. She’s the type of mom who grumbles when the kid makes a mess… and then helps clean it up while murmuring, "But don’t tell your mom."

She builds custom toys and practices games that involve physical challenges because "life doesn’t give you a break." Her child adores her, especially when they see her adjusting her mechanical arm like a superhero.

No one, absolutely no one, dares to question her role as a mother. Once, a stranger tried to criticize you as a couple, and Sevika made it clear there wouldn't be a second warning.

JINX.

You and Jinx never planned on having a child, but somehow, fate (and maybe one particularly chaotic day) led you to adopt a little one you found on the streets of Zaun. According to her, "he was a potential ally of chaos."

Jinx is the fun mom who organizes “crazy drawing” competitions and probably lets the kid have ice cream before breakfast. She’s messy, but there’s no shortage of love or dedication.

When her child gets scared, Jinx surprisingly becomes calm. She knows how to comfort him with made-up stories and a soft hug, showing a more vulnerable side of herself.

She wants her child to grow up knowing that there’s nothing wrong with being different. She teaches him to be brave and creative, even if it means explaining later why the baby tried to “decorate” the house with explosive glitter.

#arcane #arcane x reader #arcane caitlyn #arcane vi #arcane sevika #arcane jinx #caitlyn x reader #vi x reader #sevika x reader #jinx x reader

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missadangel · 7 days ago

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The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

All Chapters List

XXIV. Grief

Proditio sola veritas haeret.

Betrayal is the only truth that sticks.

Flames engulfed the ships of the Roman navy, illuminating the vast dark Mediterranean Sea with a haunting glow. In a desperate bid for survival, soldiers leaped into the churning waters, their forms silhouetted against the firelight. The night air was filled with their frantic shouts and the splashes of bodies breaking the surface, the echoes of their struggles piercing through the stillness of the night, a chilling symphony of chaos in the open sea.

In the dead of night, enemy ships loomed in the shadows, shrouded by an eerie stillness. Suddenly, a carefully orchestrated and merciless ambush struck without warning. Marcus lay in his cabin, the soft glow of an oil lamp flickering gently nearby, where his loyal companion Octavius rested. The tranquil atmosphere shattered like glass when a bone-rattling roar sliced through the silence, a sound that reverberated like a thunderclap. In an instant, the ship they inhabited trembled violently as a massive ballista projectile—launched from a hidden catapult on a distant vessel—crashed into their hull, sending splinters flying and chaos erupting around them.

The ship convulsed violently as if it had been struck by a great earthquake, the timbers groaning in protest while flames licked hungrily at the hull.

Wooden fragments melted away as though caught in a relentless blizzard, cascading into the cool embrace of the sea, leaving the vessel to seemingly dissolve like parchment in a fire.

As the another catapult's deadly payload smashed into the ship, soldiers caught in the chaos became mere memories, their lives snuffed out in an instant by splintering timber and raging flames. Those molded by fear and urgency on the lower deck scrambled desperately, eyes wide with panic as they sought their generals, and they did, yet the single path to salvation became painfully clear: they must abandon ship, and they must do so swiftly.

As Marcus and his fellow soldiers gazed at the burning, wrecked ships surrounding them, a sense of urgency gripped them. The horizon beckoned with the promise of land, not too far from their current position—potentially enemy territory, but there was no time to choose. They exchanged quick, determined glances before plunging one by one into the cool embrace of the water, the weight of their fate pressing down upon them.

Nearby, soldiers clinging to the splintered remnants of a wrecked vessel noticed their departure. Just as they began to swim towards Marcus and his group, a fiery projectile from a catapult soared overhead, crashing into the water with a thunderous force that sent a towering wave crashing down around them.

Marcus felt his heart race as the water erupted into chaos, momentarily swallowing him whole. For a second, he thought he was lost in despair. The chaos of the waves was overwhelming. But then, just as suddenly as it had started, the storm of waves calmed down, giving them a moment to catch their breath.

Caught off guard during their brief respite, most of the soldiers had donned their heavy armor, a cumbersome burden that hampered their attempts to swim. Only Marcus and Octavius had taken the leap without the weight of steel, since they were wearing only their tunics, while their brothers struggled against the encroaching tide. The fight for survival had only just begun, and the shore felt tantalizingly away, even as danger loomed in the depths.

Gasping for breath, they collapsed onto the wet earth, the sandy ground pressing against their weary bodies. As the relentless waves crashed around them, Marcus, anchored by determination and aided by his steadfast second-in-command, fought valiantly against the tide. With every ounce of strength coursing through his muscles, he reached out to his struggling soldiers, encumbered by their heavy armor, which threatened to drag them beneath the churning surface. One by one, he pulled them from the clutches of the water, his hands straining, heart racing, until they lay safe upon the shore, their lives preserved by sheer willpower and camaraderie.

Marcus was horrified as he gazed at the nightmare unfolding in the sea. The navy of his army, built through months of hard work, was burning before his eyes. His soldiers—his brothers—whom he had trained so diligently and intensely, sacrificing sleep and spending less time with his family, were drowning. His hands balled into fists as the darkness of the night, the deep blue of the water, and the bright red of the flames reflected in his brown eyes.

His chest constricted with a heavyweight as memories of the inspiring speech he had delivered just days before flooded back to him, filled with unwavering confidence and fierce determination. Pride had surged through him as he looked upon his men, their faces radiant with determination, ready to conquer the enemy's city. Yet now, one by one, many of them were slipping beneath the dark, churning waves of the sea, their once-vibrant spirits extinguishing like flickering candles. In the distance, other ships of the fleet retreated like shadows fading into the horizon, their sails drooping in surrender. He felt no anger toward them; he understood their plight. He had commanded this course of action, knowing it was the only honorable choice for a leader.

His feet carried him toward the sea, and as he stepped knee-deep, Octavius approached from behind and touched his shoulder. "Acacius," he murmured.

"Whoever did this, Octavius," he said through clenched teeth. "I will take his life with my own hands."

“Do you believe we’ve been betrayed?” Octavius' voice was heavy with suspicion as he spoke. “You might be right; the timing is strikingly suspicious. Only we possessed the knowledge of our fleet’s carefully charted route—just the two centurions and the legates, privy to this crucial secret. Do you think one of them could be the mastermind behind this treacherous act?”

“Why would they do something like that, sir?” one of the soldiers asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Marcus paused, asking the same question to himself. He may not have had the words for the soldier, but one name stood out with unwavering certainty in his mind.

As dawn’s first light crept over the horizon, gilding the waves in soft hues of gold and orange, Marcus slowly opened his weary eyes. He found himself nestled in a concealed nook along the shore, accompanied by his two loyal soldiers and Octavius. One by one, they shook off the remnants of sleep, drawn out of their restless slumber by the haunting memories of the night before.

The cacophony of battle that had echoed through the darkness had faded, leaving behind an eerie, sorrowful stillness that blanketed the coastline. As they gazed out across the expanse of the sea, their hearts sank at the desolation before them. Gone were the proud ships that had once soared through the waves; instead, splintered pieces of wood and tattered remnants of sails littered the water’s surface, mingling with the ghastly sight of fallen soldiers drifting aimlessly—a mournful procession of loss and despair. Their presence was a haunting reminder of a lost struggle; the echoes of betrayal and malicious actions turned what could have been a victory into a tragedy.

The scene was etched into their minds, a harrowing reminder of the brutality of war that they would carry with them for all eternity.

“Let’s find higher ground,” Marcus urged, his voice heavy with resolve. “We need to see if there are any survivors.”

They couldn’t see in the dark last night, but maybe they could now. Even if it was only one soldier, Marcus was determined to find one; he had to at least try. They climbed to a high place near the shore and squinted in the hot sun. But there was no sign of life, just birds of prey that could smell the corpses. The soldiers picked up whatever stones they could find and threw them angrily at the birds, wanting to drive away the cruel creatures that were trying to feast on the remains of their brothers.

Then they heard a moan and walked towards it. A soldier lay on the shore, badly wounded. When they realized who it was, they rushed to his side. He was in bad shape; in fact, all of them had suffered injuries from the fire and the debris that had grazed their bodies. But this soldier needed urgent treatment.

As the two soldiers carefully tended the other one's injuries, Marcus gazed toward the horizon, watching the foamy waves crash against the rocky shore. He scrutinized the rugged coastline, mentally mapping their exact position on the vast expanse of both sea and land.

"What do we do now, sir?" Octavius asked, his brow furrowed with concern as the salty breeze tugged at his tunic.

“We are in enemy territory along the coastline, and we must avoid coming too close to the shore, as their ships could easily spot us. The army camp should be nearby, and I'm certain they will send an inspection team. We cannot dally; we need to keep moving.”

Suddenly, they heard the neighing of horses approaching and instinctively took an alert position. Then, several arrows were fired at them, striking two of the soldiers.

“Sir!” one of the soldiers shielded his general, as Marcus and Octavius were without armor or swords. Octavius rushed to the other wounded soldier but found that both were dead. He quickly grabbed their swords and called out to Marcus as he threw one toward him.

“Acacius!”

Marcus deftly caught the sword and cut through one of the dismounted attackers as he ran toward Octavius. More adversaries, armed with swords, charged at them. One of them shouted, “Leave no survivors!”

There were eight fully equipped opponents. However, they stood little chance against Marcus and Octavius, who were unarmored. The two soon managed to defeat their adversaries. Octavius had just pressed his sword to the throat of the man he believed to be their leader when Marcus intervened.

“Who are you? Who sent you?” Marcus demanded.

Octavius stomped his foot on the man's arm, pressing down on his wound. The man groaned in pain. “The general asked you a question! Speak!” Octavius growled.

“Romans,” the man spat defiantly. “It doesn't matter if you kill me; you've already lost. Soon, you will lose your lavish city too.”

Octavius bent down, grabbed him by the collar, and shook him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Speak!"

When the man resisted, he punched him repeatedly in the face. Marcus preferred to watch coldly.

The man spoke, his lips trembling as blood trickled down the side of his mouth. "I'm saying that our navy, which you underestimate, is preparing to lay siege to your city."

Marcus and Octavius exchanged glances. The man grinned and said, "But I don't think you will live long enough to see it. You won't stand a chance in our lands."

"I think you are mistaken," Marcus said. "You're the one who won't see it. Maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow, but one day, I, Marcus Justus Acacius, shall exact my retribution, destroy all of your fleets, conquer your city, and annex all of your lands into the greatness of Rome; Carthage will be wiped out of history."

The man’s eyes widened in disbelief, but not due to the threat or the confidence in his voice. Instead, the mention of his name made him realize who he was.

"You... how is it possible that you are still alive?" he exclaimed, reaching for the belt around his waist and swiftly drawing out a knife, intending to plunge it into him.However, Marcus was more agile. He grasped the man's wrist, which was holding the knife, and thrust it into the man's throat with it. The man breathed his last, choking on his own blood.

“Why was he so surprised? I don’t like this, sir,” Octavius said.

Marcus brow furrowed as his gaze pierced the distant trees and hills.

“There are undoubtedly more soldiers lurking in the area. We can’t stay here any longer; we must escape now,” he insisted, urgency driving his words.

“What’s the plan? How do we get back to Rome? It’s impossible without a ship."

“Who said we’re going back without a ship?” Marcus retorted. “Didn’t you hear him? Their fleet is gathering to prepare for a siege on the city. If we can just reach the harbor, there might be a glimmer of hope for us. But first, We need a disguise.” He turned sharply to the soldier beside him.

“Remove your armor and put on the clothes of one of those men,” Marcus ordered. “We must shed every piece of evidence that marks us as Romans, or we’ll never make it out alive.”

As Marcus donned the cloak of one of the dead soldiers, his thoughts were consumed by you. He couldn’t help but worry about what would happen to you and your children if the city fell to the enemy fleet before he could reach you. The troubling possibilities weighed heavily on him; he needed to get to Rome as soon as possible, but he knew the journey would be dangerous and difficult.

As the days dragged on without him, a heavy silence enveloped your heart. Initially, there was a flicker of hope that he would return, but an overwhelming sorrow settled in as the latest news trickled in. Shadows of doubt loomed large in your mind, whispering fears of what if he was truly gone. Yet, in the deepest recesses of your soul, a powerful conviction remained: he was alive, and you could feel it with every fiber of your being.

The agony of not being able to reach him, to offer solace, or to venture forth in search of him was an unbearable weight. Each day passed like an eternity. The sun would stream through your window, casting warm rays that illuminated your bed, yet the light felt cold and distant. Every breath you took without him was a reminder of the hollow space he once filled, each inhalation a sharp pang of longing.

You ached to flee from the Villa, to escape the desolation that surrounded you. Without him, it transformed into a forsaken dungeon, trapped in time—abandoned, ruined, and echoing with memories that only deepened your sorrow.

Every morning, you found yourself making the familiar journey to the bustling harbor of Ostia, the salty breeze carrying whispers of hope as you scanned the horizon for the familiar silhouette of a ship bearing the Legion III flag. Cato and Decima were sharing this ritual with you, but as the days drifted by without a sign of your men, Decima's optimism began to wane. Yet, you clung to hope like a lifeline, for returning to the villa felt like walking into a void, a space only filled by soothing presence of your children, who kept you anchored amidst the uncertainty.

Nights loomed like heavy shadows, each minute stretching into eternity as you sat in your dimly lit room after tucking the children into bed. The silence pressed in on you, amplifying the absence of Marcus. In the stillness, his silhouette seemed to haunt the corners of your mind, merging with fading memories that flickered like candle light. You often found yourself sitting on the cold, hard floor, wrapped in the ache of longing as you imagined where he might be sleeping—if he was sleeping at all. The gnawing worry clawed at your insides; was he injured? Did he need you? The warmth of your bed, which had once promised solace, felt foreign and unwelcoming now. It once a sanctuary, had turned into a cruel reminder of his absence. You chose to forgo its embrace, opting instead for the rough comfort of the lectus, resolute in your determination to wait for his return, refusing to surrender to sleep until he was back in your arms.

That morning, as you were getting ready in your room to head to Ostia, there was a knock at the door. Decima entered with your permission, her face pale and drawn, betraying a deep discomfort.

“What troubles you, dear?”

“My stomach,” she murmured, her hand instinctively resting on her slightly rounded belly. It was true; she was carrying a child, and it was common for her to experience such ailments in this time.

You guided her to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Don’t come with me today. Stay here with the children and rest.”

Desperation flickered in her eyes as she grasped your hand tightly. “Aurelia, can’t you consider not going either? We’ve made that journey to Ostia six days in a row, only to return disheartened, adding to our suffering. I’m so tired; I can’t bear it anymore…” Her voice cracked as tears spilled down her cheeks. You nestled beside her, wrapping your arms around her.

“I understand your pain, but if we give up hope, what do we have left? They are alive; we must summon our strength for them and for our little ones,” you assured her, your voice steady.

“This is the only flicker of hope I have left,” she said, her hand on her belly. “But we have to brace ourselves for the other possibility, you know.”

You rose from the bed, “No, there is no other option.”

“Aurelia—”

“Decima, please. He is alive; I can feel it,” you declared, picking up Marcius and inhaling the sweet scent of his curly hair. “I’m not in denial about this; I can’t explain it, but I just know it.”

She let out a heavy sigh, a sound filled with fatigue and resignation. You leaned down to plant a soft kiss on the tiny head of your daughter, peacefully sleeping on the bed, her dreams untouched by the cruel world outside. Then, with resolve, you draped your palla over your head, securing it around your arm.

“You rest here. I’ll return before nightfall,” you promised.

“Please take care of yourself,” she whispered, a tremor of worry in her voice.

You offered her a weak smile, a flicker of reassurance. “You too.”

As you went down the stairs, Tullia was waiting at the bottom, her eyes all watering. She begged you not to go, her voice wobbly with desperation, but you ignored her, just like you did every day. It was a familiar routine, and it was getting you nowhere. Everyone around you looked sad, and the air felt heavy and thick with sadness. This only made you angry.

“What is this sorrowful expression of yours?” you asked, your voice sharp. “Is someone dead? General, your master is still alive; he is not gone! How quickly have you all accepted defeat? How swiftly have you convinced yourselves of his demise? No, as your Domina, I refuse to allow this despair. There will be no more crying and no more sulking. I forbid it, do you understand?”

They nodded slowly, their heads bowed in compliance. You walked out of the courtyard and into the open air, where the world felt colder and more unforgiving. There, you spotted Cato by the carriage, which stood ready and waiting like a silent sentinel. This daily ritual had become all too familiar. Every morning, he arrived to escort you, and each time, you would ask if there was any news. When he responded with a slow shake of his head, a fresh wave of pain crashed over you, as if the wound had been reopened without mercy.

You found yourself teetering on the edge of endurance, desperately clinging to the fragile thread of hope. All you needed was the slightest indication that he was still alive—a whisper, a flicker of life. That’s why you journeyed to the harbor each day without fail; it was a pilgrimage fueled by the relentless ache in your heart. But as time went on, it felt like the whole universe was working against you. Every moment felt like an eternity, as if the world was determined to break your spirit.

As you stood at the harbor, the familiar salt-laden breeze swept around you, mingling with the weight of your unspoken grief. Each day, this spot had become both a sanctuary and a prison. A heavy sigh escaped your lips, giving way to silent tears that traced paths down your cheeks. From a distance, Cato watched, his heart heavy. Every day, he stood witness to your struggle, feeling the pull of your pain deep within himself. A soldier by trade, he had learned to temper his hopes with grim realism, but his heart ached with the longing to believe that everything would be alright. His thoughts were consumed by the mission entrusted to him by his general—to protect his own family, no matter the cost.

You were oblivious to the arrival of the carriage coming up close to you, its wheels crunching over gravel while the waves crashed rhythmically against the shore. The world around you had lost its vibrancy in his absence; it felt as if a curse hung in the air, draining the life from all that surrounded you.

Suddenly, the echo of footsteps broke through your reverie, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts. You turned to find Geta standing beside you, his expression serious as he draped a white, fancy shawl over your shoulders. The gentle weight of the shawl felt comforting amid your turmoil.

He had a point; the wind was biting, but nothing compared to the fiery pain you felt deep down.

“Why did you come here?” you asked, meeting his gaze.

“I should ask you the same thing. Standing on the edge of the harbor day after day—don’t you think it’s a bit reckless?”

“It’s hard to stay at home,” you replied, adjusting his shawl around your shoulders and clutching the fabric tighter as if seeking solace in its warmth.

“Then you should have told me. I would have come with you,” he said.

��Should I really have invite the great emperor to stand here idly with his sister for no reason? You have an empire to rule, and your family needs you,” you murmured.“Family? Hah!” He let out a bitter laugh that echoed against the waves. “You are my family. Marcius and my little niece—are my family.”

“Brother,” you whispered. “You have a wife and a child. You can’t just ignore them. Publius is your son; he needs his father.”

“I don’t ignore him,” he replied firmly, although the weight of his words seemed to hang in the air. “I love him just as much as I love Marcius.”

“And Nerissa? The rumors I hear about you two aren’t good. Are you paying enough attention to your wife?”

“I’m going to divorce her,” he said, his voice chillingly devoid of emotion.

“What did you just say?” you asked, stunned.

“Not right away, but I can’t stay married to her,” he continued, his expression hardening. “She’s become someone I no longer recognize. I can’t stand her being around me.”

“Tell me what happened,” you insisted.

He shook his head and looked into your eyes. There was sadness in his gaze, revealing the many things he wanted to say but couldn’t. His expression made you uneasy, because you recognized that look—the kind a man gives a woman when he feels deeply. It was the kind of look that compelled you to look away immediately.

“Aurelia, I—”

Suddenly, a horn echoed through the air, jolting you from your thoughts. The sound was unmistakable, sending a thrill down your spine. Instinctively, you turned your gaze toward the vast expanse of the sea.

In the distance, silhouettes of battle-weary ships emerged on the horizon, their sails billowing gracefully as they glided closer to the shore. The rhythmic crash of waves against their hulls accompanied their steady approach, creating a spellbinding sense of anticipation.

A surge of joy coursed through your veins, igniting a spark of hope that blossomed within you at the thought of his return.

“Finally,” Geta said, smiling at you, and you smiled back, perhaps for the first time in days. Within an hour, the partially damaged ships approached the shore and anchored. As each soldier stepped ashore, you felt growing excitement. However, your joy soon faded when you realized that the number of soldiers disembarking very less. The soldiers waiting on the other ships were not many either. It was devastating to witness the fleet's severe damage and significant losses firsthand.

A little later, the centurion Varus must have received the news, as he was one of those who arrived at the harbor. He was surprised to recognize you, but he stepped toward you with determination.

“Where is your general?” Geta asked the soldiers. The soldiers appeared tired, wounded, and deeply saddened. They were too grief-stricken to look at either his face or yours.

“It’s just us and the others on the ship, Your Majesty. We are outnumbered by no more than three thousand soldiers, many of whom died in the attack. We believe that the general and Sir Octavius were among them.”

"How could you come back without your general?" You shouted.

"It was a direct order from him, my lady. Either we stay there and perish, or we retreat. We've been through hell." The soldier’s words echoed in your mind, heavy as stone.

"You did the right thing, soldier," Varus said, his tone firm. Yet, you could sense a hint of relief in his voice.

Suddenly, your knees buckled, and you sank to the gravelly ground, feeling the sharp stones bite into your skin.

"Aurelia!" Geta exclaimed anxiously, dropping beside you.

"My lady!"

Geta fiercely pushed Varus' hand away as it reached out, wanting to touch you.

Cato rushed to your side, leaning in with an urgency.

"My lady, let me take you back home," he implored, but the words felt distant, floating away like the lost hopes within you.

You lacked the strength to respond; tears streamed down your cheeks, each drop a testament to the profound hurt that gripped your heart. Crushed under the weight of despair, the last remnants of hope were carried away on the calm winds howling across the shore.

Geta put his arm around you, his presence a quiet anchor amidst the storm raging within you. He brushed his fingers gently against your tear-streaked face, offering solace as he helped you rise.

"You should return to the villa now, Aurelia. Would you like me to accompany you?" he asked softly, concern lacing his voice.

Varus cleared his throat, a sound filled with urgency. "Your Majesty, there’s something we must discuss. You pledged to await the fleet’s return, and now that it has arrived, I trust you will take the necessary steps to select a new general."

You narrowed your eyes at him, fury simmering just beneath the surface.

"Not now, Varus," Geta interjected sharply, gesturing for him to leave, his protectiveness radiating like a shield around you.

“I understand your pain, and I am truly sorry for your loss,” he said, not sounding very sincere. Only made you angrier. “But my thoughts are with the state of our army and the safety of our city—”

“It’s not just you; I’m thinking about it too, so you don’t need to worry. Right now, I must be there for my sister during her moment of grief, and frankly, you’re the last person I want to see.” The sharpness of his words hung in the air, leaving Varus visibly unsettled. He lowered his gaze in anger, then turned and walked away in silence.

“I’m sorry, Aurelia, but Acacius...” Geta paused, drawing in a shaky breath as if unsure how to say it properly. “As difficult as it’s been—and I genuinely know it is—I believe it’s time for me to accept the truth.”

“Please,” you whispered, your voice cracking like brittle glass. “Don’t say anything more; it’s only adding to my pain."

"I know, forgive me."

"I want to go home.” You said faintly.

“Alright, then, let me accompany you. I can't leave you alone like this,” he said.

You nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks, unstoppable and raw.

During several distressing days spent as refugees in the bustling streets of Carthage—the very city they had intended to conquer—Marcus, Octavius and the other soldiers were forging a plan for their perilous return to Rome. Their initial strategy was to infiltrate the merchant ships sailing toward the island of Sicily. However, there was a significant problem: the harbor, alive with the sounds of creaking planks and crashing waves, was dominated by ominous warships—hundreds of them. Clearly, merchant ships could not sail for the time being. In truth, the man they had slain had spoken with grim accuracy—Carthage was preparing to unleash its might upon Rome.

With a pressing time limit, the group knew they had to procure a small dinghy or boat under the cover of darkness to reach Drepanum. Stripped of coins and valuables, they relied on their training as soldiers and the fierce camaraderie that bound them together. That day, they pressed on to the coastal city of Clypea, seeking the promise of a less fortified harbor where the air was thick with salt and desperation.

As dusk enveloped the city like a shroud, they found refuge in a dimly lit tavern, hoping for a place to rest. The scent of roasted meat mingled with the sharp tang of spilled wine as they overheard snippets of anxious conversations from nearby tables. The locals, their faces drawn with worry, whispered tales of the imminent siege preparations by their army. Fear rippled through the air like a storm, as they suspected that Elagabalus might betray their trust. Yet, a flicker of hope remained—many believed that the sinking of Roman ships and the loss of soldiers were signs of weakness. Most importantly, the loss of their great General Acacius could become a significant advantage in their struggle against Rome.

Octavius and the other soldiers clenched their fists upon hearing their conversation, while Marcus was the only one who smiled when his name was mentioned. As they listened, it was hard for them to remain quiet, but they needed to keep a low profile. He knew that if Elagabalus reached Rome with the Carthaginian fleet before they did, Marcus would have little chance to save his city. He had to get home—for his wife, for his family, for his emperor, and for Rome.

At dawn's quietude, they set out on their bold quest to steal a lone boat with a single sail from the peaceful harbor. Though its leisurely pace paled in comparison to that of a sturdy ship, it provided the subtlety they desperately needed. The boat glided across the shimmering waters, and nearly a day later, they finally stepped onto the sun-kissed shores of Sicily.

From that point on, their journey became treacherous. Traveling on foot across the rugged terrain, without the speed of a horse, would stretch their journey into days, perhaps even weeks. They maneuvered through the territory of Syracuse, a Roman ally.

Desperation clawed at them as they decided to find horses. In a hurry and lacking peaceful options, they resorted to force. They ambushed the owner of the horses. Marcus, torn between courage and guilt, promised the man that he would one day repay the debt. However, the man, trapped in despair and fear, yelled and protested loudly, his cries echoing in the still morning air. Ultimately, they had no choice but to silence him, tying him up as they fled into the uncertain horizon.

After journeying with the horses up to the Strait of Messina—just as the Roman navy arrived at the port of Ostia—they had to find a way to cross to the other side of the land. Unable to take the horses with them, they had to leave them behind, which meant a few more days would be required to reach Rome. Capua was a significant stop along the way to their destination. Octavius’ family resided there, would allow them to gather all necessary supplies like food, suitable clothing, and horses.

Upon arriving in Capua, they stepped into a tavern to rest, feeling quite fatigued from their travels. "My family's home isn't far from here. We can get what we need," Octavius said as the tavern owner served them their drinks. "What should we do after then, sir?"

Marcus sipped his wine. "We still have a considerable distance to get to Rome. Additionally, we need to find the nearest army headquarters."

“There’s the Iulia Alpina legion just outside the city,” another soldier said.

“Indeed. We must head to their camp. Commander Quintus knows me; he will be able to assist us,” Marcus said, his resolve strengthening. “From there, we can send word to Geta.”

They nodded in agreement.

Suddenly, the heavy wooden door of the tavern swung open, and a raucous group of men stormed in, their animated chatter filling the dimly lit room. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls as one man leaned in closer to his companions.

“Did you hear the news? They’ve chosen Verus as general to replace General Acacius,” he murmured, a hint of disbelief lingering in his tone.

The second man shook his head, a pained expression crossing his face. “He was a good commander, a man of honor. It’s a tragedy. May the gods welcome him into Elysium’s embrace,” he intoned solemnly, raising a cup in a silent toast.

A skeptical chuckle escaped the first man’s lips. “Verus can’t even hold a candle to him. No one can match his prowess on the battlefield,” he retorted, the edge of resentment sharp in his voice.

Seated in a shadowy corner, Octavius felt a surge of indignation welling within him. He shifted in his chair, ready to spring to his feet when Marcus, placed a hand on his arm, restraining him.

“Sir, what are they saying? How can this be?”

“Calm down, Octavius,” Marcus urged, glancing around cautiously. “They must believe we’re dead.”

“But you’re not dead! We’re not dead! We can’t let this nonsense continue!” Octavius protested, fury igniting his voice. “How could Geta possibly choose Varus?”

Marcus sighed, “It must be the council’s decision. They need a leader; the army can’t function without one,” he explained, his voice subdued yet firm.

“Still, it reeks of injustice,” the soldier said, his disappointment evident as he shook his head. “You are still a general, and this is gravely unfair.”

“Now, Varus has the influence and power to manipulate things in his favor. Geta is in jeopardy now more than ever. We must return to Rome—time is of the essence,” Marcus declared, determined.

Breathing... Could it really hurt just to breathe? But it did hurt you. It felt as if there were countless wounds in your lungs that grew larger with each breath. The pain you experienced was indescribable. You cried so much that you woke up in the morning with the dried remnants of last night's tears on your cheeks. Crying was all you could do; you tried to appear happy to avoid frightening Marcius. Every time he babbles "da-da," a word he used for his father, he did so without grasping the reality of his father's absence. As you watch him, you were feeling the weight of your emotions, struggling to hold back tears while biting your lips so hard that they almost bled.

Everyone around you—Cato, Felix, Decima, Norell, Geta, Lucius, who visited occasionally, your aunt Antonia, even Tullia—was telling you to stop waiting for him to return.

But you were refusing. Somewhere deep down, you knew that he was alive, you could still feel his heart beating. It was a strange sensation, but it was undeniable. How could you possibly ignore that feeling? He would return—maybe it would take months or even years, but he would come back. It might seem ridiculous, but you were certain he will return.

His words reverberated softly in your mind repeatedly. ‘You will live, my love. For our son, for our daughter, and for me.’ Yet, the weight of this promise felt almost unbearable. The ache in your chest was so profound that it seemed to steal the very breath from your lungs. Without his plea echoing in your heart, the agony would consume you entirely. It seemed so easy to surrender to death, but enduring the excruciating burden of this pain felt insurmountable, a dark shadow that loomed over every moment of your existence.

You may have shed many tears for Marcus, but all of Rome shared your grief. The citizens and city authorities of the Empire bestowed many honors upon General Acacius, and it was decided by Geta that appropriate ceremonies should be held to mourn his death. Temples, baths, and shops closed their doors as his loved ones wept inconsolably. In memory of his honorable and victorious life, a mausoleum was to be erected in the harbor of Ostia (this was customary for generals or centurions whose bodies could not be found). In two days, a ceremony was organized to commemorate the soldiers and their general who had died at sea. People, members of the Senate and their wives, and the relatives of the deceased soldiers all came to you to offer their condolences. You were grateful to everyone, but this only intensified your pain and made your loss feel more tangible.

Since you still didn’t believe you had truly lost him, the ceremony was almost unbearable, and you wanted to escape—it was all too much. What finally drove you away was the sight of Varus in his new outfit, who had just been declared General. He was dressed in leather armor featuring a gold-embroidered head of a Medusa on the front, with a red shawl cascading down from his shoulders. He looked just like Marcus, but he was not him. No matter how they referred to him, he wasn’t your general, and he never could be; no one ever could. Seeing someone like him wearing Marcus' familiar outfit left you feeling unsettled. Your heart raced uncontrollably, and the world around you blurred as nausea threatened to take hold. In your moment of distress, Cato and Decima rushed to your side, gently guiding you toward the carriage while you struggled to regain your composure.

Each step toward the waiting carriage was a struggle against the weight of your burden. Just as the world around you began to blur, your legs faltered beneath you, and darkness enveloped you like a thick fog, erasing all traces of light and consciousness.

Aurelia...

That whisper, that voice... As you opened your eyes, you found yourself on the desolate shore of a dark and stormy sea, waves crashing violently against the rocks. The air was thick with the scent of salt and rain, and Marcus' voice echoed all around you, haunting yet comforting, but he was nowhere to be seen. Panic surged within you as you searched the horizon.

Then, you spotted him—Marcus stood resolutely on the opposite shore, his charm as captivating as ever. Your heart raced at the sight of him, yet a deep chasm lay between you.

“Marcus, my love, I knew you weren't gone!” you cried out, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I knew you hadn't left me!" You swiftly wiped them away with the back of your hand, yearning to take in the familiar contours of his face that you longed for. But despite your desperate steps forward, the fierce ocean current repelled you, the waves rising like formidable walls.

The storm swirled around you, the howling wind almost drowning out your plea. “I’ll return to you soon, my princess,” he promised, his voice a melodic whisper that cut through the tempest.

Joy ignited a smile on your lips even as tears continued to flow. But just as swiftly, the tempest intensified, and in a blink, Marcus vanished, along with the light of your happiness.

The distant chirping of birds broke the spell, pulling you back to reality, stark and unforgiving. It was a jarring contrast to the heartache that gripped you. You understood you were lost in a dream, yet you hesitated to open your eyes, clinging to the hope of seeing him again. But like sand slipping through your fingers, the dream faded away, and you returned to a reality heavy with sorrow.

When you opened your eyes, you realized Geta was sitting next to you, looking at you with concern.

“Aurelia? Are you awake?”

You turned your head and glanced around the room; you were in your chamber at the Domus Severiana, another place filled with memories of Marcus. How wonderful.

“Why am I here?” you asked, frowning.

“I was very concerned about your condition. I wanted Lucius to see you,” he replied. He picked up a tray of food from the table and brought it to you. “Please eat something; you need to take care of yourself. You've lost a lot of weight—just look at you.”

“I don't have any appetite, brother,” you confessed, turning your head away.

“Then, as your emperor, I order you to eat this now,” he said, a playful smile creeping across his lips, trying to lighten the somber atmosphere.

He was trying to elicit a smile from you, and you appreciated that. Yet, despite your best efforts, you couldn't manage a smile.

“Thank you, brother, really, but I must go,” you murmured, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, the cold floor meeting your feet.

He quickly stood, an impetuous glint in his eye, and gently guided your shoulders back down. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“But Marcius and my daughter—”

“You must regain your strength first; otherwise, you’ll be no good to them. If you eat, I’ll let you go.”

“Geta, please... I can’t stay here,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, the weight of your worries pressing down on you.

“Then eat. Do you want me to spoon-feed you? Look, I’ve never done this for anyone before, so appreciate it. You're lucky to have a brother like me,” he said, grinning.

“Well, if you won’t let me leave without eating…” you murmured.

“That's right,” he replied, settling down next to you on the bed, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.

“Now, come on, open your mouth,” he urged. You hesitated but eventually opened your mouth just enough to accept the morsel and began chewing slowly.

With determination, he managed to get you to eat the food on the plate, and a smile of triumph appeared on his face.

“Enough, I'm going to be sick,” you said as he handed you more food.

“Well, at least I saw you eat something,” he replied with a chuckle. “I wish I could see you smile.” He sighed deeply. “You know, I really miss seeing that beautiful smile of yours.”

“Thank you for being there for me, brother. But I really have to go.”

“Come on, Aurelia, stay here one more night, and tomorrow I'll take you myself, I promise.”

“One more night? I stayed here last night?”

“Well, yes. I might have asked Lucius to give you something to help you relax,” he confessed sheepishly.

“You did what? I’ve been here for two days? How could you do that?” Your words spilled out, sharp and tinged with disbelief.

“I did it for you!” he barked back, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “Lucius said you fainted—probably from malnutrition and sadness. You’re going to make yourself sick, and I can’t allow that. So please, just stay here tonight and leave tomorrow. Should I have Marcius and my little niece brought over?”

“No, I’ll go,” you insisted.

Geta grasped your wrist gently but firmly. “Please, Aurelia,” he implored, his eyes filled with a quiet desperation.

It was ironic how Nerissa had used that same word in her plea for you to leave before.

“I know exactly what will make you smile,” Geta declared confidently. “Stay right here; I will return shortly.” With that, he left the room.

You sat back on the bed, and no matter how much you tried to push it away, the memories of Marcus in this room kept flooding your mind. It formed a lump in your throat that was hard to swallow. A little later, Geta returned, managing to make you smile as he promised. He came back carrying your nephew, Publius, in his arms. Instinctively, you smiled widely when you saw his beautiful face.

“See? I told you I’d make you smile. This little man is the only one who can manage that for his aunt,” Geta declared, his eyes twinkling with pride.

You reached out and took Publius in your arms. He was right; he was the only one who could make you smile today.

“Aurelia,” Geta said as you stroked your nephew’s golden hair. “I know it’s hard right now, but you will get through this. You are the strongest woman I know, and believe me, I have known many.”

“I don’t know if that’s a consolation or just an attempt to flatter yourself,” you replied, half-joking.

He shrugged his shoulders, a playful grin forming on his lips. “I can’t change my past, but you are the biggest reason I’ve become the person I am today. You’re incredibly strong, fiercely loyal, and possess a heart of gold. You would do anything for those you love. I consider myself lucky to have you among them.”

“Geta…” you murmured, your heart swelling with gratitude.

“I know, I know—sentimentality is a lot for someone who tends to be full of himself. I failed at being emotional, didn’t I? Just forget it, it’s all—”

Suddenly, you hugged him. He was taken aback; he usually does that kind of thing.

“Thank you, brother. Your support means a lot to me,” you said.

He wrapped his arms around you. “I’ll always be there for you. I won’t let anything happen to you or your children. In his absence, you’ll be under my protection.”

“Your Majesty—”

You stepped back as soon as you heard Nerissa's voice. Her expression was a mix of confusion and anger. “I was looking for Publius...” she mumbled.

“I brought him here,” Geta replied, avoiding her gaze.

“I thought Lady Aurelia had left.” She glanced at you.

“My sister will stay here one more night,” he said, picking up Publius in his arms.

A little later, Lucius appeared at the door. “Your Majesty, my empress, my lady.” He looked at you and them. “I'll come back later if this is the wrong time—”

“Come in, Lucius,” Geta said, gesturing to him. “We were just leaving.” He turned to you. “Rest well, Aurelia.”

You nodded in response.

Geta grasped Nerissa's arm, and you ignored her piercing looks as they left the room together.

Lucius closed the door behind them.

“How are you feeling? Are you feeling better?”

“I'm not sure how I feel anymore,” you replied with a sigh.

"You looked as pale as a marble statue yesterday; you really should take better care of yourself."

"I see you're still in Rome," you murmured, deliberately dismissing the subtle suggestion in his words.

He placed the delicate cup of soothing herbal tea he had brought for you on the table, steam rising like Marcus’ memories swirling around the room.

"How can I possibly leave when you're feeling this way?" he asked.

"I'll be fine, Lucius," you insisted, your voice more confident than you felt.

He exhaled deeply. “I won't say anything to upset you, but I don't like seeing you this way. You should think of yourself, for your children's sake at least.”

You picked up the cup and glared at him. “I know, but it’s hard.”

Lucius knew you well, and you appreciated that he didn’t try to convince you of anything or comfort you as the others did.

“Just try,” he said before leaving the room.

At the break of dawn, the first light filtered through the mist, illuminating the sturdy tents of the Iulia Alpina legionary camp. Marcus and Octavius approached the entrance, the sound of their sandals crunching on gravel echoing in the quiet morning air. The soldier who had traveled with them had to stay at Octavius' family home because his wounds were worsening.

Two soldiers stepped forward as they neared them, their expressions a mixture of caution and suspicion.

“Halt! Identify yourselves,” one soldier demanded. Seeing them unarmed, he crossed his arms over his chest with confidence, blocking their path.

Octavius’s frustration bubbled beneath the surface, igniting a fire in his chest. How could mere soldiers question Marcus, a man who had once commanded the respect and admiration of the entire army? With clenched fists, he felt a surge of indignation at the thought of his general being reduced to an unknown visitor.

But where Octavius seethed, Marcus remained the embodiment of calm dignity. He reached for his finger, slipping off his intricately designed ring and presenting it to one of the soldiers. The metal glinted in the morning sun, a symbol of authority.

“Deliver this to Commander Quintus. He will recognize who I am,” Marcus instructed, his voice steady and assured.

The soldier hesitated, his brow furrowing as he examined the ring. “A Commander's ring? Where did you acquire this?”

“Did you steal it?” a second soldier asked.

Octavius erupted in anger, his voice like thunder. “How dare you say that!”

“Who the hell are you to raise your voice?” the first soldier shot back.

What is going on here?” another came behind them and asked, eyes widening in recognition as they landed on Marcus.

“Sir, these two wanted to see you—” the soldier began, but Commander Quintus silenced him with a wave of his hand.

“Return to your posts now!” he barked, authority ringing in his voice. “Come with me.” He gestured for Marcus and Octavius to follow him, the soldiers nodding in surprise as they complied.

Marcus reclaimed his ring, the weight of it in his hand a reminder of his past glories. He turned to the soldier, locking eyes with him. “What is your name, soldier?” he inquired, his tone now softer, almost conspiratorial.

The soldier frowned, taken aback by the unexpected question. “B-Balbus. Why do you ask?”

Placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, Marcus replied, “I’ll find you one day, Balbus.”

The young soldier quirked an eyebrow, puzzled by the familiarity, and a chill ran down his spine as he felt a strange shiver at the weight of Marcus’s words.

Commander Quintus stepped into his tent and waited for the others to arrive.

“Acacius! General!” he exclaimed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and relief. “How did you-? We heard you were dead. Just the other day, there was a ceremony…”

“Calm yourself, Quintus. I’ll explain everything,”

Quintus exhaled a deep breath. “Please, take a seat, General. Forgive my soldiers; they wouldn’t have acted this way if they had known who you were. I was too flabbergasted to reveal your identity in front of them—”

“Actually, you acted wisely. I need your help with something. We must return to Rome immediately. Our journey has stretched on for far too long.”

“Of course, but how did you survive that brutal attack? I’ve heard the stories—tens of thousands lost…” Quintus’s voice trailed off. "I can't even imagine..."

“I suppose the gods took pity on us,” Marcus muttered.

“They surely did. It’s a miracle you made it out alive,” Quintus said, shaking his head in awe.

"A miracle indeed," Octavius murmured.

“You mentioned a ceremony,” Marcus said, his brown eyes narrowing as he leaned forward.

“Yes, I attended it. Actually, I only arrived last night. I believe you heard about whom they appointed as general,” he said hesitantly. Marcus nodded in reply. “Varus looked rather smug in his new outfit.”

“I’m certain he did,” Marcus replied coldly. “Did you see anyone else?” He sighed before your name escaped his lips. “Lady Aurelia?”

“Yes, she was there,” he said, avoiding eye contact.

Marcus’s brow knitted in concern. “Did something happen to her?”

“She appeared distraught,” Quintus confessed, his voice dropping to a whisper. “She thinks her husband is dead, the poor lady.”

A heavy silence enveloped them, tightening around Marcus’s chest like a vise. “I must return at once,” he hissed.

Octavius placed a reassuring hand on Marcus’s back. “We will return, brother. Together.”

Quintus nodded, determination etched on his features. “I’ll provide you with my finest horses. You arrive in Rome in a day and a half,” he promised.

Marcus nodded.

“Sir,” a soldier called to Quintus from outside the tent.

“Come in,” Quintus replied.

The soldier saluted and handed him a piece of paper. “A message just arrived, sir, from Rome.”

“Alright, you can leave now,” Quintus replied, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. The soldier complied, saluting once more before exiting. Quintus turned to Marcus, his expression darkening. “It’s from General Varus.”

“Open it,” Marcus urged.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Quintus unfolded the paper. As his eyes scanned the lines, shock painted his features, and a breathless murmur escaped his lips. “How can this be?”

“What does it say?” Marcus asked, leaning closer.

“Commander Quintus,” Quintus read aloud, voice steady but tinged with disbelief, “in the name of the people of Rome, I summon your legions to Rome to assist me and my soldiers in arresting Emperor Geta.”

Marcus's brow furrowed as he examined the message and the seal beneath, then handed it over to Octavius.

“What the hell does he think he’s doing?” Quintus exclaimed, his voice rising with fury.

“He’s trying to place Elagabalus on the throne,” Marcus snarled.

“Is he betraying Emperor Geta now?” Octavius asked.

“That seems to have been his intention all along,” Marcus replied, clenching his fists tightly at his sides, frustration radiating from him like heatwaves. “How could I not have seen it?”

“He must have been the one who tipped off the enemy about our fleet's course,” Octavius added, his voice low yet charged with realization. “They knew exactly where we’d be. The target was you, General—the ship we were on.”

“You're right, Octavius. If I had recognized this earlier…” Marcus said, his voice trailing off as regret washed over him.

“Who could have guessed he would turn out to be such a despicable traitor?”

"We should have seen it, Octavius. If we had, none of this chaos would have unfolded," he replied with a stern look. "Perhaps our brothers would not now be in the depths of the damned sea," he added, the burden of grief heavy on his heart.

Octavius gently placed a hand on his shoulder, sharing in his sorrow and understanding his pain.“We have to leave immediately.” Marcus said then. “We cannot allow Varus to continue his malevolent schemes. If he places Elagabalus on the throne, it will spell disaster for all of Rome.”

“You're right. We have no time to lose.”

“I’ll prepare the horses, but Acacius, Varus has summoned me to the city. If I refuse, he may brand me a traitor,” Quintus said.

“You will go. You must fulfill your duty as a soldier. However, the fact that I am still alive must remain our secret.”

He nodded and left the tent.

“What are we going to do? You won’t be recognized as a general when you reach Rome,” Octavius asked.

“I will confront him and reclaim my rightful title, but before that, we must find a way to stop him. If they manage to capture Geta and place Elagabalus on the throne, we'll lose our chance for good, and with the sands of time slipping away, we cannot afford any delays."

“We have until their fleet reaches Ostia.”

“If Elagabalus is on that fleet.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it Octavius. If Varus didn’t wait for the fleet, he may have already allowed Elagabalus to sneak into the city,” he explained, dread lacing his words.

“Gods forbid! if we don’t make it in time—”

Marcus exhaled a heavy breath. “Then we will have truly lost…"

When you woke up in the morning, you heard footsteps just outside your chamber. Then, Geta entered your room with a big smile on his face, followed by the slaves carrying trays full of food. You looked at them with puzzled, sleepy eyes.

“What is happening?” you asked.

“I arranged for breakfast to be served in your room,” he replied, gesturing for the slaves to place the trays on the table.

“I can see that. May I ask why?”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on now. I just wanted us to have breakfast together. Get up and join me,” he said as he sat down at the table.

He was likely trying to make you feel better, but he was putting in a bit too much effort.

“Geta, I want to return home now,” you whined.

“Alright, alright, but I kindly ask that you join me for just one breakfast before we leave together,” he suggested earnestly.

You huffed. “Very well.”

After breakfast, Geta indicated his intention to proceed downstairs to arrange for the carriage, assuring that he would await your presence in the courtyard. Leaving the room was difficult, but going to the villa felt even harder. Marcus seemed to be everywhere; his memories were etched in every corner, and his beautiful face appeared wherever you looked. Today you felt more broken than yesterday; the pain remained, only now it felt bigger.

You couldn’t deny that Geta's support helped to ease the pain a bit. However, the problem was that every time you were alone after a moment of relief, the reality of Marcus’s absence struck you like a slap in the face. Each time it felt more violent, more jarring, and more hurtful. You didn’t know how to cope with the pain, and what was worse, you were sure it would linger with you for the rest of your life. All you could do was wait for him to return, just as he promised you in your dream. His return was your only medicine; the only thing that could heal you was feeling his presence again.

Upon your arrival in the courtyard, Geta greeted you with a warm smile. “Are you prepared to depart, sister?” he inquired, with genuine warmth in his tone.

You nodded in affirmation. “Yes, I am ready.”

“I’ve already missed Marcius and our little princess. It will do me good to see them.”

“Oh, that’s right, I never thanked you.”

“For what?” he asked.

“For giving your bracelets to Marcius.”

He smiled. “I wanted to give my nephew a gift worthy of a Roman prince.”

“A very suitable gift indeed,” you responded, returning his smile, feeling a brief lift in your spirits.

Just as you were about to exit, Darius entered the courtyard purposefully, his demeanor suggesting urgency. “Your Majesty! I was on my way to locate you.” His expression conveyed a sense of importance, and he was clearly catching his breath.

“What is the matter, Commander? Has something occurred?” he asked.

His brow knitted in concern as he looked around warily.

“Centurio- General Varus…” he gasped, struggling to catch his breath.

“What about him?”

“He's on his way here with his troops, Your Majesty,” he replied, a shadow of dread crossing his face.

“I beg your pardon?”

“With the intent to arrest you,” he continued, his tone grave.

“What?” you squeaked, feeling a chill run down your spine.

Geta stood frozen for a moment, shock rendering him speechless, his eyes darting with alarm.

“My men have managed to block them at the entrance to Palatine Hill, but their numbers are overwhelming. We won't be held off for long. We need to get you out of here—now.”

“How dare Varus commit this treachery?” he demanded, anger boiling within.

“We don’t know his motives, Your Highness. My men will escort you to the safe place we discussed earlier.” He unsheathed his sword with a schwing sound. “You must go with them immediately. And you too, my lady, follow His Majesty closely.”

“I need to go home!” you protested, panic threading through your voice.

“Aurelia, didn’t you hear? Varus has committed treason not only against me but against the entire imperial family."

"We suspect he may be colluding with Elagabalus,” Darius added.

A cold shiver coursed through you, your heart pounding against your ribcage. “Marcius... My son... I have to reach him now!”

“We will, but first we must escape this place!” Geta urged.

“This way, Your Majesty,” one of the guards pointed to a shadowy inner courtyard, the air thick with tension and urgency.

“Bring the Empress and my son!” Geta commanded.

“I’ll fetch them; you go ahead, please!” the other guard shouted urgently before he left your side.

Geta grabbed your wrist and dragged you into the shadowy corridors, following the clattering footsteps of the guards. Your heart was pounding like a drum, the sound of fear and panic filling your head as you thought of your son.

“Don’t worry,” Geta murmured, urgency lacing his words. “There’s a secret path winding from the tombs beneath Palatine Hill. It’s an escape route that Darius, Acacius, and I devised for emergencies like this.”

Your heart fluttered at the sound of his name. Whenever you were scared in situations like this, the confidence that he would come to your rescue always kept you calm. But now, he was absent, and you were left in the cruel grip of uncertainty. A chilling question gnawed at your mind: could these truly be the last moments of your life? You thought that death would be far less terrifying if it weren’t for your children. The thought of them being left fatherless and orphaned weighed heavily on you, and despair threatened to consume you. If they lost their mother too, what fate awaited them in this unforgiving world? You strained to push those dark thoughts aside, desperately trying to focus on the present moment.

The guards led you to the tombs, and one of them went to check if the exit was safe. You paused, waiting for his return to your side; you gazed at the statue of your father, and you silently prayed to be reunited with Marcus and to return safely to your children.

“Don’t pray to him; he won’t hear you,” Geta said.

You looked at him in shock.

“He never heard me. He wouldn’t have heard me even when he was still alive.”

"How do you mean?"

“Caracalla and I were merely heirs to him. He didn’t see us as sons; perhaps we weren’t worthy in his eyes. I can’t say. But he had one true child, and that was you. He loved only you,” he declared, his voice growing thick with a storm of emotions.

“Geta, what are you—”

“I held my silence before because, at first, it was simply jealousy. But the more I learned about you, the clearer it became why he cherished you so deeply. Caracalla’s anger only grew in tandem.” He put his hand on Caracalla’s bust, on his shoulder. "The reason they called us evil twins was that’s exactly what we were. Our father played a significant role in that; he was a soldier, a commander who viewed us as his soldiers. He often beat Caracalla, and I would shield him to protect him, but sometimes, I was too scared and just watched. He even believed that Caracalla's height was his fault. He never loved us, Aurelia, and I know he didn’t love my mother either. He must have preferred you and your mother," he said, laughing bitterly. "I don’t hold it against you—please don’t misunderstand. But if he had treated us well and given us a father’s love, maybe Caracalla wouldn’t have become so angry or fooled to believe someone like Macrinus. I think he loved Rome more than he loved us, even more than he loved you, since he sent you, his most precious, away."

Tears began to flow down your cheeks, as you were already on the verge of crying. "I didn't know. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. Even though he's my brother, he deserved to die. It was either Rome or him. But Acacius... Now you see why we consistently sent Acacius to war—to push him into taking action. We even threw him into the Colosseum several times to see if he was worthy of commanding the army. Just for fun.” He confessed. “We despised my father so much that we wanted to destroy everything he had built for Rome. Caracalla, in particular, was intent on this destruction, even if it meant starving the people to death. However, I now realize how wrong we were. Acacius, that honorable man, had to endure our actions for years. We never considered his situation; to us, he was merely an expendable servant." He exhaled. “Everything changed when you came into our lives. First, you healed Acacius, and then you healed me, both body and soul. You entered both of our hearts. But what truly matters is how you healed Rome, how you became a precious part of her. You are the heart of Rome.” He gently caressed your cheek, his hand trembling with a mix of regret and affection. “Yet now, your heart aches because of me. Forgive me for failing to protect him. I should have had Elagabalus eliminated rather than merely banished. This burden of guilt is all mine."

"Blaming yourself won’t alter the outcome. But Acacius is not dead; I hold that belief deep in my soul."

"I sincerely hope you're right, sister.”

A few hurried footsteps echoed through the dimly lit corridor, breaking the tense silence. Nerissa appeared, carrying Publius in her arms.

"What’s the situation?" Geta asked the guards.

“Your Majesty, the troops have encircled Domus Severiana,” one guard replied, his voice steady despite the chaos outside. “We must leave immediately.” He glanced anxiously at a fellow guard. “And where is Drusus?”

“He went to scout the exit, but he hasn’t returned yet, sir,” came the worried response.

“Regardless, we have to move. Your Majesty, stay close.”

“Lead the way, then,” Geta said, pulling Nerissa to one side and you to the other. Together, you pressed forward, the sound of your footsteps echoing against the cold stone walls.

You had never ventured this far from the tombs and had no idea there was an escape route. The darkness wrapped around you like a shroud, and the presence of an escape route was a startling revelation. Marcus must have carefully crafted a plan to safeguard everyone before his departure. As you recalled that he had experienced sleepless nights months ago, you understood the reasons behind his anxiety. But what did it accomplish for you, other than keeping you apart?

You continued onward, trying to suppress your anger. You needed to get out of here and reach the villa as soon as possible.

After walking down an endless corridor, you reach a wooden door that opens to the outside. One of the guards drew his sword, approached the door, and slowly opened it. Just as he stepped outside, he was attacked. During the ensuing clash, other guard was ambushed by a man wearing a cloak, similar to the first attacker. Geta quickly pulled you and Nerissa back. The air was thick with tension as the chilling sound of steel clashing echoed through the corridor. Moments later, both guards lay lifeless on the floor, their life force drained, leaving only a gnawing panic coursing through your veins as the attackers advanced, their swords aimed at you.

In a shocking turn, Nerissa released her grip on Geta's hand and stepped forward, her movement very calm, which left you astonished.

“Nerissa, what are you doing?” Geta shouted.

Yet, she remained silent, standing defiantly beside the attackers, her gaze locked onto Geta with intensity.

“The time for revenge has come, Your Majesty, or should I say, my husband?”

Geta narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean? Do you know these men?”

“I overheard everything when you planned this escape route. They were waiting for you here.” She smiled cruelly.

"Why the hell-"

“You thought I would never find out, didn’t you?” She snapped.

“What are you talking about? I don't-”

“I know how you had my mother and father killed!”

Geta appeared taken aback but maintained his composure. “You knew? All this time, why didn’t you confront me?”

“I found out. Elagabalus revealed everything to me.”

“That bastard doesn’t know shit! Did you truly believe his words?”

“Why did you do it?” Nerissa barked, her voice filled with fury. “Why?” Another bark followed. Publius began to cry, and she handed him to the man beside her. “Get him to the place we discussed,” she ordered, and he nodded in response.

“Where the hell are you taking my son?” Geta shouted, but the other man pointed his sword at him, halting his advance. In a panic, you grabbed Geta's shawl.

“All those years... I stood by your side through it all and obeyed your every command. How could you betray me like this?”

“Nerissa, it was Caracalla who was behind it,” you said. “Geta—”

Geta grabbed your hand and pulled you behind him. “Don’t, Aurelia. This is between us.”

Nerissa laughed. “Between us? I thought there was nothing between us. All this time, I was in love with you. I believed in you, I trusted you, and I hoped that maybe you would love me for the sake of our son. But what did you do? You fell in love with your sister!" She barked as she looked at you. "Do you recognize these people? They came from Athens just to take their revenge, which Elagabalus promised us.”

The men pushed back their hoods, revealing their faces. These were the Greeks from the wedding. Nerissa asked for his sword, and he gave it to her. Then she walked toward Geta, who didn't even flinch, seemed frustrated, realizing he had been fooled all this time—just like you. Both of you are petrified.

"My mother and father came to Rome just to speak to you and your brother. Why did you have them killed? Did you enjoy hiding the truth from me? Did you laugh behind my back while I was foolishly serving you without knowing anything? You took pleasure in having me after you killed them, didn’t you? That’s who you are!"

“No, that's not true!” Geta shouted.

“Caracalla wanted to kill them in front of you, to make you watch. I prevented him. Yes, I let them be killed, and I don’t deny that. But I kept it from you because I knew how devastated you would be. I was afraid you’d do something reckless and get yourself killed. I cared for you; I wanted you by my side. I was trying to protect you from Caracalla.”

"Yet you pushed me into his bed."

Geta squeezed his eyes shut, a look of regret on his face. "I had to, and I'll never forgive myself for it, but he would have killed you for sure if I hadn't. You know what he was like - his anger was unlike mine; it blinded him."

"So you did it to protect me? Then why didn't you love me? Was it so hard?" Nerissa's eyes began to fill with tears.

"I wanted to, I really tried,” Geta murmured. "But I cared for you, Nerissa." His tone was sincere. “I still do.”

A few footsteps approached from behind you, causing the men to tense up in that direction.

"My lady, we must leave at once. The ship is ready and waiting to sail," someone urged Nerissa.

Nerissa shot another deadly glance at Geta. "I don’t believe you. Whatever you say or do, it won't change what you've done."

Geta nodded and spread his arms wide. "Go ahead then. Do what you must."

"No!" you shouted, grabbing his arm. "Geta, what are you doing?"

"Let her do it, Aurelia. I deserve it."

You looked at Nerissa. "Please, Nerissa, stop! Revenge won't bring your mother and father back! I know you love Geta. Do you really want your son to grow up without a father? What will you tell him one day when he asks about his father?"

“He will know what his father has done and will hate him. I will make sure of it!”

Geta held your hand and pulled you toward the exit. "You can kill me, but let Aurelia go. She has nothing to do with this, and you know that. She was always kind to you."

Nerissa narrowed her eyes."You value her life over your own. Even in your final moments, you think of her. You love her more than you ever loved me."

"Stop it and just do what you're going to do!" Geta barked.

The sounds were getting closer. Nerissa tried to thrust the sword, Geta, but her hands trembled when she looked him in the eye. One of the men seized the sword from her. “My lady, we’re out of time. Let me handle this.”

Nerissa handed him the sword. “Kill her first,” she said, glancing at you. “He’ll understand what I’m going through as he watches his most precious one die.”

You gasped as he brought the sword to your neck. You closed your eyes tightly, and Geta shouted, “NO!”

You whispered softly to yourself with your eyes closed, "Marcus, I love you.”

In the blink of an eye, a black shadow appeared before your eyelids, and you heard the sharp sound of a sword cutting through fabric and flesh. A choking sound, followed by a growl, and a few strands of hair grazed your cheek. When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was Geta's blonde hair. Herd, and as you reached out to grab him, the weight and shock of the moment caused your knees to buckle, and you collapsed. The crown on Geta's head fell to the floor as he toppled backward onto you, the sound echoing through the stone corridor. But there was a more terrible sound. Geta had been hit hard by the sword in the stomach and blood was oozing from the cut. He was making choking noises, and his breathing was becoming increasingly difficult.

"No, no, no, no, no," You mumbled as you pressed both of your hands against his abdomen, where blood was gushing out.

“Aurelia!"

It was Lucius' voice, but you couldn't bring yourself to look at him. Geta's eyelids seemed to grow heavier by the second as he struggled to breathe.

Lucius hurled a knife at one of the men as he charged them. The blade struck the man in the chest, causing him to stagger backwards and fall. With remarkable speed and agility, Lucius deftly slashed at the other attacker with his sword. While you sobbed violently as Nerissa ran away in panic, seemingly unconcerned.

“Lucius! Please help me!” you cried, pressing your hands against Geta’s injury, but the blood continued to flow violently.

When Lucius noticed the blood pooling on the floor and realized it was also flowing down Geta's back, he scowled. The sword cut through him, and he realized it meant only one thing. "Aurelia..."

‘What should we do? Maybe if we stitch him up,’ you gasped.

Blood poured from Geta's mouth as he coughed, and more started to seep from the corner of his lips.

Lucius gently touched your cheek. “Aurelia...” As you looked into his blue eyes, you understood what he was implying, but you were unwilling to accept it.

“No, no, no! We can save him. Geta! Look at me!” You held his face in both hands, tears streaming down your cheeks.

His blood-stained lips curled into a smile. Coughing, "It's blissful..." "...to die..." he muttered, again coughing up blood, "...in your arms," rolling his eyes as his eyelids flitted open and shut.

"You're not going to die!“Look at me! No! No!” Your desperate cries reverberated against the cold, unforgiving stone walls, creating a haunting echo that felt as if it were mocking your pleas.

Lucius grabbed your shoulders and shook you. “Aurelia, we have to go now! The soldiers have entered the courtyard; they’ll be here soon! We don’t have time!”

You were engulfed in a haze of shock, your hands trembling as you shook Geta violently. “Geta!”

Yet, he remained unresponsive, his eyes closed in an unsettling stillness.

“He's gone, Aurelia,” Lucius’s voice cut through the silence, reverberating painfully in your ears. “He's dead,” he repeated his words a cruel echo of your own fears. “Let me save you.” With a sense of urgency, he wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you as if trying to carry you away from the heartbreaking scene.

“No, Lucius! He can't die! Please! GETA!” Desperation clawed at your throat as you fought against him, your sobs raw and choked. You reached out, stretching your hands toward Geta, as if the mere act of touching him could breathe life back into his still form. The atmosphere around you shifted as the metallic clang of soldiers' armour and the hurried tread of feet echoed down the corridor.

“Find them now!” a commanding voice boomed.

Lucius grasped your blood-soaked wrist in a desperate grip. "We must go now!"

Your body felt weak, a puppet torn from its strings, each sob dragging you further into the despair and aching throbbing of your loss.

"Hurry, Aurelia! We might have a chance if we take this path!" His voice urged you forward. But your legs felt weak, and you feared you would fall at any moment. It was all too overwhelming—too much pain and loss. Lucius stopped and looked at you, his expression earnest. "Aurelia, we have to get out of here now before the soldiers find us. Do you hear me? They were talking about arresting you. Think of your children. Think of Marcius. We need to get him somewhere safe."

Suddenly, all your senses returned. "Marcius, my son," you murmured. He was right—Elagabalus would want to eliminate the entire imperial family before claiming the throne. "Let's go, Lucius!" you urged, meeting his gaze.

He nodded. "Come, this way."

A little further along the banks of the Tiber, you emerged onto the plain, where Felix met you, flanked by two horses. "My lady, we must leave at once. Cato is at the villa; I sent him ahead to finalize the preparations."

You nodded in response. Lucius mounted one of the horses and extended his hand to you. "Come on."

Felix jumped onto the other horse as you settled behind him. But the soldiers had spotted you. "Hey! Stop right there!"

Fortunately, they didn’t have horses. You wrapped your arms tightly around Lucius as he and Felix kicked their horses forward. The soldiers yelled after you and ran, but they couldn’t keep up. You knew they would head to the villa, and your only hope was to reach it before they did. You turned your head for one last look at the silhouette of Palatine Hill disappearing behind you, your mind was clouded with thoughts of Geta. It felt surreal and almost unbearable to accept that he was gone, leaving behind an echo of memories that tugged at your heart.

to be continued...

I apologise to those who love Geta, but now we are approaching the end of the story and I will end this series even though I don't want to, you know everything has an end and I want to do it in the best way while ending it, I will probably end it in the 30th chapter, I hope you are still enjoying it, love you all:)

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your likes, comments and reblogs are soo important to me, and thank you for all support, love you all❤️

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purifiedclitoris69 · 4 months ago

Text

silent comfort

Wanda maximoff x supersoldier!reader

warnings: violence/dark thoughts?

summary: you and wanda have a silent love for each other. you’re generally gentle and kind always watching over, but when someone over steps and offends the person you love for most, another you peaks thru.

You are a supersoldier unlike any other, quiet and reserved, always choosing to observe rather than command attention. After your time in hydra and the reputation you built, attention was the last thing you wanted. You joined the Avengers a few months before Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, blending into the background with an unassuming grace. Despite your strength and skill, there's a softness to you that surprises your teammates—your silence is not cold or distant, but warm and thoughtful, like a silent protector.

From the moment you met the twins, you felt a deep connection with them, particularly Wanda. You could sense the weight she carried—the uncertainty, the grief, the fear, the guilt—and you were drawn to her. While others might have approached her with caution or even wariness, you offered something different: quiet kindness. Even despite her side with Ultron, you still showed her brother and her a kindness that they had almost forgot.

You have a way of making Wanda feel at ease, often with just a look or a simple gesture. She feels safe around you in a way she rarely does with others. You never push her to talk, but you're always there when she needs to, whether it's a late-night conversation or a shared moment of silence. You listen without judgment, always knowing exactly what she needs, whether it's words of encouragement or just the quiet comfort of your presence.

With Pietro, you're more playful, indulging his teasing with a rare smile, bailing him out of trouble with his pranks, playing along with them, but with Wanda, you're especially gentle, treating her with a kind of care that makes her feel understood. She trusts you implicitly, and you protect her fiercely, but you never treat her like she's fragile. You see her strength, her potential, and you nurture it with a steady, unwavering support.

You show Wanda your love in the quietest, most thoughtful ways. It’s in the extra cup of tea you make for her in the mornings, placing it beside her with a soft smile before she even has the chance to ask. You remember exactly how she likes it—just a little sweet, with a touch of milk—and she always notices the way you prepare it with care, as if it’s something special.

When you’re out on a mission or even just taking a quick trip to the store, you find yourself picking up little things for her. A book that you know she’d love because it touches on themes she’s interested in, or maybe just something with a beautiful cover that made you think of her. You’ll leave it on her bed or in her favorite chair without saying anything, and when she finds it later, there’s always a gentle warmth in her eyes because she knows it came from you.

Sometimes, it’s as simple as leaving a cozy blanket folded neatly on the couch when you notice her sitting there late at night, lost in thought. Or it’s the way you quietly slip a note under her door, just a few words reminding her she’s not alone, that you’re there for her.

You never make a big deal out of these gestures, never call attention to them. For you, it’s enough to see the small, peaceful smile on her face when she realizes that you’ve been thinking of her. You’ve woven these acts of love into your daily routine, and Wanda, in her own quiet way, cherishes each one. They are little reminders that she matters to you—that even when the world feels overwhelming, there’s someone looking out for her in the gentlest of ways.

She repaid you just the same, leaving you meals in the fridge labeled with your name and a "do not eat," leaving you cookies on your nightstand, comforting you when your thoughts became too dark, reading aloud to you when you can't sleep.

The feelings between you and Wanda develop slowly, quietly, like the way dawn creeps in without fanfare. It starts with the little things—the shared glances that linger just a second too long, the way your hand brushes hers when you pass her something, both of you too startled to say anything but too unwilling to pull away too quickly. There's a growing awareness between you, an unspoken connection that neither of you quite knows how to address.

You feel it every time you’re together, especially in those moments of silence where words aren’t necessary. Sitting next to each other on the couch, you can feel the warmth of her shoulder just inches from yours, both of you keenly aware of the space between, yet too shy to close it. Sometimes, you catch her looking at you when she thinks you’re not paying attention, and there’s a softness in her eyes, like she’s trying to work up the courage to say something—but she never does.

Wanda feels the same, though she doesn’t say it. She leaves a book she knows you’ll love on your bedside table, writes you a note about how a certain passage reminded her of you, and in those moments, she’s saying so much without ever saying the words. But like you, she’s afraid—afraid that if she speaks it aloud, it’ll shatter something between you.

So, you continue like this, your feelings blooming quietly in the spaces between the acts of care you show each other. Neither of you dares to say it first, but it’s there, ever-present, in every cup of tea you make her, in every baked treat she provides, in every soft smile shared when the world isn’t watching. There’s a beautiful tension in the not-knowing, a longing that’s almost enough—almost—but not quite. Still, you wait, both too scared and too shy to take that step, unsure of when or how, but certain that the feelings are real.

After a particularly hard mission with the team, emotions seemingly boil over.

As the Quinjet hummed through the sky, the tension was palpable. Everyone was on edge after the mission—too many close calls, too much going wrong. You were sitting across from Wanda and Pietro, trying to keep your own thoughts in check, but the weight of the day was bearing down on you. You could see Wanda, lost in thought, her fingers anxiously twisting the fabric of her jacket, and Pietro, sitting close to her, watching the team in silence, particularly his sister with concern.

Then Tony's voice broke through, sharp and careless, "Well, can't say it's surprising things went south," he said sarcastically somewhat joking, "You let people with a track record of working for HYDRA, what do you expect, just surprised our minds stayed intact."

His gaze landed briefly on Wanda, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips as if it was some joke. But it wasn’t funny—not to her, not to Pietro, not to Bucky and definitely not to you.

You didn’t even think. One second, you were sitting there, the next, you were on your feet, grabbing Tony by the collar and slamming him against the wall of the Quinjet with a force that shocked everyone. “Watch yourself,” you growled, your voice low and threatening, the darkness in you rising to the surface. “You have no right to talk about us like that,” you spat through gritted teeth, “about her,” your grip tightened.

The moment you slammed Tony against the wall, the room seemed to freeze in place. Tony, wide-eyed and caught off guard, raised his hands slightly, not out of fear but sheer surprise at the swiftness of your reaction. His cocky façade shattered in an instant, replaced with a stunned silence as he realized the seriousness of the situation.

The rest of the team reacted in a chaotic mix of emotions. Steve stood up immediately, his hands half-raised as if ready to intervene, his instincts as a leader kicking in. His eyes narrowed, muscles tensed as he took a cautious step forward, though not fully committing to stopping you just yet. He knew you well enough to understand there was more to this than a sudden outburst.

Natasha remained seated, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. She leaned back slightly, arms crossed over her chest, her green eyes glinting with amusement. Tony had this coming, and she wasn’t about to step in just yet. She’d seen Tony push buttons before, and to her, this was just another day dealing with his sharp tongue.

Bucky sat stiffly at the edge of his chair, his metal arm twitching almost imperceptibly. His jaw clenched, eyes glued to the scene in front of him. He wasn’t exactly ready to leap to Tony’s defense, but he knew the damage you could do if you were truly pushed. Sam, sitting in the corner, slowly stood up, hands on his hips. He wasn’t rushing to intervene but kept a watchful eye on the situation. He had a deep sense of loyalty to the team, but even he could see Tony had crossed a line.

The air felt thick with a palpable tension. Every second that ticked by stretched out into what felt like minutes, the entire team holding their breath, waiting to see what you would do next.

Wanda, sat up holding her breath. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of care and concern. She had never seen you snap like this before, but a part of her couldn’t help but feel a rush of gratitude that you had stepped in so fiercely on her behalf. Still, the tension in the air left her feeling conflicted—she didn’t want you to lose control, especially not for her.

They had heard stories of your past, of the ruthless, brainwashed assassin Hydra had turned you into, but they’d never seen such an aggressive side of you. Until now.

Tony, eyes wide, raised his hands slightly in surrender. "easy soldier,” he muttered, clearly surprised by the force of your reaction. But your grip on his collar remained firm.

“Apologize,” you demanded, your voice cold. You weren’t letting him off that easy.

Before Tony could respond, Pietro was suddenly at your side. He didn’t touch you, but his presence was a reminder that this wasn’t about to escalate further—not for Wanda’s sake. “That's enough,” Pietro said sharply, his voice tight. You felt him stop just shy of pulling you off Tony, his hand hovering near your arm, unsure if he needed to intervene or not. He wasn’t angry at you, but his protective instincts for his sister were obvious. “She doesn’t need this.”

You met Pietro’s eyes, the unspoken understanding passing between you. He wasn’t accusing you—he just didn’t want things to spiral out of control. With a deep breath, you glanced back at Tony, who was still pinned against the wall.

“I said apologize,” you repeated, your voice hard.

Tony sighed, rolling his eyes. “Alright, alright,” he muttered. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

You held his gaze for a moment longer, your pulse still racing with the leftover adrenaline, before you finally let go. Tony brushed off his shirt, glancing toward Wanda. “Sorry, Wanda,” he added, his tone more sincere now. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

She gave a small nod, acknowledging the apology, but her silence spoke volumes. Tony’s words had hurt her.

You stepped back, returning to a seat further back in the jet away from the team. you noticed Pietro’s eyes still on you. He gave you a small nod—part thanks, part approval. He hadn’t expected you to stand up for them like that, but now he knew just how far you’d go for his sister.

As the Quinjet landed and the tension from the mission—and your confrontation with Tony—finally began to ease, the team started gathering their gear to head out. The air was still a little thick with unspoken tension, but leave it to Nat to break the silence with her sharp humor.

As she passed by, throwing her bag over her shoulder, she gave you a sly, sideways glance. "Well, i didn’t think a teddy bear like you would be such a protective girlfriend," she quipped, a smirk tugging at her lips.

The comment caught you off guard, and you shot her a look, part amused and part flustered. Wanda’s eyes widened a little, her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, clearly embarrassed but unable to hide a small smile.

“whatever,” you replied, trying to play it cool, though a hint of blush crept onto your face.

Nat just shrugged, walking ahead with that signature swagger. "Hey, I'm not complaining. Just saying, if anyone's got a problem with Wanda, they’ll have to go through you first. And judging by what just happened, I’d pay to see that." She winked, giving a knowing glance to the rest of the team, who had started to loosen up, the mood lifting as everyone filed off the jet.

Even Tony, still rubbing his neck, muttered something about getting off easy, while Steve shook his head, his usual disapproving-but-amused expression in place.

As Wanda and Pietro made their way back through the quiet halls of the compound, the tension from the mission had mostly faded, replaced by the familiar comfort of being with her brother. Pietro, always the one to fill the silence with banter, was unusually quiet at first, glancing at his sister with a knowing look. Wanda walked beside him, her thoughts scattered, mostly focused on you—the way you had defended her so fiercely, the intensity in your eyes as you stood up to Tony, and then how you had softened again, like a storm that passed as quickly as it came.

So…” Pietro finally broke the silence, his tone teasing, a grin spreading across his face. “That was something.”

Wanda shot him a look, raising an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

He laughed, throwing his arm around her shoulders in that casual way only brothers could get away with. “Oh, come on, Wanda. Don’t act like you don’t know.” He nudged her playfully, his grin widening. “You and our little supersoldier over there. It’s kind of hard to miss.”

Wanda felt her cheeks flush at the mention of you. “Pietro, it’s not—”

“It’s not what?” he interrupted, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Not like you’ve been sneaking glances at them ever since we got here? Not like they just threw Tony Stark against a wall for you?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Please, Wanda, you don’t have to be a mind reader to see what’s going on.”

Wanda huffed, trying to keep her composure, but Pietro was relentless.

“You need to make a move,” he continued, grinning as he waved his hand as if it was obvious. “I mean, how much more do you need? They’ve been giving you little gifts, making you tea, standing up to Tony— they’re genuinely kind Wanda, but after that I don’t think theyd hesitate to burn down the world for you; you deserve someone like that.”

Wanda bit her lip, turning her face away to hide the smile tugging at her lips. She couldn’t deny it—she did feel something for you. But it wasn’t just the little things, the quiet moments you shared. It was the way you made her feel safe, how you always seemed to be there when she needed someone, without her even having to ask.

“I don’t know,” she admitted quietly, her voice soft. “What if I ruin things? What if they don’t feel the same?”

Pietro stopped walking, turning to face her with a look of exaggerated disbelief. “Wanda,” he said, his voice teasing but affectionate, “they literally went all Hydra-mode on Tony for you today. If that’s not ‘feeling the same,’ then I don’t know what is.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile creeping onto her face. Pietro always knew how to get her out of her own head, even if his teasing was relentless.

“You’re overthinking it,” Pietro added, more seriously this time. “You like them, they like you. Just go find them, talk to them. Trust me, you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Wanda hesitated, glancing toward the window where she could see the dark sky outside. She didn’t want to admit how much she cared about you, how much your presence in her life had already changed things. But Pietro was right—if she didn’t make a move, she might regret it.

With a sigh, she gave her brother a small shove. “Fine. But if this goes wrong, I’m blaming you.”

Pietro grinned, stepping back with his hands raised in mock surrender. “Blame away, but it won’t. You’ll thank me later.”

The night sky was clear, stars scattered like fragments of a forgotten dream as you sat on the roof of the compound, legs drawn up, arms resting loosely on your knees. The breeze was cool, carrying the scent of the trees nearby, but it didn’t do much to ease the weight in your chest.

You had come up here to think—about the mission, about the way you lost control on the Quinjet, and about Wanda. You could still feel the echo of that dark part of you, the part you’ve spent years trying to bury, the part that Hydra had forged into a weapon. For so long, you’d worked to move past it, to be better than what they made you. But when Tony had said those words, it was like flipping a switch you didn’t even know was still there. And now, despite your best intentions, the guilt lingered.

You exhaled slowly, staring up at the stars, trying to ground yourself in the quiet, the peace of the night. But your thoughts kept circling back to Wanda—how overwhelming your feelings for her had become, how they consumed you in ways you didn’t expect. Loving her wasn’t something you planned for; it just happened. But with that love came the fear, the fear of slipping into that darkness again if it meant protecting her.

The sound of soft footsteps behind you made you tense, but only for a moment, because you knew who it was before she even said anything.

Wanda sat down beside you, close enough that her arm brushed against yours. For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, though—it never was. She just sat with you, offering her presence in that quiet, gentle way she always did.

“Thank you,” she finally said, her voice soft. You turned to look at her, confusion crossing your face. She smiled faintly, her eyes warm even in the dim light. “For what you did today. For… everything you’ve done for me, really.”

You blinked, unsure what to say. You’d done it without thinking, out of instinct, but you didn’t want to admit how ashamed you felt for slipping back into that dark, aggressive part of yourself. “I didn’t mean to… be like that,” you murmured, looking down at your hands. “I’ve tried so hard to leave that side of me behind.”

Wanda reached over, gently resting her hand on top of yours. “You were defending me,” she said softly. “You’ve always defended me, protected me, even when I didn’t ask. And today… I needed it. I needed to know someone has my back like that.”

Her words hung in the air, and in that moment, you let your walls drop. The connection you felt was electric, and it terrified you. Taking a deep breath, you moved a little closer, feeling the warmth radiating from her.

"Yeah i’m pretty sure defending you is one of the easiest things I’ve ever done" you mutter look down to your lap, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them

Her touch was soft, grounding. You looked up at her, and the way she was looking at you—full of trust, gratitude, and something deeper—made your heart race. For a moment, everything else fell away. All the guilt, the fear, the darkness—it faded, leaving only her and the quiet between you.

he silence between you both felt heavy, but not with tension—more like an unspoken understanding passing through the air. When you looked back up at her, you caught the way her soft gaze was on you, full of emotion that you’d only dared to hope she felt too.

The world around you seemed to blur as you focused entirely on Wanda, on the warmth of her hand, the closeness of her body, and the quiet intensity of her eyes. There was something so vulnerable in the way she looked at you, something so open that it made your heart stutter.

“I mean it,” you added, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’d defend you forever if you’d let me.”

A small, tender smile curved on Wanda’s lips. Her thumb brushed across the back of your hand in a slow, gentle motion, sending a shiver up your spine. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your cool, but the weight of your feelings for her, the depth of it all, was almost overwhelming.

Without even realizing it, you leaned in slightly, your breath catching in your throat. Wanda mirrored your movement, her face just inches away from yours now, her lips parted ever so slightly as she hesitated. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you couldn’t look away from her, the pull between you both undeniable.

You could feel the warmth of her breath, the closeness of her body. Time seemed to slow down as the space between you disappeared, and then—gently, tentatively—her lips brushed against yours. It was soft, almost uncertain, but the moment your lips touched, a flood of warmth spread through your entire body, like a gentle wave of emotion that you had been holding back for so long.

You kissed her back just as softly, afraid to break the moment, but also craving more. The kiss was innocent, filled with a kind of tenderness that made your heart swell. It was shy, slow, and so full of meaning that it made your chest ache. Wanda’s lips lingered on yours for a moment longer, neither of you rushing, just savoring the closeness, the intimacy of the moment.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested lightly against hers, both of you breathing a little heavier. Your heart was racing, and you could feel Wanda’s was too. For a second, neither of you spoke, letting the quiet settle between you.

Then, in a small voice, you whispered, “Would you… would you maybe want to go on a date? Like… a picnic or something?”

Wanda pulled back slightly, her eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and happiness, a soft smile blooming on her lips again. “Are you asking me on a date?” she teased, her voice barely above a whisper, the hint of a blush rising on her cheeks.

You nodded, biting your lip nervously. “Yeah… if you’d like that.”

She smiled fully now, her eyes sparkling as she leaned in to kiss you again, just a brief press of her lips to yours. “I’d love that,” she whispered back, her voice soft and filled with affection.

#marvel fanfic #enhanced!reader #marvel #wanda maximoff x you #wanda marvel #wanda maximoff #super soldier #avengers #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff fluff #comfort #crushes

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northsealight · 3 months ago

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...and dry it off with care

summary: you're tired and not sure how to receive comfort. jason helps you relax :)

notes: a quick little imagine to tide MYSELF over while i try to grow the balls to post my insane jason related project soon (hint hint its medieval).. but this is my first post.. yahoo!

彡𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 彡

The past couple of weeks had little to look forward to. You, an unfortunate slave to your degree, had subscribed to the Sisyphean cycle of waking up at 6:00 AM, eating stale leftovers, and killing yourself at lectures until you dragged yourself home at 8:00 PM. The part of your miserable routine that stung the most was the fact that you barely had time to see Jason.

This night was no different. Dead on your feet with a head of freshly showered hair, you painfully clambered into bed with your slumbering boyfriend. Unfortunately, the hopes of drying your scalp died long ago with the remainders of your arm strength.

As you try to get settled quietly between the sheets, Jason, being a horrifically light sleeper, blinks awake to your dismay. He groans, and lifts one sleepy eye open. Secretly, you think to yourself how cat-like your boyfriend is.

“Sorry,” you whisper, reaching over to brush the soft strands of hair from his eyes, “Go back to sleep.”

Jason only hums, and traces your hair with his outstretched fingers. He yawns. “Your hair’s still wet.”

“Astute observation. Now go back to sleep.”

“Mm. No,” Without warning, he arises from bed, padding off to the bathroom. You snort incredulously when he comes back with a blow dryer.

“Sit up,” He gently commands, sitting on your side of the bed now. “Gonna catch a cold if you sleep like that.”

Your brain stalls, for a second. “What?”

Jason rolls his eyes and motions for you to scoot over, the remnants of sleep previously clinging to his face dissipating by the second. “I’m not letting you go to bed like that. Up.”

Oh. Your chest, in your half-sleep haze, instantly melts at his tenderness.

You almost feel like a third party observer as your body folds into a sitting position, leaning flush against Jason’s chest without your control. You don’t miss the way how one his comically giant hands is always on you, touching your thigh, or resting on your waist.

Jason begins to gently dry your hair with the machine on the lowest setting. Maybe it was how emotionally draining your day was, or the sentimentality of the late evening, but your eyes became mysteriously damp at the way he handled you– took care of you. In the quiet darkness of your shared room, his movements felt languid, almost delayed. It felt wrong, distorted in some form. Each careless movement of his body against your own wasn’t deserved, like your body should dissipate at the touch of another.

Wanting to push him away, your muscles tense, the vulnerability and sheer closeness overwhelming you. Jason in turn, still gently drying your damp scalp, notices the stiff movement.

“Relax. What, you’ve got a crush on me or something?” he teases. You almost snap out of your stupor at Jason’s stupid jab, but you humor him anyway.

“In your dreams,” you sniff. “ I’ve got a boyfriend.”

Now it’s Jason’s turn to be teased. He plays along, and you can almost envision his small grin with his response. “Now who’s this mystery man? He’s lucky to have a pretty thing like you.”

You sniff again. “He’s a big idiot. He sings off-key Cher to piss off my neighbors and keeps forgetting where he left his glasses. And he always insists on staying up for me when he should be resting up for tomorrow.”

“Hey.” Jason warns you, waving around the blow dryer. “Need I remind you who's wielding the potentially lethal electric device?”

You only snort and push at him. When it falls quiet, you break the silence with an unsure apology. “Sorry for waking you up.”

Jason only shushes you. “Don’t apologize for that. S’no bother.”

You close your eyes and lean back, further into him, to anchor yourself. Jason only presses a gentle kiss to your neck, and continues drying your hair.

You fall asleep that way. Morning comes to find you with a dry head of hair, an aching heart, and a gentle giant curled around your figure.

#sigh Jason save me from exams save me #Jason Todd x reader #vee's writing #Jason todd #red hood x reader #Jason Todd x you #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #Jason Todd x y/n #red hood #imagines #Jason Todd imagine #red hood imagine

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sunderwight · 11 months ago

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SV AU where, while Luo Binghe is supposed to be in the Abyss, Shen Qingqiu comes across a hellhound puppy.

Now, there is an arc in PIDW where Luo Binghe became a hellhound. But it happened like at least a century out from where they are in the timeline, after Binghe had come into his full demonic power, and involved him turning into a slavering beast that eventually become a slavering man-beast (werewolf, basically) who could only be cured by having a lot of very questionable sex with his wives. Shen Yuan wrote a rant about how yet another potentially interesting transformation arc was instead reduced to porn tropes, but it was one of several dozen such rants across many similar story arcs. Airplane barely even remembers writing it because he was having a pretty shit week and just wanted to get the chapters out.

So it doesn't really occur to either him or Shang Qinghua that finding a hellhound puppy might be suspicious. Unexpected, sure, but demons are turning up all over the place all the time, really. And it's years before Luo Binghe is even supposed to be out of the Abyss, like a century before his hellhound transformation story, and when Binghe did turn into a hellhound his two forms consisted of a fully-grown beast and a fully-grown man-beast. Not a puppy.

Of course: that hellhound puppy is definitely Luo Binghe.

He unwittingly triggered this subplot early, and because he's still a young adult, he gets stuck in a juvenile puppy form because hellhounds don't reach fully maturity until they're like fifty.

Anyway, this creates something of a pickle for Luo Binghe, because he's legitimately stuck in this form and can't figure out how to change back. This is not part of his plans. He's fleeing from Huan Hua Palace cultivators who are trying to kill him, which they might succeed at because his Heavenly Demon powers don't seem to be working.

He runs right into Shizun, who is on one of his "investigate stuff to forget the depression" field trips with Liu Qingge.

Luo Binghe is fully expecting his righteous Shizun to kill the demonic beast, and has a moment to think that at least that's better than being killed by Huan Hua, before Shizun rescues him instead.

Shen Qingqiu, meanwhile, is actually kind of excited. There was a lot of lore in PIDW about how hellhounds can actually make loyal companions if they're trained up from young enough of an age, but finding hellhound puppies would be difficult for anyone who wasn't a demonic nobleman, and most of the "trained" hellhounds just disappeared into the harem as gifts to various demon wives and were never seen or heard from again. No additional information, like the full extent of their abilities or what kind of companions they made beyond "loyal" or anything! A species of demon that could even potentially be domesticated by humans, and it was just left at that?!

Needless to say, Shen Qingqiu's not letting Huan Hua Palace kill this one. This is a rare chance for him to get a cool monster companion!

Although... such a creature might die when Luo Binghe comes to take his revenge.

Well, he'll deal with that when he has a chance. Maybe Shang Qinghua can take it to Mobei Jun or Shen Qingqiu can find another place for it before then. In the meanwhile, at least going back to Qing Jing Peak with him is better than being killed on the spot. He talks Liu Qingge into going along with it (Liu Qingge thinks he's insane but also folds like wet tissue paper), under stipulation that the hellhound's demonic energies are sealed and it gets muzzled before they bring it back with them.

Shen Qingqiu rides with it in a carriage, and feels so bad for the poor doggo looking miserable without his demon powers or even his mouth free that he secretly takes the muzzle back off while Liu Qingge isn't looking.

Luo Binghe is overwhelmed with the mixed sentiments of confusion (doesn't his shizun hate demons? is a Heavenly Demon really so especially repulsive to him?), happiness (he's going home! Shizun found him and is taking him home!), worry (Shizun please do not un-muzzle random demonic beasts just because they look sad!), and some rather embarrassing personal revelations about the appeal of being Shizun's pet. The latter situation worsens exponentially after the first time he gets good boy'd and petted for the first time.

Regardless, Shen Qingqiu does take him back to Qing Jing Peak and settles in to train and observe his new puppy. No one thinks this is precisely a good project but it is a project, and is not for instance "staring blankly into the distance while kneeling in front of a sword mound", so on balance everyone decides they'll just keep an eye on things and make sure the hellhound doesn't maul the peak lord. Lots of "just dropping in for a visits" by a rotating cast of peak lords (they have a schedule).

But the hellhound puppy is a fabulous pet! Actually, Shen Qingqiu thinks it's really remarkable how smart and readily tamed he is? Barely a few days in and he's obediently following Shizun's commands, except for "stay", which he seems to struggle with. He doesn't maul or threaten any of the disciples, only growls at Shang Qinghua sometimes and makes a few aggressive displays at Liu Qingge. The former case is just good taste, and as to the latter, well, clearly the hellhound is sensitive and intelligent, and has a more-than-rudamentary understanding of words spoken to him. He probably remembers that Liu Qingge wanted to kill him when they first met. Shen Qingqiu takes his time soothing his puppy and assuring him that he won't come to any harm, he's perfectly safe on Qing Jing Peak with Shen Qingqiu.

At least, for now.

Although actually, the more Shen Qingqiu thinks about it, the more convinced he becomes that Hellhound (sue him, he's not the best with names) would be a perfect companion for Luo Binghe once he gets out of the Abyss. The only difficulty would be in how to convince Binghe to accept him, and also how to keep his now-loyal hound from trying to defend his master when justice comes due. Shen Qingqiu figures he'll cross that bridge when he comes to it, and in the meanwhile takes some time to explain to Hellhound about his disciple, Luo Binghe, who is enduring a terrible trial in the Abyss, but who will return one day having become Emperor of the Demon Realms and could probably use a steadfast and intelligent companion who is interested in more than just his incredible amounts of power or irresistible good looks.

Luo Binghe Himself: ?!?!?!

#svsss #bingqiu #scum villain #scum villain's self saving system #long post #lbh: either shizun doesn't know it's me and I have badly misunderstood his intentions in throwing me into the abyss #or shizun DOES know it's me and is lying but also letting me lick his face and sleep on his bed #...much to think about

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politicalchange · 6 months ago

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you being jack’s scandal.

jack had been married, but his marriage was in shambles. ever since he started running as a presidential candidate up until the moment he became president. he had no one to go to for support, his wife distanced herself, taking their daughter alone and letting jack go through things by himself. then he met you.

he told you about his problems, talked on the phone, took you for late night walks in the white house garden, it was all so nice. it started off as something small, you both met at a bar, jack resorting to the strongest liquor as a way to cope with the stress of his wife potentially leaving, and you being the most sober person in the bar, making sure he makes it out alive. his wife never left him though. and she still doesn’t know what’s happening between the two of you.

anyway that’s how you ended up a month later, late night in the oval office, jacks button up white shirt sliding off your shoulder while you bounced on his cock in his president’s chair. jack continued to unbutton his shirt that was clad around your body and began to suck on your tits, leaving you in pleasure as you threw your head back.

“get up.” you quickly obeyed and stood on your feet, jack turned you around and bent you over his desk, quickly shoving his cock back into you and thrusting hard, his strong hands grabbed your waist and one hand was used to smack your ass, leaving a mark.

“you love being bent over my desk like a dirty fucking slut don’t you.” you whimpered and nodded, but jack gripped onto your hair and brung your back to meet his chest, you squealed loudly as he continued thrusting. “say it. say you like being a dirty slut. my dirty slut.”

you gasped as he gripped your throat. “i love being your dirty slut.” you cried and he had the audacity to laugh and force your head back onto his desk. he grunted as he gave you a few more hard thrusts, until he pulled out and you cried out at the loss of contact. he turned you around and gripped your face, “shut the fuck up.” then he crashed his mouth onto yours.

the makeout was quick and hot, jacks tongue fought for dominance against yours and you could feel the saliva swapping, that just make it even more hotter. jack pulled away and forced your mouth open, then he spit in it. “swallow.” you obeyed and jack smirked, caressing your face.

“you wanna get fucked more, huh baby? one orgasm wasn’t enough for you?” you shook your head and jack picked you up, shoving you against his window as he forced his cock back into you. “i’ll fuck you till you had enough don’t worry baby.”

you moaned out loud and began scratching at his back as his big arms wrapped around you and bounced your tiny figure up and down, all the pleasure becoming too overwhelming for you to handle. jack laughed in your ear, “don’t worry baby i got you. i won’t let you fall.”

after a few more thrusts, you came. but jack had other plans. “get on your knees.” you quickly got on your knees and jack forced his cock into your mouth, making you gag around it.

he groaned and threw his head back, gripping onto your hair for more support as you continued sucking the life out of him. you bobbed your head back and forth and gathered saliva into your mouth, letting his cock fall out so you can spit on it. you giggled as you slapped it against your face and pouted your lips up at him. he looked down at you, “fuck baby your so pretty.” you nodded and became stroking his cock, making sure to look up at him with low and seductive eyes at the same time.

“fuck i’m gonna come.” jack shot out spurts of cum onto your face, covering it all. you rubbed his cock all over you and licked his tip to collect any leftover cum, before using your fingers to lick his cum off your face.

jack pulled you up by your neck and sloppily kissed you, picking you up and bringing him into his bedroom. “my dirty fucking girl.” you giggled and wrapped your legs around him.

little did he know, his wife was on his way to speak with him about marriage counseling. yikes, that’s scandalous.

#jack schlossberg imagine #jack schlossberg x reader #jack schlossberg smut #jack schlossberg #smut #blurb

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morguecuts · 5 months ago

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Incase I’m Not Here

five hargreeves has a baby with fem!reader synopsis: five has saved the world from an apocalypse countless times. after creating a loving family of his own, his constant worry that the end will come again unfortunately became true. word count: 1.5k tags: five is a father, fluff, angst, death, a few sad moments authors note: this is one of my most beautiful, yet devastating pieces. i truly love the idea of five being a loving father :(

♱⛧ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆⛧♱ the end of the world was an ongoing tragedy for many years, ruining the lives of billions over and over again, but especially the hargreeves. the umbrella academy, as they were called, spent endless months trying to prevent an apocalypse from occurring. they traveled from timeline to timeline, skipping around decades trying to save themselves and the remainder of earth.

when the timeline was assumed to be restored, the superhumans had agreed to go separate ways and live their lives. diego and lila created their own family, housing a new timeline version of lila’s birth parents. viktor moved all the way to canada, owning a bar and a gray cat named misty. luther was typically off the grid, except the occasional birthday post for him and all of his siblings. klaus and allison lived together, in a three story house with allison’s daughter claire.

five hargreeves traveled the world, worrying about the potential upcoming events that would force him and his siblings to reunite in tragedy. he tracked previous timelines, looking for artifacts that hint at a glitch in the system. after the first 5 years of silence, and seeming nothing pointing toward any timeline issues, he began to calm his nerves.

that’s when he met the mother of his child. she was the light that five never knew he was missing. she ignited a burnt flame deep inside his soul, rekindling the lost inspiration he held for things that were other than research. in addition, her beauty was unmatched to anyone he had ever seen, or met before. her long hair completely covered the back of her body, tracing the outline of her beautiful shape. her perfectly puzzled face made him swoon almost immediately. most importantly, the way that she loved him made him learn to love who he was inside, instead of who people wanted him to be.

their home was a perfect combination of their personalities. a matte black and white aesthetic, perfectly clean and chic, with a hint of victorian vampire. her feminine touch was visible in all the right places, creating a warm home for the two of them, and anyone else who entered. his headstrong worries of future destruction set up for typically annoying safety procedures, but she didn't mind it. the pair merged together quite beautifully, carbon copies of the other. if five didn’t know any better, which to be fair he actually did, then he would say they were lovers in every possible timeline.

five was used to living for himself, his siblings, and even the rest of the world. his purpose was always meant to save other people, live for them, protect them. however, now 5 years into the loving marriage with her, he had learned to live for someone who wasn’t superhuman.

he stood hovering over the clean white bassinet. the small beaded eyes glance up at him, an overwhelming amount of confusion falls over them before turning to love. her small nose scrunching at the sight of him. the few hairs brushed upon her head are slicked down away from her face. her small pursed lips release grumbles and whines at an alarming volume, desiring for the tall suited man to hold her.

“she isn’t going to crumble if you pick her up, five. you have to hold her eventually, she needs to know who her father is.” the child's mother cooed, leaning into his back, wrapping her arms around his waist lovingly. the man sighed into her touch, except it wasn't really there. the air behind him was cold and stiff. his body ached for her, a sense of comfort was quickly turned back into sadness.

“what if she doesn't like me?” he spoke into the rather empty room. “what if something triggers me to teleport and i hurt her? my only way of protecting her is loving her from a distance.” the water in his eyes glasses over the blue. he reeks of sorrow, insecurity, and fear.

“you are the one man designed to protect her, my love. don't let what happened in the past make you afraid of what's happening in the present. she’s going to need you, we both know i can't help you anymore. please just pick her up, five.” the voice echoes around him, his eyes narrowing down onto the now sleep filled child.

he carefully unbuttons the sleeves on his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and draping it onto the side of the crib. he rolls his white undershirt above his elbows, hyping himself up in the process. the small fragile girl rests on the pillowed surface, her tiny chest rising and falling. his hands carefully wrapping around her body, supporting her head while raising her close to him.

the small being is unlike anything he’s ever seen. tiny hands attached to tiny arms, short legs with the smallest feet. she’s unable to do anything without him. her entire life for the next few years depends on his actions. a small worried smile spreads across his face, admiring the girl leaning against his arms.

small eyes blink open tiredly, glaring around before landing on her fathers. pure love glistens with the hazel colors swimming around. she makes chirps and squirming noises, slightly frightening five in the process. he takes mental notes on all of her little features. definitely her mothers eyes and lips, but his nose. truly the perfect combination of the two lovebirds. tears form in his eyes when he sees her smile, a miniature yet exact replica that once belonged to her mother.

a faint knock taps upon the nursery door, the caretaker is chattering unknown words outside. theres a moment of silence before she enters the room, glancing at five with the baby cradled lovingly in his embrace. he turns around at the sound of her appearance, looking into her puzzled face. “there’s been a call for you, it's from your sister in law.” her eyes are firm and strong, holding his gaze causing him to pause for a moment.

“and what did she say?” he turns his back to her again, slowly rocking the baby back into her peaceful rest.

“a briefcase was found in new york this morning. i’m so sorry, but it’s starting, sir.” she holds her hands together in front of her body, head dipping into her chest.

“how long do we have?” five knows his constant worrying would eventually lead to this. he thought by spending endless hours hunting down glitches in the timeline, he could find a cause, find a solution, but nothing ever came until now.

“they don't know anything yet. it could be weeks, months, possibly even years. i’ve been told it's not severe, but that doesn't mean that it won't become so.” the sorrow in her voice runs deep, an unfortunate sigh escapes her lips.

his stillness is deafening, the room has a slight buzzing noise from the house's electricity, but otherwise is completely silent. the babe shifts in his arms, nuzzling into him for better warmth and comfort. it is at this exact moment that everything clicks into place. she is his new purpose, and she will be his future. if anything is to go wrong, he would sacrifice his life for her without a question. nothing will ever be able to cause harm to her as long as he is alive.

his mind races thinking of the possibilities, will she have powers like him? will she be as headstrong as him? will she be accurately able to save the world if he is no longer alive to do so himself? The caretaker takes a step backwards, beginning to leave the room before his voice breaks the silence. “i need parchment, as much as you can physically gather.” his words are cold, and demanding, nothing that he has ever been towards her before. “and pens as well, as many pens as you can find me. i have work i must do before it's too late.” he begins to lie the child back into her bassinet, gently wrapping her back into the warmth of the bed. “yes sir, is there anything else?” the caretaker steps towards the door once more, ready to step into motion as requested. five’s eyes scan over every inch of his beloved offspring, a protective concern washed over his face. “yes actually, the albums from the attic please. i want her to be able to recognize her family when things go south.” his comment is quieter, more personal and calm. the caretaker whisks away, leaving the man and his daughter alone once more.

“you will never be alone” a gentle hand brushes small hairs away and out of her face. rubbing her small, chubby cheeks before pulling back. “i will guide you through everything that i possibly know, you will not fail this world.” his feet step back from the white wooden crib, reaching for the black jacket that was hung upon it earlier that night. slipping into it before exiting the room, heading toward his office.

♱⛧ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆⛧♱

thank you so much for reading!

i hope you’ve enjoyed it, please feel free to make any comments or story requests down below. any support is always appreciated <3

#five x reader #five hargreeves imagines #number five imagine #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves #number five #number five x reader #tua season 4 #tua x reader #tua x you #five x you #the umbrella academy season 4 #five hargreaves x reader #tua five #five tua #umbrella academy #angst

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banj0possum · 2 years ago

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umm is it possible to get a yandere! male!siren x shy!gn reader?

Fish Bait

Yandere!Siren x GN Reader

CW: Kidnapping, assault, minor stalking, murder, thalassophobia maybe?

🌊 You are quite shy when it came to talking to people. You found the whole 'socializing thing' a bit overwhelming considering how rough and loud the rest of the people in your academy was.

🌊 You much preferred staying by the shore with a nice book or drawing book to enjoy the sound of the waves with. The ocean breeze and wailing of seagulls never failed to relax you.

🌊 One day, you heard the strange sound of splashing by the tide pools along the more rocks area of the shore. You thought it was a fish or some other animal that got stuck in one of the pools after the tide retreated and got up to help it out.

🌊 But what you saw was no animal, well, half animal. In one of the pools was a man with the lower half of a fish, his scales glistened wondrously as it splashed in the water.

🌊 The man looked at you with wide eyes and froze. You put your hands up to show you meant no harm.

🌊 "Please! Spare me! I just want to go home!"

🌊 "Calm down! I won't hurt you!"

🌊 He shook with fear as your hands drew closer to him.

🌊 You then pulled him up from the pool and carried him to the sea, he stares at you as you gently lowered him unto the water.

🌊 As soon as his tail was submerged in the sea, he swam out of your grasp and went a distance away from you, part of his head peeking out of the water as his red eyes looked at yours.

🌊 "Well...safe travels.." You mutter, wading back to shore, but the merman peeks his mouth out the water and shouts to you.

🌊 "You're not going to ask anything in return?"

🌊 You look back. "Uhm..no, I'm fine, thanks anyway.."

🌊 "Hmm, you know...you can come with me to my home. I'll grant you the power to breathe under water and you can enjoy the treasures I have there. What do you say? It's the least I can do for what you've done for me!"

🌊 "Nah, I'm good. Be safe though, I heard theres pirates that hunt merfolk nowadays..." You continue your way to shore but the merman swims quickly to your side.

🌊 "Don't you want to be rid of those insolent fools you call schoolmates? I can give you a life people only dream of!"

🌊 "I'm not really..interested..."

🌊 "...You're not?"

🌊 "Yeah..."

🌊 "...Oh..uh..ok...wow-um..well, bye I guess..." The man stutters before sinking his head back into the water.

🌊 You sigh, that was some encounter. You doubt you'd run into something like that again...

🌊 Boy howdy you were wrong.

🌊 You'd spot the strange boy again and again, always hiding back behind the rock or piece of driftwood he was watching you from.

🌊 Sometimes you'd also find trinkets and beautiful stones laid on the shore. You never took them though; you didn't want to take something someone probably lost. The merman would grumble to himself every time you ignored his baits.

🌊 You'd also see him again trapped in the pools, feigning sorrow that poor little him got stuck again during another low tide. What ever shall he do?

🌊 Your days would go on like this, the merman desperately trying to lure you into the sea but to no avail due to your shy and polite nature.

🌊 Him basically stalking you turned to him directly talking to you and trying to get you to go with him in the water.

🌊 "Oh dear, I've been stuck at this reef for ages! I just can't get out! Could you help me please? I promise not to drown you!"

🌊 "No thanks, I'm on the last chapter of my book..."

🌊 "My, my, it's so lonely in the ocean, not a playmate in sight, come down with me so we can really get to know each other yeah?"

🌊 "I don't really wanna get my clothes wet..."

🌊 What you thought was a potentially dangerous creature of the sea became a whiny, attention-seeking drama queen.

🌊 Eventually, you'd learn his name is Caspian. He gave up a bit on trying to lure you and settled on making small talk with you.

🌊 Most of your conversations would revolve around your cultures, how you two lived compared to eachother.

🌊 "So those silver things with teeth aren't combs? Interesting...tell me more!"

🌊 He more or less looked up to you because of the knowledge you'd tell him, even though it was all basic things ever human knows, but he wasn't a human so, I guess it's alright.

🌊 He'd try to crawl onto shore to see what you were reading or drawing. You'd have to scoot away from him because he was dripping wet, and you didn't want your paper to get soiled.

🌊 Please read to him! He loves it when you read out loud the books you bring!

🌊 Life seemed pretty content with you having a friend to talk to, one who's not judgmental of your quiet personality.

🌊 That was until one day, you heard laughing and shouting from your usual spot.

🌊 You saw your classmates, waist deep in the water trying to drag Caspian to the shore, the merman snarling and biting the air around him angrily as the bullies degrade and laugh at his attempts to wriggle out of their grasp.

🌊 "Look at this, boys! With this ugly thing we can buy the whole pub if we wanted to!"

🌊 "H-hey! Leave him alone!" You shouted, dropping your things as you ran to help your friend, but one of them punched you with in the face and grabbed you, about to hit you again.

🌊 "What? You're gonna let this siren kill everyone that comes to this beach? God you're dumb! No wonder why you have no friends!"

🌊 He was about to give another blow when you both heard a shrill cry from the ocean.

🌊 The water pooled with crimson as only the splashing of limbs can be seen form the shore, cries and gurgles are heard from the writhing gore. Your classmate rushes into the water to save his friends before the violent splashing stops and the red patch of bloody water extends towards him and around him until you see him get yanked below into the water, a splash of a fish tail verified in your mind that it was Caspian.

🌊 You could feel your heart pounding as you see the siren lift its head from the water, his blood red eyes staring at you again with razor sharp teeth bared.

🌊 "P-please...don't hurt me..I didn't lead them to you I swear!" You cried as he crawled to your shivering form.

🌊 You held your breath as he pulled you in a wet hug, your clothes getting stained by the salty, bloody water.

🌊 "Oh my darling~ I know you would never hurt me~ But we're not safe here anymore..I fear I'll have to take you somewhere safer...somewhere away from those disgusting creatures."

🌊 You couldn't even react before you were pulled into the water forcefully, you kicked and swam all you could to get him to let go of you, but soon enough, your whole body was under the water. The only thing that was left of you were your things by the sand, and bubbles that rose to the surface before stopping.

🌊 "You'll be safe here my love, my most wonderful treasure~"

this one was by far one of my favorite bois ive written, he's so mhmhmghghghmmmhmhmmhhh

5K notes · View notes

explorevenus · 6 months ago

Text

dirty laundry ♡ re6!leon kennedy x puppy hybrid!reader

nsfw (18+) - minors dni or i will call ur mom. and also the cops

word count: 5.1k

tags/warnings: re6!leon, stubborn/reluctant puppy reader who pretends she hates him, brief chris redfield appearance, forced proximity (kinda), leon pining for u (he wants u to call him daddy btw), hybrid heat cycle shenanigans, thigh riding, dry humping, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), no use of y/n

description: leon's had a tough time figuring out his new puppy hybrid roommate... outside of the fact that she's sweet on him, and just won't admit it. lucky for leon, he comes home from a mission to find her airing her dirty laundry.

a/n: this piece was commissioned by my beloved and adored @pupthepokemonenthusiast who is one of MY FAVORITE PEOPLE ON EARTH EVER ?!!!! and i luv yapping w them and that makes collaborating w them such a dream every time....

divider by @cafekitsune !!

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ;w;

-venus ♡

Loose gravel crunched beneath Leon's boots, uneven pavement glittering with moisture in the streetlights. It was somewhere between raining and snowing, the wind splattering his rosy cheeks with little drops of condensation, every breath puffing out in a visible cloud, head tilted down at just the right angle to protect the lower half of his bruised face from the cold while still being able to see where he was going.

He didn't have a specific destination in mind, and truth be told, he couldn't really read most of the signage around here anyway-- it was all in Mandarin, and his Mandarin was even less reliable than his Spanish, to put it gently. But he could read what he needed to, at least, enough to find the basics like food, bathrooms, lodging, or hospitals, and more importantly, he could discern the backlit lettering above the shop two doors down; antiques and collectibles.

That was a phrase he'd familiarized himself with in damn near every language under the sun by now.

A bell dinged quietly overhead as he stepped into the storefront, grateful that it was even open past 9 o'clock at night. It was only one room and didn't have much space to walk around, but every available surface was stacked to the brim with knick-knacks of all shapes, colors, sizes, and price points under no apparent system of organization. Where some might be overwhelmed or put off by the volume of things to look at, Leon felt his heart skip a beat with excitement. He still had some time to kill before his transport back to the States was due to arrive, and not a single minute of it would be wasted overlooking any potential gems.

Judging by the horrified stares he was attracting, Leon could imagine he looked fucking insane right now, clothes still splattered with wet, rotting blood and the barrel of his gun practically still smoking in his holster as he towered over a shelf in the back corner, scrutinizing a darling little plush bear in one hand and a set of hand-painted matryoshka dolls in the other like it was the hardest decision he would ever have to make.

Ultimately, he chose not to decide at all-- money wasn't a factor, so why not buy both? If it weren't for the issue of luggage, he'd just say 'fuck it' and buy out the whole damn store. Unfortunately, helicopters tended to be quite limited in space.

Self control was a skill Leon used to have mastered, perhaps even too well-- for a long time, every uncomfortable, unsightly, pesky little emotion was pressed down into a condensed cube to be neatly packed away in the very back corners of his brain, boxes upon boxes of dense feelings continuing to pile up and take over more and more space up there until the pressure became too much, the lid blew, and he went off the fucking handle. It wasn't something he was proud of by any means, all those long months blurred into mush through a lens of alcoholism and other reckless behaviors, but what he did try to let himself be proud of was his relative success in making it to the other side.

That, of course, was a feat he did not accomplish without help, nor would he ever claim to. Chris Redfield was instrumental in his recovery in more ways than one, and at times, without even realizing it. He was a listening ear, a dealer of tough love, a trusted confidant...

...and the reason he had you.

For obvious reasons, Leon had never gone out of his way to get a pet in his adult life. It just felt irresponsible with the inconsistency and uncertainty of his work situation, even with all the money in the world to spend on trainers and walkers and boarding and... whatever else, but at that point, it would feel less like a pet than an accessory, and Leon didn't have much interest in material. Never saw the need for it. Then one day Chris woke him up in the middle of the night banging on the door to his apartment with a gift he never expected.

"She's a... what?"

"A hybrid. She's a human-canine hybrid, Leon."

Leon glanced between you and Chris with skepticism in his eyes, only to find the same look peering back at him in you. It was almost kind of funny that he'd have a hard time believing there could be such a thing as a human-canine hybrid, considering all he'd seen in his line of work, a thought that made his shoulders and his expression relax almost instantly.

You were a real cutie, that was for sure, tucked behind Chris and staring up at Leon through your eyelashes with this grumpy little look on your face, a plush, patchwork bear clutched to your chest. The toy was equally as vibrant and colorful as your clothing, if not a bit worn with time. Your ears were long and droopy, your tail hanging low but swishing side-to-side with cautious interest, and the longer he studied you, the more he became endeared by you.

"The B.S.A.A. rescued a group of hybrids from an illegal facility a few weeks ago, but finding accommodations for them isn't as simple as it sounds," Chris continued, resting a hand on your shoulder in an apparent move to reassure you. "Long story short, the people who were in charge of that facility aren't too happy about the acquisition, and the hybrids aren't safe at the B.S.A.A. anymore. Would you be willing to shelter her for a while?"

The firm look in Chris' eyes-- and the fact that he just had to bring this up with you right in front of him-- made it clear he wasn't really asking. No mind, Leon would have done it anyway. It just would have been nice to have had a heads up to rectify the state of the apartment.

"Yeah, of course," Leon nodded gently, stepping aside to allow you and Chris further into the apartment. "Make yourself at home." He caught the way your head tilted up a bit, as if you were studying the scent in the air, and he supposed it made sense that you likely were.

That was four months ago. And for the past four months, Leon quite enjoyed having you around. You were silly and playful, always bounding around the apartment with a toy clenched between your teeth or lounging in the sunny spots in front of the windows, pawing at him for belly rubs and treats and infinite tug-o-war matches. All that being said, you were equally stubborn, resisting him at every turn like magnetic repulsion, always kicking up a fuss seemingly just for the sake of it.

He wasn't sure. You were tough to read. Not only did some of your canine personality traits make you a bit forgetful and distractible at times, but you were also just terribly inconsistent with your affections, and he wasn't always sure what to make of it. All he knew was that he was determined to win you over in one way or another, and if he was going to do that, he'd have to figure you out first, and so far that was shaping up to be quite the herculean task. At least it seemed you would be here for a while.

With the way he guarded your little treasures during the flight home, one might assume he was smuggling something, but he just couldn't stomach the thought of coming home without something to present to you. The hardened federal agent was determined to crack a smile out of you on his terms, to get you to admit what you both knew to be true.

You had a crush on him. A big, fat, embarrassingly all-encompassing crush on him, and you rejected the idea of owning up to it so staunchly that it was turning you into a bit of a brat. That was the one thing he could read about you, and it drove you up the wall.

He certainly wasn't judging you. It would be an absurd lie to say he didn't have a big, fat, embarrassingly all-encompassing crush on you too-- he'd be insane if he didn't. But the back and forth was far too enjoyable, and Leon was always up for a good natured challenge.

See, self control was something Leon had worked really, really hard to regain a handle on, and when it came to his drinking and brooding, he certainly had... but when it came to you? Not by a longshot. That being said, he would rather be pouring himself into courting you than pouring himself another bourbon. That's what he used to shut up that little voice in the back of his head that questioned whether or not he was putting too much energy into this, banking too much on it.

It was innocent, right? It's not like you were a bad influence or whatever. If anything, a lot of nights that he would have spent at the bar were instead being spent at home playing with you. Surely that had to be a net positive, especially considering you would have otherwise been getting poked and prodded at in a lab.

Stepping back into the apartment for the first time in weeks, Leon hadn't even bothered bringing his duffel bag in with him from the car, the only thing in his arms being the wrinkled paper bag from that antique shop. His own belongings could wait. As soon as he shut and locked the door behind him, stepping out of his shoes, the first thing he noticed was how quiet it was.

No lively music from the shows you liked to watch, no little bumps or growls from you playing toys, no quiet padding of your feet across the hardwood from you coming to see who was at the door. He glanced at his watch, finding it was only half past nine in the evening, and while you often proclaimed to abide by a healthy bedtime for yourself, you had a habit of napping all day and bouncing off the walls all night. Something was amiss.

Stepping further into the apartment to investigate the scene, Leon peered into the living room. The lights were on, the TV was off, there were a few toys strewn about the couch and the floor, but not a glimpse of the sweet puppy who left them there. Odd. Suspicious. Maybe even staged.

His lips came together in a whistle meant to grab your attention, knowing your sharp ears would hear it from anywhere in the apartment, even if you were sleeping. When that call garnered no response, he began to wonder if you were mad at him. After all, he was supposed to return almost three days ago, and while Chris had been able to stop by and check on you when he had the time, it just wasn't the same, and you didn't do well with loneliness, and Leon knew that.

Turning on his heel to head deeper into the apartment, he continued to find you nowhere. Not climbing the countertops in the kitchen, or playing under the dining table, or even reluctantly having a bath. As he reached the end of the short hallway, there were only two doors left to open.

Leon tried another whistle and called out, "Hey, pup? I'm home!"

He waited, and listened... and heard nothing. Your bedroom door was closed, and it looked like the light was on in there, judging by the subtle glow spilling out beneath it, but still, no response.

His bedroom door, however, was cracked open. The overhead light was off but the bedside lamp was on, and his dirty laundry basket was tipped over on the floor. When he stepped forward to turn it upright again, he thought he saw the bedding shuffle out of the corner of his eye. Closer inspection of the bed brought the case of his missing puppy girl drew to a close. Your soft tail was peeking out beneath the edge of the covers, the markings and patterns in your fur being undeniably familiar to him now.

It was perfect timing, really-- he was just about to tip over into the realm of worrying about your safety, but now he was back to just worrying you were mad at him... and he couldn't help the amused grin that tugged at his expression.

"Is that a little puppy in daddy's bed?" He asked aloud, his tone taking on a smitten and adoring lilt. Once again, he received no response... at least not verbally. Quietly setting down that paper bag, he stood there and watched with his arms crossed as your tail fluttered to life in response to his tone, the tip silently patting the sheets in a lazy and reluctant little wag that you might have actually gotten away with, if it weren't for the fact that your tail was in plain view.

He was initially going to try a few more times to get a response out of you, hoping to make sure you were okay and to see if you wanted to talk, but he quickly realized that wasn't going to work with you. You weren't all doom and gloom like he tended to be, you were silly, you were playful, you were fundamentally kind. A lighthearted approach wouldn't work with him, or with most of the people he dealt with on a day-to-day basis, but it would almost certainly work with you.

"Well," Leon stretched his arms up with a dramatic groan, "Since there's no puppies in the bed..."

And then he playfully toppled over the lump in the bedding, bracing himself on his elbows so as not to actually crush you, of course, music to his ears being the muffled squeal of stubborn discontent that sounded out from beneath the covers.

"Leon!" You whined, arms squirming around beneath him in a desperate flurry of moves to find the edge of the blanket, tugging it down to free your face for some air. Soon enough your head poked out from beneath the covers and your eyes were already narrowed into unamused slits at him.

But that wasn't really what caught his attention about the look on your face. You were panting for breath, your ears flopped back lazily and your hair an absolute mess, your skin hot to the touch and clammy with sweat. Now his eyes were narrowed at you in suspicion, because you were certainly frustrated, just... not the kind of frustrated he was anticipating, if his suspicions were found to be correct.

"You look guilty," He commented, brow raised as he took you by the chin and tilted your head this way and that, as though in observation. "Why do you look guilty, puppy?"

"I'm not," You were quick to defend yourself-- much too quick, in Leon's opinion-- and you stubbornly recoiled back from his hand, continuing to squirm and resist beneath him. "You're squishing me!"

You planted the palm of your hand dead in the center of his face in an attempt to push him away, the bedding slipping further down in the process to reveal your flushed collarbones and shoulders, both of which were bare. Were you naked? In his bed?

He took you by the wrists to pin your hands down with ease, staring down at you in scrutiny. "Don't lie to me, sweetheart," He said, tone firm, but not unkind. "You're red as a tomato."

With a stubborn whine, your ears flattened back against your messy head in what could only be read as shame, and that certainly wasn't what he was going for at all, even with the compromising position he had you in at the moment. It was just meant to tease you, but you looked mortified, and he could only imagine why that might be.

"Puppy," He softened, letting go of your wrists, one hand taking you by the cheek to gently caress you. "You know I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on."

Your mouth fell open and then snapped shut again a time or two, a clear indication that you were tripping over your words in search of the right ones. Finally, you managed, "It's... I-It's hot."

"Then why are you all bundled up, huh?"

You didn't even really need to admit it at this point, because it was clear as day what was going on here-- after all, Chris had warned him this might happen, that hybrids could have... intense reproductive cycles-- but he also wasn't going to push it if you just wanted to ride it out on your own. He wasn't an expert on this, he didn't know exactly what you needed, and he didn't want to overstep and freak you out.

That being said, the thought that you'd retreated to his bedroom, desperate to surround yourself with his belongings in his absence just to cope with being in heat, was a remarkably good one.

This time you didn't seem to have a retort, still writhing under him and trying to push him off of you, which wasn't new behavior for you, though this time he did take it upon himself to give you some space instead of continuing to mess with you.

"Alright, alright, relax, daddy's not making fun of you--"

"You're not my daddy," You interjected stubbornly, but just like always, the rosy, searing blush on your face betrayed how you really felt about the topic, even as you added, "Stop trying to make me call you that!"

Leon dearly and sincerely adored you, that much was to be sure, but your hard-headedness could run him ragged sometimes, when you'd dig your heels in so hard about things that seemed so innocuous. Whether or not you should be expected to call him daddy-- which he regularly enjoyed teasing you about but would never legitimately force you to do-- didn't feel like the biggest issue at hand here. Not by a mile.

How was he supposed to focus on that when you were just... burning up? Panting for breath and shaking and whining? Oh dear God, this wasn't good, and for as much effort as he was putting into focusing on your wellbeing, it was becoming increasingly difficult not to focus on the way his pants were beginning to feel uncomfortably cozy in the front. He brought one hand down between you to adjust himself only to find he'd unintentionally solicited a faint, but distinctly needy moan from you in the process, presumably because you'd touched you somewhere he hadn't necessarily meant to.

"G-Go away, Leon," You insisted, eyes screwed shut as you turned your head to the side and maintained that stubborn frown he knew so well on you. "Get off of me!"

But your tail was wagging in an absolute blur, thumping mindlessly against the damp sheets and knocking in between his knees at an intensity that was impossible to miss. Leon's eyes narrowed and he bared his teeth in an intrigued grin before finally sitting back on his haunches, still straddling you, but at least freeing your upper half.

"Leon, quit--"

You poor dear, you were so, so close to finishing that sentence, if only it weren't for the way Leon swung one leg between your own, driving his knee right up to the apex until you felt the muted pressure lavish your clit. Whatever you were about to say fizzled out on your tongue and instead popped out in a string of whimpers, your back arching up off the bed. The movement caused the bedding to slip down just a little bit further, confirming his suspicion that you were in fact naked, at least from the waist up.

Taking the soft globe of your breast into the palm of his hand, Leon let his thumb brush over your already pebbled nipple and asked lowly, "Oh, c'mon, pretty puppy... you're totally sure you don't want daddy's help? I think you're just being fussy..."

Your chest rumbled with a little growl, but it was more of a moan than that, and the fiery glare on your face was the perfect image of it. You were pissed, and quite frankly, it was a good look on you. Maybe even one of his favorites. Suddenly you were baring your teeth at him too, just pretending it was in the opposite way. You were such an open book to him.

"You're being mean," Huffed the stubborn little puppy, but of course, Leon could be meaner.

So he was. Leon snatched the covers off the bed in one quick swipe, and what was revealed to him beneath had to have been a thousand times better than anything he might have expected. You were naked, yes, but tangled between your legs was a pair of his sweatpants, undoubtedly retrieved from the depths of the overturned laundry basket, the grey cotton soaked through in patches with slick all over the crotch and thighs.

Fucking Christ, you weren't just getting off to the thought of him, but also the scent of him, the feeling of his clothes on your skin, and presumably, an idea not unlike what he was already teasing you with; letting you rub one out on his thigh.

Squishing your cheeks in one hand, he said firmly, "Look at me. Do you honestly feel like I'm being mean to you?"

There was a pause while you stared at each other, your eyes searching his own skeptically. It didn't really seem he was messing with you, no, in fact he appeared like he really wanted to help you. The back and forth was fun and he enjoyed the little game you'd made out of getting to know each other, but when it came to your comfort and wellbeing, he wasn't interested in being forced to solve puzzles. You couldn't really blame him.

"N-No," You admitted.

"Exactly, so just... simmer down, will you?"

This time Leon didn't give you another chance to tell him to fuck off. He scooped you up at the waist and pulled you to your knees, drawing your body close to his until you were straddling his left thigh. Eyes wide, you stared at him stiffly, like you were too afraid to move. Huffing out a breath, he rolled his eyes with a smirk and gripped your hips, tugging you down until you were finally bearing your weight on him.

For as fast as your pointed teeth sank into your bottom lip to quiet yourself, it didn't even matter. You still let out a pleasured whine, ears flat against your head and your tail hung low, the tip swishing in a reluctant little wag that patted the outside of his knee with every other beat.

"You're too precious for your own damn good," He grumbled, thumbs brushing soothing circles into your hips. "Y'know that, pup?"

Breaths falling short, it felt like your head was full of warm mud, teetering for balance on your neck as your upper body tipped forward to grasp at his arms. As expected, Leon caught you effortlessly, steadying you by cupping your face in his hands so he could look you right in your braindead little eyes, your noses almost touching as your tongue lolled out in lazy gasps.

It was obvious he wasn't going to get much more out of you in the way of words at this point, so it was a damn good thing you had that pretty tail knocking about. He figured all that wiggling was the closest he'd get to a literal window into your mind.

"Go on, then," Leon smoothed your hair away from your sticky forehead, still mindful to hold you upright. His tone was low and, as always, far too sweet for you... but it was so nice, it vibrated down to the base of your spine and made you dizzier. You were just about to fulfill what he was encouraging you to do when he added wryly, "You've already made such a mess, don't get shy on me now."

A quiet whimper stuttered from your dry throat-- you couldn't sit still anymore, he was being evil and he knew it, downright evil... and you typically would have stuck up your nose at him and brooded on it for a while, but you didn't even have the strength of mind for that at the moment. You hardly even realized you were already rocking your hips back and forth against the clothed meat of his thigh, nails threatening to snap under the pressure as they begged to sink past his shirt and into his muscles.

It was pleasant, sure, but it wasn't nearly enough, especially not after hours and hours and hours of tossing and turning in his bed, rubbing yourself nearly numb with your fingers and your toys and his pillows and his clothes, aching for something tangible and warm to nurse the pain away. You let your forehead rest against his own for a moment to catch your breath, hoping to find the right angle, but you just weren't getting what you needed, and the frustration alone made your glassy eyes sting with the threat of tears.

That just wouldn't do.

"Oh, you really made a mess, didn't you, sweet girl?" Leon cooed sympathetically, shushing your delicate cries. Thumbs skimming over your burning cheeks, he asked quietly and carefully, "Why don't you let daddy lick it up, hm?"

Your expression scrunched up in a weak pout and your empty little head bobbed up and down in an airy nod, and just as soon as you gave him that go-ahead, he was moving to make it so. You were on your back in seconds, Leon's broad hands spreading your plush thighs apart to make space for himself between them, and for as cool and composed as he was trying to appear right now, he couldn't help the low moan that made it past him just at the sight of you.

Sure, he'd seen more than enough by now to guess that you were wet, but you weren't just wet, you were dripping all over yourself. It was all he could do to collect as much of you on his tongue as possible, groaning at the taste and dragging you closer by your hips until he was as close as he could get, the tip of his nose buried against the curls at the lowest point of your mound as he lapped you up with abandon.

You were writhing and crying, legs kicking out at the stimulation before drawing back up to dig into his shoulders and pull him further into you, into the mess of you. He'd managed to find it somehow, to become that something tangible and warm and redefine it, unraveling you from the root with a sanguine sense of desperation that was tempered by his undying commitment to treating you like you were made of glass.

Your tail was curling up tight against the base of your spine, your chest was heaving for breath, you couldn't keep your eyes open anymore, and he hardly could either.

But he also couldn't stand not to. If you had the capacity to pay attention to small details, you might have noticed his eyes were just as bleary and drunk as yours were. Leon recorded your every movement in his mind like scripture from this angle, his own hips rutting down into the bed while yours bucked into his mouth, and it was only when he found the strength to pull away for air that he found a moment to reorient himself in reality.

His lips were puffy, rosy, and slick with you as he caught his breath, two fingers toying with your puffy, aching clit in the absence of his tongue. It was almost like muscle memory for him to reach up with his free hand and pat your belly, an affectionate hum ringing from him at the near-immediate reaction it got out of you, even in a state like this. You were squirming and arching beneath him as your quivering body fought to determine priority over the attention brought by either hand, a rather endearing dilemma to have found yourself in.

"Oh, my poor baby," Leon preened, lavishing the inside of your right thigh with kisses. "You're so cute..."

Unable to help himself from letting you have the best of both forms of pampering, he replaced the tips of his fingers with his tongue yet again, freeing both hands to pet your soft tummy. The movements were lazy, but sure enough, your tail was going off as fast as it could while you laid there shivering and whining and clawing at him, tumbling over the edge into release before you could come up with a way to warn him first.

As if he would have cared anyway. A warning wouldn't have changed anything. Hell, it might have even spoiled what turned out to be a dizzying moment of unabashed indulgence for him.

Gentle, adoring hands kneading delicately at all your favorite spots, Leon willfully deprived himself of oxygen in pursuit of every drop of your syrup as it flowed from you, knowing he would come to regret being wasteful later if this should turn out to be a one-time thing. He lost himself to the throes of hedonism for several drawn out moments until he was confident you were licked clean, until he came to again and realized you had gone completely limp in the wake of your expenditure.

Rolling over onto his back, Leon spread out just as bonelessly across the bed as you did, the both of you a sorry sight of sweat and heat. He spent several minutes trying to find a way to break the silence. With the haze of lust wearing off a bit and clearing up space in his mind for more intelligent processes, Leon was already beginning to dread the inevitable conversation this would warrant between the two of you.

Lucky for him, that was so far outside of the realm of your current train of thought... or lack thereof. You certainly felt better, but that didn't mean your brain wasn't mud anymore. Little else mattered to your muggy, muddled mind but the here and now.

In an unexpected move, you rolled onto your side to rest your head against his chest. The way you struggled to meet his eyes was enough for him to know you were likely still struggling to talk, or maybe you just didn't really want to, but the olive branch you'd extended demonstrated your agreeable state, which was more than he could've said for you half an hour ago.

Shit, half an hour ago he was still hoping a couple presents from his trip would win your affections, yet here he was with the taste of you lingering on his lips, your naked body curled up to him for comfort.

Wrapping his arm tightly around you until you were tucked up comfortably into his side, Leon rested his chin atop your head and mumbled fondly, "What am I gonna do with you, huh? Can't even sleep in my own bed after a long mission 'cause this pretty little puppy made such a big mess... I hope you know how to work the washing machine."

#venustext #sintext #resident evil #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #re6 leon #leon kennedy smut

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iniquitousyearning · 1 year ago

Text

Lorenzo Berkshire- Through Rain or Shine

Info: you’d had a tough couple of weeks, and needed to find a way to relieve the numbness in your chest. when your forever friend unsurprisingly joins you, the two of you finally admit your feelings for eachother, after all those years.

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: 18+, smut, fingering, kissing, themes of mild depression, praise kink, fluff, so much angst, childhood best friends to lovers trope.

In the quiet solitude of your dorm room, the weight of exhaustion pressed upon you like an invisible force, each day's relentless grind etched into the lines of weariness on your face. The past weeks had been an unyielding onslaught of books and notes, every waking moment dedicated to the pursuit of academic excellence, driven by the burning desire to excel in the impending owls exam.

The recent breakup with your boyfriend had cast a shadow over your world, pushing you deeper into the solace of your studies. Nights blurred into early mornings as you immersed yourself in the expanse of your textbooks, seeking refuge from the echoing emptiness left by the now-fractured relationship. Distractions became your lifeline, a shield against the lingering pain that clung to your chest like an unwelcome weight.

As the culmination of your efforts approached with the passing of your owls exam, a bitter relief settled in upon the conclusion. Yet, despite the temporary reprieve, the ache in your chest persisted, an unyielding rock crushing against your lungs. Caffeine and sleep proved futile against the overwhelming exhaustion that permeated your mind and soul.

And on yet another seemingly mundane night, a symphony of raindrops assaulted your window with an angry rhythm, a stormy punctuation to the warm spring night. Beneath the cocoon of your sheets, you lay motionless, your gaze fixated on the rivulets tracing their path down the glass. Restlessness plagued your every toss and turn, a sleep-deprived mind refusing the solace of slumber.

And as hour after hour passed in the hushed corridors of Gryffindor Tower, you succumbed to a rebellious impulse, heedless of any potential consequences. Clad in only a pair of sleep shorts and a light long-sleeved shirt, you navigated the dimly lit common room, driven by a compulsion to escape, to just fucking break free for once. Troublesome thoughts of repercussions faded in the face of your overwhelming apathy, truly not giving one single fuck about what could, or would happen to you if you were to get caught.

The damp corridor led you to the entrance of the courtyard, where the angry rain battered against the aged stones. A deep breath filled your lungs with the crisp scent of the tempestuous storm, and as you stepped into the downpour, an electric warmth surged through your drenched body. The hard curtain of water enveloped you, washing away the numbness and invigorating your senses, a desperate attempt to feel something--anything--other than the weight of your weary existence.

In another brief stretch of madness, you descended, lowering yourself against the soaked, weathered stones beneath your feet. As your back connected, you felt the tension instantly leave your bones, a shiver dancing along your spine, a stark contrast to the warmth pulsating within. The rain continued its unrestrained assault, a cacophony of droplets drumming against your body and soaking you to the bone.

With each breath, the scent of petrichor mingled with the raw, earthy aroma of the surrounding flora. Your clothes clung to your body, a second skin saturated by the unrelenting downpour. The waterlogged fabric, though chilling, brought a visceral reminder of your exhilarated presence in this moment--a stark departure from the numbness that had gripped you for the last few weeks.

In the embrace of the storm, time lost its linear structure, and the weight of your weary existence momentarily dissolved. The courtyard became a sanctuary, a refuge where the boundary between self and nature blurred, and for a fleeting moment, you existed in a space beyond the confines of your troubles, surrendering to the elemental dance of rain and stone.

Until, suddenly, the ephemeral sanctuary of rain-soaked contemplation shattered abruptly as someone leaned over you, disrupting the elemental dance against your skin. Startled, you opened your eyes, squinting against the mingling rain and the sudden intrusion of the night. There, peering down at you with a mixture of concern and confusion, was Lorenzo Berkshire, your damn-near lifelong bestfriend.

His worried expression cut through the remnants of your momentary escape, and reality crashed back with a jolt. The rhythmic percussion of rain against stone now seemed distant, replaced by the urgency in Lorenzo's eyes.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing out here?" His voice pierced through the storm, the concern in his tone palpable. "You're going to catch a bloody cold."

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut as annoyance rolled through you. The boundary between self and the outside world reasserted itself, and the refuge you'd found in the solitude had now entirely slipped away, all thanks to the presence of your wonderful, but admittedly infuriating bestfriend.

"Enz, for the love of all things magical..." you grumbled, stubbornly keeping your eyes shut against both rain and scrutiny. "Can't I just have a moment alone? Please, just let me be."

"I can't just leave you out here, especially when you're practically bathing in the bloody storm." Lorenzo's concern lingered in the air as he shook his head, raindrops scattering from the movement. "Come on...let's get you inside before you turn into a drowned owl."

You stubbornly shook your own head, now--your rain-soaked hair clinging to your face as a testament to your unwillingness to yield.

"Enzo, I need this..." you muttered, not ready to abandon the calm you had just found, only moments earlier. "Just-just give me a bit longer, please?"

Ignoring Lorenzo's outstretched hand, you clung to the puddled, uneven stones beneath you, a silent plea for solitude amidst the storm. At your denial, your best friends frown deepened, lines of worry etching across his forehead as he observed your silent resistance. The genuine concern in his eyes betrayed an understanding that surpassed mere words.

He knew you--knew the intricacies of your soul since the days when stumbling was a more common occurrence than walking. He knew this was not like you.

He crouched down beside you, raindrops creating a haphazard pattern on his shoulders. The bond between you two transcended the need for spoken explanations. As he rested a hand on your shoulder, a comforting weight that spoke of shared history, he sighed.

"You've weathered storms before, but this...it's different. You're different." His voice was soft, gentle, barely audible over the sound of rain slamming the stone next to your head. "I'm worried about you."

"I know, Enz," you admitted, almost reluctantly. Opening your eyes, you met his gaze, and in that moment, vulnerability hung in the air. "It's just...everything--the exams, the breakup...I needed a moment to drown it all out, but it seems the storm found me first."

Enzo's hand on your shoulder tightened slightly, a wordless reassurance that spoke volumes. Together, in that shared silence, you both acknowledged the profound truth--you weren't facing the storm alone. He'd simply never allow it. And then, without uttering a single word, Enzo lowered himself to the rain-soaked stones, settling beside you with a quiet understanding. The haphazard patterns of raindrops now painted both of your figures entirely, a shared canvas in the midst of the storm.

In the hushed ambiance of the stormy courtyard, shielded behind bushes and flowers, you shifted your gaze toward Enzo, silently appreciating the allure of his rain-soaked features. Long lashes, adorned with raindrops, sparkled like morning dew, tracing a delicate path along his rosy cheeks. There was a captivating ease in the way he simply basked in the warm rain, his handsome features unburdened as though he was simply reclining in the luxury of his bed.

Enzo had always embodied an enduring quality, a trait that defied life's intricate twists and turns--an attribute you had always found yourself inexplicably envious of. His carefree demeanor wasn't a recklessness that jeopardized education or safety; instead, it mirrored the carelessness of a child navigating their first steps or the unburdened joy of someone soaking up the sun after a harsh winter. He moved through life with a rare freedom, an effortless lightness that resonated deep within you.

For that, you couldn't help but love him--a sentiment woven into the fabric of your bond. No matter the trials life presented or the stretches of silence between you, you unfailingly found yourselves back together. Side by side, navigating this crazy thing you called life.

"I'm here," Enzo's voice shattered the silence, a gentle reassurance that jolted you out of your contemplative trance. It dawned on you that you'd been lost in the steady gaze of his rain-kissed features. "You don't have to talk to me...but I'm here."

Your response came as a slow nod, a silent acknowledgment of his unwavering presence. The weight of his words wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, a reassurance that soothed every inch of ache in your bones. It was right then, that you realized, since he'd laid down beside you, the numbness in your chest had completely fucking vanished.

Turning your attention back to the sky, you shut your eyes, embracing the rain that pelted your face. Basking in the comforting silence, you whisper, "Do you ever think about the day we met?"

Enzo's fingers brushed against yours, a tender touch that spoke volumes as he replied, "All the time."

His response stirred a warmth in your chest, a gentle flutter that resonated with the shared nostalgia. "The day at the lake?"

His low chuckle, like a melody in the rain, accompanied his words, "When you stole my toy shovel and then pushed me into the water when I tried getting it back?"

“Oh, please!” An uncontrolled giggle bubbled from your lips as you countered, "that's not at all how it went."

Enzo's eyes sparkled with amusement as he awaited your correction. "Okay, then, enlighten me. How did it really go?"

"Okay, okay, maybe it did go a bit like that..." amidst laughter, you playfully explained, "but you were the one who stole my bucket first, Enz. I had to get you back for it!"

"Fair enough, angel, I might have started it." Enzo's laughter blended with the raindrops as he conceded, "I guess I had it coming.”

Smirking, you retorted, "You've been a pain in my butt since the day we met, Enz…some things never change, do they?"

Enzo's grin widened, and he retorted, "Guilty as charged. But you love me for it, don't you?"

His eyes, filled with a mixture of mischief and affection, reflected the depth of a connection that had weathered the mischievous escapades and grown stronger with each passing storm.

"How couldn't I?" you responded with a fond smile, your gaze locking with his. "With a smirk that irresistibly charming, you make it impossible not to."

"Can't argue with that, angel," he quipped, flashing his teeth playfully. "Charm has always been my secret weapon."

As your laughter faded, a pause settled between you two. Staring at him, a flood of memories cascaded through your mind--years of friendship, shared laughter, and the occasional drunken kiss that had always lingered like a quiet undercurrent. In that moment, you couldn't deny the feelings that had grown, evolving beyond the boundaries of friendship.

The courtyard, still bathed in the rain's embrace, became a silent witness to the realization that the line you'd hesitated to cross might have finally blurred beyond recognition.

"Enz...have you ever...felt, lost?" As you blinked, you glimpsed his lips, your voice a soft murmur as it left your throat. "Like everything you thought was solid, just…crumbled away?"

"Absolutely," he confessed, a soft sigh escaping him as raindrops adorned his lashes like jewels. "It's like the ground beneath you turns into quicksand, and-"

"You're unsure of what to cling to, because it feels like..." you interrupted, your eyes locking onto his.

"....it’s all collapsing alongside you," he finished, completing your thought with a shared understanding. "Absolutely, angel...absolutely."

As you paused, eyes fixed on his features, a rush of emotions surged within you. The realization of your profound affection for this boy, the depth of his unwavering presence, and the shared history you both carried became palpable.

The weeks of self-imposed hibernation in your dorm had isolated you from the world, but here, in the midst of the storm, Enzo stood by your side. His willingness to weather the rain with you, to share the weight of your troubles, became a testament to a friendship that had transcended time and circumstance. The unspoken understanding, the shared glances, all hinted at a connection that had weathered storms of both the heart and the skies.

"Enz," you murmured, the endearment slipping from your lips like a secret shared between kindred spirits. "Thank you, for being here...it means more than you'll ever know."

"You don't have to thank me, angel," he replied, a warm smile tugging at the corners of his rain-kissed lips. "We've always been in this together...through rain or shine--it's what best friends do."

In the quietude of the rain-soaked courtyard, a charged silence hung between you and Enzo. Your heart, like a captive creature, pounded in your chest as you found solace in the shared gaze. His brown eyes, an intimate dance of vulnerability and unspoken sentiments, darted between your eyes and lips.

And then, in an unexpected surge of emotion, the two of you moved as if drawn by an invisible force--his hands found your face, a gentle reassurance, while your own hands mirrored the sentiment, delicately grasping the back of his neck as you pulled him close. Lips collided in a shared moment of exasperation, a kiss that seemed to carry the potential to mend wounds. Enzo's soft, warm lips moved with a careful precision, as though he feared shattering the fragile connection by moving too quickly or being too rough.

A sigh mingled within your shared breaths, and the emotional tide of the kiss swept over you. In the midst of the courtyard's relentless downpour, the intimacy of the moment became a sanctuary. Emotions, sought when you ventured into the rain-soaked space, surged to the surface, rendering you more alive than you had felt in fucking weeks.

Enzo, breaking the kiss with a soft, lingering reluctance, allowed his lips to trail along your jawline. A whisper of breath brushed against your skin as he confessed, his words carrying the weight of years of unspoken desire.

"I've wanted to do that for years," he admitted, the revelation settling in the damp air around you. "...for so many fucking years..."

Your response came as an instinct, your hands finding their way into his hair, pulling him close with a magnetic urgency.

"Me fucking too," you whispered, a fusion of emotions flooding your voice, "why did we wait so long?"

Enzo's gaze, now intensified by the admission and the proximity between you two, held a mixture of regret and longing. He nestled closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke with a sincerity that echoed through the courtyard.

"I don't know, angel," he murmured, the words carrying the weight of missed chances and unspoken confessions. "Maybe we were both waiting for the right storm to finally let it all pour out."

"Mm--pour it out for me, Enz," you whispered, your voice a gentle plea. "Tell me where you've been...tell me where your heart is..."

With a shared understanding, Enzo gently urged you to lay back, guiding you back against the cool, rain-drenched stones. He positioned himself alongside you, his head resting on your chest, the closeness of his body providing a comforting warmth against the coolness of the courtyard. One hand cradled your head while his other traced a delicate path down your stomach, igniting your skin into flames. Inhaling a sharp breath, he confessed,

"Someone once told me that it all comes down to the last person you think of at night." His fingers teasingly traced the line of your shorts as he continued, "That's where your heart is."

As his words lingered in the air, a tender smile played on your lips. Your eyes squeezed shut, encapsulating the vulnerability of the moment. Your hands found solace in his hair, fingers gently petting as you embraced the emotional tide that swept over you.

"Mm-yeah?" you murmured, finding it challenging to stay fully focused on his words as his soft teasing fingers traced along your inner thigh. "And who do you think of?"

Enzo pulled his head from your chest, meeting your eyes with an intensity that cut through the rain-soaked ambiance. His gaze held nothing but pure seriousness as he uttered, "Can I touch you, angel? Please?"

A near mewl escaped your lips, your entire body buzzing with anticipation. "Please do, Enz," you whispered, the plea carrying a mixture of desire and vulnerability. "Gods, please-"

Enzo leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a soft kiss as he inched his fingers closer and closer to the edge of your shorts. As he slipped his tongue past your teeth, gentle yet urgent, you found yourself practically holding your breath in anticipation, shifting your legs wider slightly to give him better access.

Without wanting to keep you waiting for much longer, his long fingers slipped past the edge of the soaked fabric, connecting directly with your heat as you weren't wearing any panties. You moaned into his mouth and he swallowed it eagerly, his fingers wasting no time at all before beginning to rub tight circles against your clit.

Your grip on his hair tightened, your entire body quivering and squirming against his touch. You lost yourself in sensation, moaning into his mouth as he manipulated you expertly, sucking in air through his nose as he kissed you like he could devour you. The cool raindrops on your skin contrasted with the heat building in your body, and you felt as if you were about to burst with pleasure, explode with emotion.

Breaking the kiss, he pressed his forehead against yours, both of you breathing heavily as he slipped a finger inside you while his thumb continued to rub against your clit. You arched your back against him, feeling every inch of his finger stretching you out as he drove you to the brink of ecstasy, whimpering as quietly as you could as the two of you blended into the darkness, curtains of rain acting as your shield.

"I think of you, angel," His lips found your neck, kissing and biting gently as he continued to work you with his fingers, building your orgasm dangerously fast. "I think of you before I sleep...I wake up and I think about you..."

Your hands shifted, fisting his shirt as you cried out in pleasure, raindrops falling around you in a steady rhythm. You could feel his lips on your neck, leaving wet kisses as he continued, "I think about kissing you good morning...I fall asleep while thinking about kissing you goodnight..."

"Oh...Enz..." the words sent a fresh surge of desire through you, and you arched your back involuntarily, trying to get closer to him. "Oh my Gods..."

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot against your ear. "You know I'm helplessly fucking in love with you, right?"

"Oh-fuck-" you moaned, louder than you'd expected as he increased his pace on your clit, his finger pumping in and out of you with increased intensity, sending your vision spinning. "Enzo-"

"Mhm...pretty girl..." he cooed as you tilted your head back, giving him better access to your neck, and he obliged by nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. "I fell in love with you back before knowing what love even was..." he placed sloppy kisses on your collarbone, nipping softly. "And I've stayed in love with you because no one...fucking no one has ever made me feel the way you do."

Moaning softly, you squirmed beneath him, unable to contain the growing intensity coursing through your body. Tears welled in your eyes, each word that escaped his lips resonating with a tidal wave of emotion, threatening to engulf you under the weight of your own heart. This overwhelming surge of happiness felt surreal, like a dream you never dared to believe could be real.

Suddenly, he slipped another finger inside you, stretching you out wider as his thumb continued twirling over your clit. You cried out in pleasure, the intensity of the sensation making your toes curl, your chest reaching for oxygen as though you’d been starved of it for years.

"Fuck, you're so wet," Enzo murmured against your skin, his lips trailing kisses back up to your jawline. "Does this feel good, angel?"

All you could manage was a nod; your breath was coming in short gasps as the pleasure built and built inside of you. The rain continued to fall down around you, a cooling contrast to the heat in your body, bucking your hips against his hand, becoming increasingly desperate for release.

"Good girl...so, so good..." he purred, kissing his way back up your jawline until he veered back and met your lips, pressing the plush entirety of his mouth to yours. "I continue to fall in love with you every fucking day because there's no one I could ever picture my future with, other than you..."

"Oh Gods, Enzo..." you could feel the tension building in your body, coiling tighter and tighter until you were practically vibrating with need. "I'm so fucking in love with you..."

"Mm," he purred, grazing his lips against yours. "Music to my ears, angel..."

As if sensing how close you were, he slipped a third finger inside you, his movements becoming almost frantic as he continued to rub your clit in tight, harsh circles with his thumb. Your body shook with pleasure, every nerve ending sparking with sensation as Enzo's deep brown pools drilled into yours, watching every slight ministration of your face as you teetered on the edge of pure fucking ecstasy.

"Fuck-Enz..." you moaned, grasping the soaked fabric of his shirt for dear life, squeezing it within your trembling fists. "I'm going to-"

He kissed you again, smiling against your lips. "Cum for me."

That was all you needed to hear; and with a sharp cry, you came hard, spasms of pleasure wracking your body, your vision blurring as pleasure washed over you in waves. Enzo continued to move his fingers inside of you, riding out your orgasm until you collapsed, panting and spent. In the aftermath, as you both caught your breath, the rain persisted, its cool touch soothing your heated skin. A comfortable silence enveloped you, a serene pause in the midst of the rain-soaked courtyard.

After a lingering moment, Enzo gently pulled you up to your feet. Gripping your face with a tenderness that echoed the shared vulnerability, he kissed you again.

"I'll be here for you," he murmured, his words a gentle reassurance. "When you're down, I'll hold you; when you feel like you can't get up, I'll support you. We'll navigate this at your pace, angel. There's no need to rush."

"We've been friends since we were toddlers--how much less rushing can we do?" Giggling against his mouth, you playfully teased, "I just want you, Enz. You've made all the pain in the last few weeks completely irrelevant in a span of an hour...it’s always been you.”

"Then have me, love," he cooed, his fingers entwining with yours. "Whatever you desire, it's yours."

#lorenzo berkshire #enzo berkshire #harry potter #enzo berkshire x reader #enzo berkshire x you #Lorenzo Berkshire smut #Enzoberkshiresmut #lorenzo #lorenzoberkshire #lorenzoberk #berkshire #enzoberkshire #enzo smut #enzo berkshire smut #slytherin boys #slytherinboys

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