#this one looks the most lavish and eye catching

[thenotoriousscuttlecliff]

I watch both shows and there were certainly times in Rome when you could tell it was also shot on a cramped soundstage. Sure they spent a lot of money on that central plaza set (which often still had to be enhanced with CGI), but it was obvious that cash was being saved elsewhere, which is why all the big battles happened off screen. Rome also had one central location whereas Rings of Power has several. But really, anyone who says they watch this show and can't see where the money is being spent is just lying their ass off.

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

PROMISCUOUS

drew starkey x fem!reader

(mood board does NOT depict readers appearance !!)

SUMMARY: in which y/n’s outfit on set for outer banks causes quite a problem for her boyfriend, drew.

based on this ask !! thank you so much my lovely, you always have the BEST requests :) my requests are unfortunately closed at the moment as i have a lot to catch up on, but i hope you all understand <3 PLEASE READ A/N AT THE END !!

(check out my other drew starkey & rafe cameron works here !!)

WARNINGS: allusions to sex, mentions of alcohol, cursing, drew getting a boner (i’m gonna’ rate this one 16+?), reader being a baddie !! (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

THIRD PERSON +

The Outer Banks set was buzzing with energy as the cast and crew prepared for the next scene. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the lavish beach house where the party scene was being filmed. Music blasted from the speakers, extras milled about with red Solo cups in hand, and the scent of saltwater mixed with the faint aroma of fake alcohol. It was the kind of chaotic yet controlled environment that made filming party scenes both exciting and exhausting.

Y/N adjusted her outfit, running her hands over the fabric of her black halter top. The plunging neckline dipped dangerously low, exposing a generous amount of skin, while the silky material draped perfectly over her curves. It tied at the back of her neck, leaving her shoulders and most of her back bare. Paired with it was a black micro mini skirt that sat low on her hips, held in place by a wide belt with a bold silver buckle. The skirt barely reached mid-thigh, leaving her legs completely exposed—save for the sleek, knee-high platform boots that gave her an extra few inches of height. The chunky heels made her legs look even longer, accentuating the confident, sultry energy she was radiating. To top it off, she had a pair of black wraparound sunglasses perched on her head, the silver star details on the sides glinting under the bright set lights.

She knew she looked good.

And judging by the way Drew was staring at her, so did he.

He was sitting in Rafe Cameron's signature relaxed but dominant posture—legs spread slightly, an arm draped over the back of the couch, watching her with a look that made her stomach flutter. His jaw was slightly clenched, his tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek, and his eyes were absolutely eating her up.

"What?" she asked teasingly, placing a hand on her hip.

Drew shook his head, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. "Nothing, just... wow."

"Wow?" She cocked an eyebrow, stepping closer so that only he could hear. "That all you got for me, Starkey?"

He exhaled sharply through his nose, tilting his head slightly as he looked her up and down. "You look fucking hot, babe. And you know it."

A pleased smile spread across her lips, but before she could say anything else, the director called for places. Drew, still in character as Rafe, patted his lap, inviting her to sit. She obeyed, gracefully perching herself on his thighs as they prepared for the scene.

The cameras started rolling.

Y/N's character giggled, twirling a lock of her hair as she gazed up at Rafe with adoration. Her hands rested lightly on his chest, playing with the fabric of his open button-up shirt. Drew, fully immersed in character, smirked at her, his hands gripping her waist as they leaned in close.

"You having fun, baby?" he murmured in his low, sultry Rafe voice.

She let out another flirtatious laugh, tilting her head as she gazed at him. "Always, when I'm with you."

Their lips met, and the kiss quickly deepened. It was just a scene, just acting, but there was an undeniable heat between them. Y/N's fingers curled into Drew's shirt, pulling him closer, while his hands squeezed her hips possessively.

Drew knew they had to keep it professional—had to keep it controlled—but damn, Y/N wasn't making it easy. The way she moved against him, her warm body pressed so close, the scent of her perfume mixing with the ocean air... it was driving him insane.

And then he felt it.

A very real, very inconvenient problem.

The director finally called, "Cut!" and Y/N, still giggling, made a move to hop off his lap. But before she could stand, Drew's hands tightened around her waist, keeping her firmly in place.

She looked down at him, puzzled at first, until realization dawned on her. The moment she understood, her lips curled into a devilish smirk.

"Oh," she whispered, her voice laced with amusement. "Really?"

Drew groaned softly, tilting his head back against the couch. "Don't start, Y/N."

"But I haven't even done anything," she teased, her fingers tracing light patterns over his chest.

"Exactly," he muttered, his grip tightening slightly. "So just stay put for a sec."

Y/N bit her lip, her mischievous streak taking over. "You know, Drew, sitting like this probably isn't helping."

Before he could stop her, she started peppering kisses along his jaw, her lips feather-light as they trailed toward his ear. She wiggled slightly in his lap, knowing damn well what she was doing.

Drew inhaled sharply, his fingers flexing against her hips. "Y/N," he warned under his breath.

"Hmm?" she hummed innocently.

"Oh my God, you two are disgusting," Madison Bailey's voice suddenly cut through their little bubble.

Y/N froze for a second before slowly turning her head. Sure enough, Madison, Rudy Pankow, and Chase Stokes were all standing nearby, watching them with knowing smirks.

Drew groaned, immediately burying his face in Y/N's neck in sheer embarrassment.

"Oh no," Rudy cackled, pointing at them. "No way."

Chase burst out laughing. "Drew, man, are you serious?"

"Shut up," Drew muttered, his voice muffled against Y/N's skin.

Madison grinned, crossing her arms. "It's totally understandable, though. I mean, have you seen Y/N? She looks hot as hell tonight."

"I mean, yeah, but control yourself, bro," Rudy added, still laughing.

Y/N, feeling quite pleased with herself, simply wrapped her arms around Drew's neck and shot them a smug smile. "Can you blame him?"

"Oh, don't feed his ego," Madison groaned, shaking her head.

Drew, finally regaining some composure, lifted his head, his face still slightly flushed. "Are you guys done?"

"Yeah, yeah, we'll leave you two lovebirds alone," Chase said, grinning as he and the others walked away, still chuckling.

Y/N turned back to Drew, brushing a few strands of hair away from his forehead. "You good now?" she asked sweetly.

Drew let out a long sigh, giving her a pointed look. "Yeah. Thanks for making it worse, by the way."

"Anytime, babe," she replied with a wink before finally getting off his lap.

They moved on to the next scene, which—of course—just so happened to be one of the more intimate ones between their characters. The set was quieter now, the party extras having cleared out, leaving just the crew, intimacy co-ordinator and the main cast.

Y/N's character stood in the dimly lit hallway of the beach house, waiting for Rafe. Drew stepped into place, his hands slipping around her waist as he pulled her close for another kiss—this one slower, deeper, more intimate.

Y/N felt him exhale sharply against her lips before he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear, "This is gonna' be a long day."

She grinned against his lips, suppressing a laugh. "Better buckle up, Starkey."

And with that, the cameras rolled again.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

hi all !! sorry for disappearing, i’ve been really sick, to the point i’ve been off work and been out on antibiotics :( but i’m slowly getting there and i’m going to try my best to get some requests published !! i have quite a few in my drafts that need cleaning up, but for now my requests are CLOSED :(

for anyone who follows me that’s an inhaler fan, i’m currently working on a bobby skeetz x fem!of fic that i’ll be publishing on my wattpad soon !!

i’m going to be very busy over the next few weeks as i have a lot going on, so please be patient with me <3

[loveanddeepthroat]

Trouble

Pairing - Sylus x f!MC

Summary - As it turned out, lavish events in the N109 Zone were not quite your thing, and this one did nothing but prove it. You weren’t looking for trouble, but it often had a way of finding you.

Word Count - 6.4k

Warning - MDNI. 18+. Oral sex f!receiving. Fingering. Light bondage. Mention of murder.

You were in trouble.

Not that it was immediately bothering you. You were having a good time—it wasn’t your fault that the rest of your companions were quite clearly not.

And besides, it wasn’t as if you were breaking any rules. Sylus had simply advised that you remain where he and the twins could see you upon your arrival at the lavish event, and that’s exactly what you were doing.

Whilst you watched a delectable cocktail being made for you at the bar as per a stranger's request, the three sets of eyes in various places around the room burned holes in your head as they watched you and the nameless man like a hawk. You only threw a few glances at each of them, catching Luke waving the tips of his fingers against his neck in a warning to get away from the guy.

You did no such thing, however. Listening to people kissing Sylus’s ass to stay out of his warpath had quickly bored you half to death, and some stimulation was very necessary for your withering attention span. You didn’t think much of the man who had approached you at the bar. He was dressed up like every other guy in the room, but he held a familiar air of dominance around him. Just as a certain silver haired man fuming a dozen metres away did.

The man ordered you what he deemed as being the best cocktail you would ever drink, along with an identical one for himself. One sip had led to another, your glass completely drained in a matter of a few seconds. He had another one raring to go before your glass landed back on the mahogany bar.

“Didn’t I tell you? The perfect cocktail.” The slight grin he shot you revealed two golden teeth that replaced his natural canines. You imagined the man would be quite intimidating to look at for most, but you took down Wanderers for a living. He’d need to do a lot more than flash his expensive gold fangs at you to make you feel threatened.

Not that you were getting that impression from him in the first place. He actually seemed rather pleasant.

“It’s delicious,” you agreed, already starting on the second.

He perched himself on the stool beside you, taking a sip of his own as he studied you for a moment. “You came with Sylus, huh?”

You nod, not seeing any harm in answering truthfully. “Is it obvious?”

The man chuckled. “His eyes are like lasers through my skull,” he crooned. He turned his head to wiggle his fingers in greeting to your companion. You didn’t dare turn to look in the same direction. “So, what are you doing on your little lonesome, darling?”

A shiver ran up your spine at the pet name. It was almost as if Sylus had caused it as a warning to you. You could feel his patience thinning by the second.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you responded, starting to feel a bit like a worm in the sights of a crow. 

Although you weren’t entirely sure which of the two men were making you feel so much pressure all of a sudden.

A blaringly obvious hand shot in the air a little distance behind the silver-eyed man beside you, catching your attention. Kieran had attracted more than just your attention as he threw his thumb back over his shoulder, eagerly coaxing you away from the man.

It was time to wrap things up.

You finally took the hint and slipped off of the barstool and onto your stilettos, your movement mirrored by the man before you. A large hand landed upon your shoulder, causing you to freeze up. At first, you thought it was his hand clamped there, but the sheer size and strength as it gave you a small squeeze was immediately recognisable.

Sylus.

Putting your face in one of the large fireplaces in the room sounded more appealing than looking up at him at that moment, so you kept your gaze on the sly smirk now spreading across the shorter male’s face.

“Sylus. It’s about time our paths crossed tonight,” he crooned. Gone was the admittedly quite charming face you had been accompanied by, replaced with one that could be compared to that of a viper. 

This man was not someone you should have engaged with.

Sylus’s firm grip remained on your tensed shoulder, anchoring you to him. His voice was cool and indifferent, like he was already bored by the idea of conversing with the individual.

“If you fancied my attention, Frank, all you had to do was say,” he drawled.

Frank cocked his head to the side, his silver eyes dropping to your chest. You suddenly felt a little overexposed in the plunged neckline of your fitted black dress.

“I was just on my way to you when I stumbled upon a lonely little stray,” Frank purred, his cold, lingering gaze finally flickering back up to your face.

Hiding the disgust in your expression was difficult, but you had a feeling it would be wise to at least try. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the twins standing together, watching the situation unfold. They were always ready to get involved if required.

Sylus chuckled, not one iota of humour in it. “I didn’t take you for the type of man to take pity on a stray kitten,” he said flatly. “Especially one with its collar on.”

He slipped a long finger into the chain of your ruby encrusted choker, giving it the smallest of tugs. You didn’t hate it, and honestly, you felt it more in the pit of your stomach than you did in your neck. Now didn’t seem like the time to think on that, mind.

The backs of his fingers smoothed over your racing pulse as he pulled the digit back out of the small space in your tight neckpiece. You shivered quite noticeably, the sensation awakening the pulse between your thighs.

“As you can see, this one is already taken care of.”

You didn’t miss the flare of hostility in Frank’s silver eyes as he followed every movement of Sylus’s hand—even as it moved to hang from his trouser pocket with his thumb tucked inside.

“Maybe you should keep her on a shorter leash. Anyone could have gotten their hands on her,” Frank said tightly. It sounded awfully identical to a threat. “This is hardly the room full of people you would want to lose such a precious little thing in.”

Sylus didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed your arms and moved you to the side, away from Frank’s cold glare. Before you could even react, two strong arms either side of you hooked your arms with their elbows.

Luke and Kieran practically dragged you away, your feet struggling to keep up. As soon as you were released from their bone crushing clamps for inner elbows, you turned back to the interaction you were just kidnapped from.

Only to find the space completely empty.

“Okay, either you’re blind or really, really stupid,” Luke scolded.

You frowned back at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Excuse me?”

“No, we won’t excuse you,” he snapped. “We’ve spent the last ten minutes thinking up different ways to dispose of your body after Frank was done with you.”

“Honestly, woman. Do we have to take you over the basic commands, again? I looked like a tool flapping my arms at you!” Kieran chimed in, looking like he was telling off a toddler.

Unsure whether it was the alcohol or their incessant rambling, you were starting to feel quite overwhelmed. You weren’t sure what they had seen differently while you were sitting with Frank, but you knew that the man had to have had a sinister intention for occupying you.

“Wait, wait,” you cut them off as Luke started to scold you again. “Shouldn’t we go find them?”

They both stared at you for a moment before bursting into obnoxious laughter. You weren’t sure what the joke was, but you were confident you wouldn’t find it funny even if you did.

If Sylus had gone off alone with the unfriendly man, then surely he would need the three of you there, too.

“You’re lucky you still have a tongue in your mouth to be able to make dumbass suggestions like that,” Luke sneered, still shaking from his chuckles.

You clenched your fists at your sides, irritated by their insults. How were you supposed to know that Golden Teeth was an enemy? You weren’t exactly well versed in the good and the bad when it came to attending events in the N109 Zone.

If they were that concerned, they could have remained beside you.

Each minute that passed without a visual on Sylus felt like an eternity, but in reality, only three minuscule minutes went by before he emerged from a door beside the bar.

His facial expression gave away absolutely nothing, but the red split in his lip did. You swallowed as you watched his tongue peak out to run over the small laceration, followed by the pad of his thumb. It disappeared in an instant at his touch.

You began to walk towards him, curious about what the hell had just happened, and if Frank was still breathing. Before you could open your mouth, however, he bent at the waist the second he got close to you, his shoulder connecting with your stomach as he hauled you off of your feet.

“What the—what the fuck are you doing?!”

He did not dignify you with a response as he stormed towards the exit, his solid arm squeezing your knees into his ribs as you started to assault his back. 

“Put. Me. Down,” you grit between harsh slaps to his back. You might as well have been flicking his ear for all the difference it was making.

He carried you straight out of the building and towards the matte black saloon car Kieran had driven you all in earlier that evening. You were utterly furious and embarrassed, doing everything in your power to wriggle out of his hold.

“I can walk!”

Sylus snorted. Snorted, like it was funny. No humour lay in his tone as he spoke, though. “Well that’s a little hard to believe.”

You whacked his muscled back again. “Meaning?!”

He yanked open the back door of the car, practically dropping you into it on your back. You felt it again, at the worst possible time.

That flutter of lust in your core.

It was something about the way he stood over you as you panted from the physical exertion of trying to fight his spine. He must’ve been able to see up the short skirt of your dress, and you hoped to god he didn’t spot any indication of your arousal on the cherry red thong you were wearing.

“Meaning, you had plenty of opportunity to use these apparent walking skills when your safety was threatened,” he growled, moving your legs so he could slam the car door, not interested in anything you had to say back.

You huffed as you pushed down on the unfolded mass of clothes in your backpack, trying to fit them all in.

It had been hours since you all got back from the absolute disaster of a night, and you had been holed up in the room you were occupying since then. Part of you expected Sylus to come and explain what the hell his problem had been, but he didn’t.

The longer you sat and dwelled on it, the more you wanted to go home. You only came to stay because he’d asked you to attend the event with him. He hadn’t mentioned that you were expected to stay by his side like an obedient dog. Nor had he bothered to mention the types of people you were to avoid.

Not only were you pissed at him, but you were pissed at the fact that he’d made you feel a certain way. Who in their right mind gets aroused by a man embarrassing you by hauling you out of a room full of people—likely with your bare ass on show. 

Scientists would have a field day with your brain.

And although you hated to admit it, it wasn’t the first time you had felt that familiar feeling of lust at his touch. The last time you had stayed, you had to relieve yourself in the shower after training with him in the ring. Every inch of him was sculpted with perfect precision, almost as if an architect had dedicated their life to working on his blueprint.

If you were being honest, you weren’t bothered about the event he wanted you to attend when he’d asked you to join him. You just wanted to see him.

But at the end of the day, you had no idea where you belonged in his world. In Linkon, a friendly face buying you a drink wasn’t something to be feared. It was exhausting having to recluse whenever you accompanied him anywhere. 

The clasps of your bag struggled as you tried and failed to clip them together. You had no idea how you were getting back to your apartment, but you were confident in your ability to just suck it up and figure it out. Even if you had to trek there in your most expensive pair of (uncomfortable) stilettos.

You slipped your feet out of them, throwing your barely closed bag over your shoulders before picking the silky, red shoes up. They’re far too noisy against Sylus’s marble floor for you to be able to slip out without being accosted by him or the twins.

Without so much as a squeak, you gently turned the doorknob, pulling the door slowly to peer down the long hallway. Nobody could be seen or heard, so you slipped out and carefully closed the door behind you to not draw suspicion.

You hurried yourself down the hallway to get to the front door, stopping dead in your tracks as you turned the corner. 

Mephisto was perched outside of Sylus’s bedroom door, his beady red eyes on you in an instant. Like hell was the glorified magpie going to let you pass him without kicking up a fuss.

“If you keep your scrap-metal beak shut, I’ll be out of your feathers. Got it?” Your voice was a whisper, but you knew he could hear you.

He did not make a sound as you slowly passed him, keeping your eyes on his as he followed your every move across the luxury floors. By the time you had passed him, you were fully convinced that he was willing to let you go. The minute you took your eyes off him, though, he started to screech.

“CAW! CAW!”

“Oh for fuck sake! You couldn’t just work with me for once in your—”

“CAW!”

“I wasn’t finished you squawking little—”

You were cut off by Sylus’s door opening, his unamused expression still ever present on his face. He was freshly showered, silver hair dripping onto the bare expanse of chest showing between the lapels of his bathrobe. You had to swallow a noise that rudely made its way up from your suddenly dry throat.

Eyes as red as the rubies around your neck flickered between Mephisto, you, and the bag over your shoulder. He clicked his fingers, sending his winged companion away.

“I was under the impression that you were above cussing out mechanical crows,” he drawled, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe.

It wasn’t clear whether or not he was joking, considering the less-than humorous look on his face. Either way, you weren’t in the mood for it.

“I’m going home.”

“I can see that,” he responded immediately, nodding towards your barely closed bag. “And how, exactly, are you planning to get there?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling a bit like a teenager who’s just been caught sneaking out to a party. “I’ll figure that out myself.”

Holding his cold stare wasn’t usually a challenge for you, but you found yourself desperate to look away. You had compared Frank’s domineering aura to Sylus’s earlier, but it didn’t actually come close to the man before you. 

You had seen men and women strapped with weapons that could swiftly eliminate even the most dangerous of Wanderers cower at the sight of Sylus. He was the true definition of a force to be reckoned with.

He raised a lazy eyebrow at you, his hand slipping into the pocket of his robe. “You’re not leaving without a ride home. You’re over the limit, and if I wanted you to be skinned alive walking through the N109 Zone, I’d open the front door for you.”

“You give me a lift then,” you rebuked, your patience already thinning.

Sylus offered half a shrug. “I could, but I don’t make a habit of going out half naked.” You hoped to the lord that he didn’t see your shiver at the fact that he was only concealed by a thin robe. “You’re welcome to ask Luke and Kieran.”

“And where are they?”

The corner of his lip curled so subtly that you almost didn’t see it. “Out.”

You growled at his relaxed attitude. Why the hell would he even suggest it if they weren’t around?

“They’re cleaning up a mess of mine,” he answered as if you had asked.

A chill ran through you. “Would that mess happen to be Frank’s body?”

Sylus turned away from you, strolling into his room. You weren’t entirely sure why, but you followed him in, suddenly wanting answers.

“Well?”

Dark tendrils coiled around the bag on your back, gently tugging it down your arms and carrying it out of the room, closing the door on the way out. You had a feeling your belongings were heading back to where you just came from.

Sylus fiddled with the sleek black turntable in the corner of the room, carefully setting a vinyl record into place. It was a stark contrast to the way he’d hauled you into the car.

“You’re aware of the saying, right? Curiosity killed…” he trailed off, putting the pin in its place upon the record.

You frowned at his back. “The cat?”

He blew out a short laugh, not an ounce of humour in it. “The crook.”

He turned back towards you, slowly making his way to where you were a little rigid by the door. There was that feeling again. That you were a worm in the sights of a crow.

“Tell me,” he crooned, stopping right where your forehead would connect with his heart if you took half a step forward. “What was it about Frank that had you feeling adventurous, hm?”

You forced yourself to look up at him, feeling your cheeks heat at how close you were. “What do you mean?”

“Kitten, I can read you like the nervous wrecks who attempt to double cross me. Don’t play dumb, it does not suit you.”

His eyes were fierce and serious, but you hadn’t a clue what he was getting at. Your silence only lasted a few seconds before he leaned towards your shoulder.

“What was it that attracted you to him?” He whispered so quietly that you just about heard him over the thrum of your rapid heartbeat.

Attracted to him? In the approximately two minutes you had spent with Frank at the bar, you hadn’t spoken more than ten words to him. 

You stepped away, your back connecting with the door immediately. Even with the slight gap, his look over your much smaller form was rather harrowing. And yet you felt that unhelpful flutter in your core again, so strong that your knees wobbled in place. What was this man doing to you?

“Did you hit your head this morning?” You bit back, clenching the muscles of your thighs tightly to relieve some of the pressure there. “You think that I had an eye for him because he bought me a drink?”

He closed the gap again, his large palm resting against the door right beside your head. “Why else would you not walk away when you were quite blatantly warned to do so.”

“Maybe because I was tired of—” you cut yourself off before you could finish. 

You had told yourself that the reason you hadn’t wanted to remain at his side was because you were tired of watching people practically tremble in his presence.

Now, though, you weren’t sure that was the sole reason.

Every woman in that damn room had an eye on him, and it had made you feel…strange. You weren’t typically a jealous person by nature, but tonight had proved you capable of such emotions. In fact, you were practically tearing the heads off of beautiful women in your mind, wanting to punish them all for having the audacity to look at him like he was a piece of meat.

Maybe you and him weren’t so different after all.

He cleared his throat pointedly. “Tired of…?”

You huffed rather childishly, turning your head away from his hard stare. “Of the attention that certain people were giving you,” you begrudgingly admit. 

There was no use lying to him, since falsely having him believe that you were actually interested in Frank seemed like a sure way to get on his bad side—if you weren’t already on it.

With his hand that wasn’t resting beside your head, he took a hold of your jaw, carefully turning your face back to his. “And would these people happen to be women?”

You merely shrugged, having no desire to discuss the matter any further.

Sylus studied you for a moment, contemplating. He looked as if he couldn’t decide between scolding you or shaking some sense into you. You were almost shocked that he didn’t go straight to mocking you, but you had an inclination that he had felt the same thing whilst you sat at the bar with one of his enemies.

He dropped his head beside yours again, murmuring in your ear. “If you wanted my attention, sweetie, I would have given it to you.”

You almost moaned, his breath tickling the sensitive column of your throat. Lifting a hand, you grabbed onto his wrist to steady yourself, only for him to pull out of your grasp immediately.

A flash of fear shot through you at his sudden rejection, but it was almost immediately soothed as he pried your fingers open enough to slip his own between them, pinning your hand to the door. 

“Do you have any idea the kind of danger you could have been in tonight?” It was a growling question that didn’t require an answer. You felt your breath pick up in pace, the swollen peaks of your nipples skimming the top of his abs every time your chest heaved. “Frank has been known to have a string of disappearing acquaintances. He wouldn’t hesitate to maim you out of spite to me.”

You shuddered at the thought of being so close to a killer. And yet the proximity between you and Sylus did not give you that same feeling of dread. You know that he has killed many before, and despite not having his death confirmed or denied just yet, you knew that Frank was now somewhere in the afterlife, hopefully being accosted by the people he had killed.

You knew, but you had to ask.

“Did you kill him because I was speaking to him?”

Sylus shook his head, pulling back just enough that he could look you in the eyes. “I killed him because it was long overdue. I’ve had men who have been sent out to keep an eye on that bastard, and many of them did not return,” he explained quietly, a hint of frustration in his tone. “If I had taken my eyes off of you for a second—”

He audibly swallowed, cutting himself off. You could easily guess what he was going to say, and clearly the mere thought of it was haunting him.

A wash of guilt fell over you. If you had just walked away when you were told, he wouldn’t have had to do anything.

“He wasn’t going to take one more person from me,” he finally gritted.

That very thought should have filled you with dread. It should have made you sick to your stomach.

But the mention of his eyes on you for every second you weren’t beside him caused a spreading warmth to grow in your chest. Despite the situation you hadn’t realised you were in, you had been safe that whole time under his watch.

“I would have thought you’d be glad to get me out of your hair,” you said, only half joking to diffuse the tension between you.

He didn’t seem amused by it at all, his grip on your hand tightening. “Like I said, kitten. If I wanted you dead, I’d be seeing you out of the front door instead of standing here, resisting urges I have no right to have.”

Your thighs pressed together again at his whispered confession. His eyes always warned of danger, but they were gleaming with desire. 

You were not losing out on him tonight.

With the most tender of touches, you ran the tips of your fingers over his exposed chest with your free hand, feeling his steady breath falter. He swallowed thickly, suffocating your hand in his against the door. 

“I apologise,” he whispered gruffly, his head dipping to where your collarbone was visible to him in the neckline of your dress. 

You shuddered as his breath danced across your clammy skin, droplets from his wet hair falling against your chest. “For what?”

“Handling you the way I did.” His lips were mere inches away from you, and it took all your strength not to grab the back of his head and slam his face into your chest. “The thought of that bastard doing something—”

“Kiss me.”

Sylus didn’t give you a chance to cringe at your own slip up as every inch of him pressed you into the door, his mouth attacking your pulse with expert precision. You let loose a shaky moan, your nails scratching down his rock hard pectoral.

Every ounce of animosity you had been harbouring since the event dissipated at his touch. He was rough and unrelenting, his indistinguishable power overwhelming you in the most delicious way possible.

“Lower,” you breathed softly, wanting him everywhere.

You weren’t sure how he heard you, but he obeyed your hushed command. In one swift movement, his free arm clutched you around your waist, lifting you up. Both of your legs perched perfectly either side of him, suffocating his waist.

With his newfound access to your already exposed chest, he immediately got to work, sucking and biting at the thin layer of skin over your collarbones. The pain of sharp teeth sinking into flesh married faultlessly with undeniable pleasure, causing you to writhe against him. 

A firm bulge pressed against your heat as he ground himself against your cunt. Even with the sensation being drastically muted by the material of your thong and his robe being between you, you appreciated the absolute weapon he was concealing beneath his nightly attire.

“Ah—” you gasped, the soft sound immediately erased by a sharp hiss as he sunk his teeth into your skin again.

His mouth slowly travelled down to the tops of your breasts, where he pressed uncharacteristically tender kisses to each one. You were a wriggling, desperate mess already, but he was still sane enough to take a moment to study your chest.

“I have always appreciated art,” he crooned.

He removed the arm that held you around your waist, purely holding you up with his lower body alone. Your breasts were granted a sweet release as he pulled the thin straps of your dress down, pulling the material out of his way like a man depraved.

It was the look in his eye. A million compliments that didn’t need to be put into words. You could see them. Hell, you could feel the utter captivation radiating from him.

Your free hand smoothed over the delicious muscle of his shoulders before curling around the back of his neck. With a swift yank of his head, his mouth locked onto one of your firm nipples. Back arching off of the door, you cried out as his tongue swirled and flicked the sensitive area, leaving you a little mindless.

He finally let go of your hand, hungry to feel more of you. One hand pushed up your thigh, the skirt of your dress riding up with the movement before he squeezed your hip. The other cupped your neglected breast, thumb brushing over your pert nipple as if it were the joystick on a gaming console. Up, down, left, right, and all over again. 

It was almost too much, and yet you still wanted more. He ground himself against you again, your head slamming back against the door with a reverberating thud. You felt it this time. The thickness of his solid shaft, followed by the damp sensation of your arousal.

You needed him there. Now.

“Mm—” you mumbled pathetically, unable to get a word out.

Sylus chuckled against the breast he was feasting on. “What was that, sweetie?”

All you could do was wriggle yourself against his cock, hoping to convey a message to him without the need to trip over your words. You wanted to swallow up every inch of it with your warmth, leaving it glowing like a damn firefly with the glistening sheen of your essence.

��I know that pretty mouth of yours can talk,” he whispered against the column of your throat. “Tell me what you want.”

Your mouth was dry, like the space between your legs had stolen your saliva to lubricate you further.

“More.”

Sylus clicked his tongue. “There are nicer ways to ask.”

You knew he wasn’t being serious, but you would have begged on your knees at this point. He had to have felt your legs trembling against his waist, aching for him to fill you.

“Since you haven’t specified…” he began, pulling his head back completely.

For a second, you thought you had actually irritated him. There was a darkness in his stare, a hunger. You couldn’t figure it out, but it didn’t matter once the dark tendrils of his Evol snaked around your arms, dragging them up above your head. Your eyes widened.

Was he going to leave you tied up here?

“Do you trust me, sweetie?”

Any sane person being restrained against a door by the literal epitome of bad news himself would have frantically shook their head.

But you didn’t. You trusted him with every damn crevice of your soul.

“Y-yes,” you stammered.

He brought up a hand to stroke your side before hooking it under your thigh, along with the other one. One swift lift had you hurtling upwards, as if you weighed no more than a spaniel puppy.

Your legs were quickly on his shoulders, securing him a front row seat to your soaked thong. Getting any wetter had to be impossible, but your position was serving to give it a good try. Wrists tightly secured above your head, your legs wrapped around his neck, and his warm breath fanning over your damp thighs.

No throne in the most lavish palace on earth would be more tempting than this seat of yours.

His crimson eyes flickered up to your face, a flash of uncertainty in his gaze. “Is this where you want me?”

You nodded rapidly before his hand came up to hold your jaw, halting your wordless answer.

“Words please, kitten,” he requested.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please, Sylus.”

He grinned, an unnerving and yet exciting sight. Wasting no time, he gripped the flimsy material of your cheap thong, tearing it at the seams to grant himself access to your bare cunt.

There was no teasing. No small pecks to your inner thighs. Not even a warning before his hot, balmy tongue lapped up a line of your juices through your folds, slowly dragging over the bundle of nerves nestled within. It took him no time at all to figure out where that heavenly little mound was, as if he knew your body like the back of his veiny hand.

Teeth. Tongue. Lips. All three of them fighting brutally for their moment on your clit, as if he couldn’t figure out which to use first. Your brain could hardly keep up with the flitting between this and that. All you knew was that you didn’t want it to stop.

Your legs tightened around his head in a bone-crushing squeeze. The suffocation only served to push him further, like he was fuelled by the possibility of having his jaw crushed like a damn walnut between your thighs.

“I could think of worse ways to go,” he growled against your hole, nose buried deeply into your folds to inhale your scent.

He pressed further into you, his tongue penetrating you with a greedy lick down your plush walls. Your hips jolted of their own accord at the sensation. He was your puppet master, making you grind and flinch on demand with his calculated actions.

The more his tongue slid in and out of you—the tip of his nose perfectly hitting your clit every time—the more of him you wanted inside of you. 

Gone were your soft, airy moans. You were crying out to whoever would listen, announcing to the world beyond the walls that you were being fucking devoured by the most feared mouth in the N109 Zone.

A mouth that could bring grown men to their trembling knees with one mere bark of an order.

You were drunk on it.

He slowly withdrew his tongue, immediately swallowing. “Like candy,” he murmured.

He licked at his lips, eyes trained on the concoction of his saliva and your fluids with awe. His hand shifted from where it had still been gripping your thigh, the soft pads of his fingers tracing circles around your hole for lubrication.

“Can you handle them?” He didn’t look up as he asked, fixated on the patterns he was repeatedly drawing through your folds.

“Mhm,” you mumbled.

He clicked his tongue. “Words.”

“Yes.”

He seemed to make quite the habit of just diving in as soon as he had permission. In one swift push, he impaled you on his lengthy index finger, his knuckles pressing against your pelvic bone.

You cried out towards the ceiling. “Fuck!” 

“You must’ve had some pretty disappointing experiences down here, sweetie,” he purred. “You’re so very tight.”

Every muscle in the lower half of your body was quivering with need, your hips unable to still themselves. He wasn’t wrong, nobody had ever truly left you gasping or crying out to the heavens.

You had a feeling he was about to change that.

Slowly, he dragged the digit back out, making sure to scrape down on your walls as he did. He began a steady rhythm, plunging his finger in and out of you lazily. His eyes held a repertoire of fascination, as if he’d been dreaming up this moment for quite some time.

He didn’t rush to add the second digit, but as soon as he did, you lost all sense of reality. The curling and pounding was precise and calculated, every brush of your neglected g-spot extracting a whimpering moan from you.

“Ngh…oh fuck,” you managed through a shuddering breath.

“Good girl,” he praised huskily. “I want to feel you come undone. Can you do that for me, darling?”

If he kept talking to you like that, it was going to happen a lot sooner than he would expect. The mental challenge of holding back was near impossible, and seemed to be displeasing him.

He picked up his pace. Firm, brutal bucks of his hand giving you every push towards that edge that you were trying to keep a distance from. You were yanking at the tendrils gripping your wrists, crying out pathetically at the sheer velocity of his fingers.

“I hope you’re not holding back on me,” he warned quietly.

He wanted you to finish. He was so very desperate to feel your release that he was practically shoving you towards it.

You couldn’t deny him.

The building pressure in your core gave out as you orgasmed, a litany of thuds marrying the sounds of your pleasured cries whilst you writhed against the door. Sylus, at the feeling of your walls contracting around his fingers, became a little breathless himself. He didn’t slow his pace, helping you ride out the waves of pleasure until your very last whimper. 

By the time you had caught your breath, the restraints on your hands slowly loosened, and you expected to be put back down onto solid ground.

Instead, Sylus brought his mouth back to your folds, clearing up the aftermath of your first real orgasm. He was slow and gentle, savouring the taste like a vintage bottle of wine.

He was gentle when lowering you back to the floor, your legs trembling beneath you. You kept a hold of his arms, looking up at his hazy eyes. Anyone would think that he’d been the one on the receiving end of oral sex.

You wanted to give back. You wanted to see everything beneath his robe.

And apparently, your need was rather obvious.

“Not tonight, kitten,” he murmured, fixing your dress to cover your exposed body.

You didn’t know if you were more perplexed or hurt. Why not tonight? Did he not see you capable enough of being able to return the favour?

He brushed a strand of your unruly hair behind your ear in a contrasting manner to how he’d been handling you earlier. “I won’t know when to stop.”

You shuddered at the thought. “I’m okay with that.”

It wasn’t a lie. He could bend you over the railing of the balcony for the whole city to see, and you wouldn’t bat an eyelid.

But he wasn’t budging, the corner of his glistening lips curling upwards at your eagerness. “I don’t doubt that.” 

He leaned towards your ear, his voice a low whisper.

“But it’s going to take a lot more than my saliva and your sweet fluids to help you take me, sweetie.”

[ekkkkey]

there will be games! (chapter V)

A short chapter I wanted to post pretty much right after ch.4, but sadly real life got in the way *sigh*

summary: Cassandra, a quiet and loyal wife to the much older Senator Tiberius, accidentally attracts the unsettling attention of Emperor Caracalla at a lavish feast hosted by Senator Thraex...

warnings: 18+ minors dni, this is dark, noncon, violence, blood, possession, degradation, caracalla is a deranged little freak, geta is mean too

word count: ~1k

chapter I chapter II chapter III chapter IV

«No woman could feel safe if her beauty or name aroused the emperor's curiosity.»

-Suetonius, The Twelve Caesars (Caligula, Chapter 36)

⋆ ☼ ⋆

She waits for someone to summon her. Waits as if for death—though even that would be kinder. There is no life in her, no flicker of the hope she once held. Her husband is most likely dead. She is disgraced.

In a final desperate gesture, Cassandra clasps her cold, trembling hands together in prayer, pleading with the gods. Let them show mercy. Let them grant her freedom, release. Let them protect her family. She forces herself not to think of her father and sisters—dwelling on them would only push her deeper into despair.

But the Gods do not hear her. No. Not this time. Not ever.

The Praetorians seize her by the arms, leading her through the dark, empty halls of the palace. A flicker of shameful relief stirs in her chest—at least, for now, there is no one to witness her disgrace. But she quickly scolds herself. Her trial will be public. The doors will be thrown open for all to see. Anyone who wishes may come and witness the spectacle.

And of one thing, she is certain—Emperor Caracalla will make sure it’s a grand one.

"Caesar," a Praetorian reports curtly, shoving her forward before stepping away.

She knows where she is. These are the emperor’s private quarters—only they could have halls like these. Gold gleams from every surface. Silk, fine fabrics, statues, endless bowls and vases clutter the space. Once, she might have been awed. Now, it means nothing.

Yet, she is slightly surprised when she sees not Caracalla but his brother. He is still dressed only in a robe, barefoot, disheveled. Thoughtfully, even theatrically, he looks out onto the balcony leading to the garden. She remembers, it was from there that Geta witnessed her shame.

"Expected my brother?"

His dark eyes gleam with cruel amusement as he turns to face her, studying the way she trembles before him. His gaze lingers on her tangled hair. Oh, he sees it all. The tear-streaked cheeks. The bruises blooming on her wrists where the Praetorians had held her too tightly.

He leans forward, fingers steepled, his voice dripping with false concern.

"My dear, you’ve found yourself in quite the predicament, haven’t you? Your husband, that foolish man, wanted us killed. And yet, here you are. And he…"

Geta paused meaningfully.

"…and he is dead, little bird."

A hand—someone else’s—lands just below her throat, burning and possessive. It slides up, slow and deliberate, past her neck, wrenching her chin back. Her breath catches. Her eyes lock with his.

So little blue in his gaze. Just black. Endless, hungry black.

Caracalla had crept up silently, unseen, and now held her firmly, not letting her turn away. His hand was hot—hotter than usual.

Then she felt the moisture.

Her eyes flicked downward without moving her head.

And then she screamed.

His hands, pale, soft hands, usually adorned with rings, had chosen a different ornament this time.

Red.

Blood covered his delicate hand up to the wrist, staining her face, her neck, branding her skin with crimson streaks. The scent of iron fills her nostrils, thick and suffocating. Her stomach churns.

"Shh, shh," he whispers. "No one will interrupt us anymore. You’re a widow now—congratulations."

His lips pressed against her neck, right where the blood stains her skin.

"I promise, this night won’t count in court," he adds with a foolish giggle, clearly delighted by her stunned reaction.

She doesn’t want to think about whose blood it is, but deep down, she knows.

"And oh, that’s not all!"

He releases her, and yet she remains still.

"A gift!"

He claps his hands, and a carved chest is brought into the room. She doesn’t want to know what’s inside.

But Caracalla, his face alight with childish joy, flings it open, proudly displaying its contents. The emperor smiles, but his eyes remain cold, watching her eagerly, waiting for her reaction.

In horror, she recoils, her scream tearing through the hall. Her legs give way, and she collapses to the floor, gasping for breath.

Caracalla is pleased.

Without a flicker of disgust, he reaches into the chest, grabs its contents, and tosses them toward her as if they were nothing more than a mere trinket. But it’s not.

A pale, lifeless hand, severed at the wrist, lands on the marble floor before her.

She recognizes it instantly by the ring on its finger. Her husband’s hand.

To seal the horror on her face, Caracalla lifts the severed hand and waves it at her, grinning.

"I wanted to bring the head, but Geta stopped me," he chuckles. "You should thank him."

"Take it away," Geta grimaces, ordering the slaves to remove the chest and the hand.

As a final touch, Caracalla slides the ring off the dead hand and slips it onto his own thumb. His hands are small, nothing like her husband’s—the ring wouldn’t fit any other finger.

Since their time in the throne room, the young emperor has tidied himself up, trading his sheet for a silk golden robe. His hair remains wild and unkempt, but a small gold earring glints in his ear.

How charming that for this meeting, full of horror, fear, and humiliation, he had dressed up for her.

She couldn’t take her eyes off his hands, still staring at the ring—her husband’s ring—the one she placed on his finger on their wedding day. She never imagined it would end like this.

Unconsciously, she reaches for her own ring—the one her husband had given her—only to remember. It is gone.

Geta took it.

Caracalla’s gaze flicks to her fingers, immediately recognizing his brother’s ring.

"Where did you get that?" His smile fades, his eyes darting to the other emperor, noting her golden ring on Geta’s hand.

"I won," Geta drawls smugly. "Won our little bet." He’s clearly pleased with himself, his lips curling into something like a smirk—but his eyes remain narrowed, watching, waiting. He’s wary of his brother’s reaction, she realizes.

In the short time Cassandra has known them, she’s learned that despite his innocent appearance, Caracalla is the one to fear. Geta knows this too—though he holds far more privileges, he doesn’t dare to gloat too openly.

A shiver runs down her spine.

A bet? They were betting? On her?

Caracalla’s expression darkens.

"You’re always like this! You must have cheated, didn’t you?" he snaps, frustration clear in his tone as he shoots a suspicious glance at his brother. But he doesn’t approach Geta. Instead, he moves toward her, still sitting on the floor.

"And you… One disappointment after another. Did you really want to upset me? Have you forgotten who you belong to?"

"Yours…" she whispers, her eyes glued to the ground.

"No, this time you won’t get away so easily." His fingers tighten in her hair, yanking her to her feet. "You’ll remember. You might cheat on that fool of a husband, but not me. Never me!"

"I didn’t…" she begins, her voice breaking, but no one is listening.

He drags her toward the massive bed, shoving her onto the silks and furs. Again? Will he force himself on her again?

Geta watches with interest, tilting his head—just like that time on the balcony. But this time, the emperor stands very close.

Caracalla steps back for a moment, only to return, looming over her, his breath hot against her skin. She trembles so violently that at first, she doesn’t even notice the cold steel pressing against her collarbone.

"Don’t kill her," Geta warns, sitting on the edge of the bed, making no move to intervene. "She has a trial to face, remember?"

"I don’t need your reminders," Caracalla snaps, glaring at his brother before turning his focus back to her, a lazy smile curling on his lips. "You forgot your place, didn’t you? Who do you think you are? You think you can play with my brother?"

The dagger in his hand makes her breath hitch. With a quick, sharp motion, he bares her chest, ripping her clothes apart—but it isn’t lust driving him. Or at least, not only that.

What did her body matter when terror shone so clearly in her eyes?

Her fear excites him far more. She can see it. She can feel it, his hardness pressing against her. The blade slides lightly between her collarbones, and she flinches, trying to twist away.

"Hold her."

And Geta does.

Obediently, he grabs her wrists and pins them above her head against the bed. His grip is so tight it makes her want to cry.

Cassandra meets his gaze, searching, pleading—

But the emperor is indifferent. Amused. Cold. He will allow his brother anything.

Mockingly, he brushes his thumb against her cheek, wiping away her tears. Then, just like that, he hands her over to Caracalla's mercy.

Caracalla is pleased, exhilarated. This time, the blade pressed harder, and she felt the sharp sting of pain.

When he moved lower, just above her right breast, she screamed, and his left hand covered her mouth. Geta still held her wrists as Caracalla began to carve intricate symbols into her pale skin with the tip of the dagger.

"I’ll reward you, brand you with your emperor’s name," he whispered, breathing heavily, biting his lower lip. "Now you won’t forget."

She whimpered into his hand, crying, her skin blazing like fire, shame and embarrassment consumed by the burn.

He carves with care, a craftsman at his art, then pulls back, licking his lips, admiring his work. She catches him touching himself beneath the robe, cheeks flushed with feverish red.

"Up—now," he commanded, and Geta yanked her by her numb arms, giving her no time to think, dragging her off the bed and forcing her to her knees.

The spot below her collarbone throbbed, as did her stiff arms, but none of that mattered now. Caracalla was marking her, asserting his claim. No one would save her; she was completely at his mercy. With a low, guttural moan, he reached his peak, using only his hand, never once touching her body. His seed desecrated her face as he gripped her hair tightly. Oh, the young emperor had always been inventive, and this time, he’d found yet another way to break her.

Tear-streaked and branded with his bleeding name, his seed staining her face, she was completely shattered. Geta looked on with disdain, Caracalla with lazy boredom. Yet, he didn’t look away, showing no intention of discarding her like he usually did.

"When’s the trial?" The tip of his tongue traced his red lips, his eyes burning with feverish anticipation.

"Tomorrow morning," his brother replied hoarsely, sounding almost intrigued, a quiet observer of her humiliation.

"Then we have time," Caracalla said, playfully picking up the dagger and running his thumb along its sharp edge. His hands were already stained with her husband’s blood. "The trial tomorrow is for those foolish senators. But yours… yours starts now."

There was no mercy in his voice, no remorse. The gods had already passed their judgment. Cassandra shut her eyes.

⋆ ☼ ⋆

Hey friends, we’re almost at the finish line—the next chapter’s gonna be the last one, and it’s kinda massive! Thanks so much for all your support, I really appreciate it! 🙂‍↕️

[comatosebunny09]

preface [ un ] | sylus

summary: he reluctantly agreed to let you be bait. ‘you’ll be fine,’ he tells himself. you always are, more than capable of holding your own. you wouldn’t be his ace otherwise. his jaw tenses. doesn’t make him worry any less. he just needs you to hold out a little bit longer until he can get to you. and hopefully, the other girls they’d taken from their families are with you, too.

warning(s): alcohol use, adult themes, profanity, kidnapping, mild violence

now playing: champagne cool - jackson wang

tagging: @athanasia-day @falon-fen @queen-serena88 @karespocketboyfriends @mrswanel @readerxyourfave @world-of-hearts @sunsets-and-crows @antonneva

notes: preface for limerence. | part 2

He doesn’t like to share.

He’s slowly coming to terms with that fact. Not that you’re property. A snack he’s meant to go halfsies with on the playground. But he won’t deny seeing you ride the mechanical bull like that with all those people watching. Well…

It does something to him.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. Sighs for the umpteenth time, the six screens meshed together in the security room of his penthouse flashing over his features. You’re having a good time. Doing your thing, riding it like it’s no one’s business. Garnering the attention of almost everyone in his club like you always do.

Bull be damned.

He’d bought the damn thing at your behest. You were so cute about it. Pushed your chest against his bicep, squeezed his hand, gave him those beseeching eyes. A farce you put on to get your way. But Sylus and the twins knew better. Knew what truly lurked beneath that glitter and glam. Yet he still fell for it.

He always does.

You reasoned the bull would be a nice add-on. Something to dress up Lux’s so-called drab decor. And sure, it was an interesting addition. A contrast of cowhide and worn colors amid the lush, crimson curtains framing the stage and gilded columns stretching high towards a yawning ceiling. In your words, it was meant to bring in new clientele and keep regulars coming back. Something to expose the seedy underbelly of the city. Lure out his enemies. After all, who could resist a pretty thing like you on a bull? 

Lux is one of Sylus’ many business ventures. A posh little club settled in the city’s heart where innocents and lowlifes frequent alike. Most come for the atmosphere, the unrivaled drinks, and the pretty dancers. Some stay for the promise of something more intimate. Backstage performances, one-on-ones with the lavish women who work there. 

Too bad some of the people who come seeking respite never check out. 

He’s hauled back to the present by cheers of varying degrees. Whistling and not-so-innocent words hurled at the stage. All at you. 

Sylus pitches himself forward to perch sturdy hands on his desk. Shakes his head, exasperation inhabiting his person. 

You’re giving everyone a show of your chest—boasted by the tight costume he had custom made for you—when you lean back like that, your spine level with the saddle. Smile sultry and bleeding sin. He swears he catches you winking at him, thoroughly aware of the many cameras littering his club. 

You’ll be the death of him one day. He’s sure of it. 

He taps the earpiece nestled in his ear. Prepares to lecture you for showboating like that. You’re laying it on too thick tonight. And he feels like a concerned dad about to scold his daughter for wearing something that bears too much skin. But before he can fix his mouth to reprimand you, the whisper of an errant breeze catches his attention.

He cants his head. Doesn’t have to look to know Luke is there behind him, haloed by the shadows. Bowed slightly at the hip with a fist pressed to his chest in greeting. 

“Speak,” Sylus orders, his voice rough with disuse. He pushes down the vexation fizzling in his veins. 

“He’s here, boss,” Luke states.

It’s a simple enmeshment of words, yet it’s enough to shift the atmosphere of the security room just the slightest. Sylus’ jaw tenses, the tendons in his neck flexing. His nostrils flare, and he pushes off the polished oakwood to stuff his hands in his pockets.

The real reason why you’re peacocking about like this has just arrived. And Sylus feels his hackles raise, his lips twitching with an impulse to scowl. The tendrils of his Evol threaten to make themselves known, but he tamps down his quiet rage, trading it for level-headedness. It won’t do him any good to lose his cool now. Not until he’s extracted all the information he needs to make his move tonight.

Sparing a final look at the CCTV footage, he appears composed as he snatches his coat from his leather rolling chair. Drapes it over his shoulders in customary fashion, stepping past his subordinate. Kieran appears at his side as if summoned from thought alone, never missing a beat.

“Keep an eye on her,” commands Sylus over his shoulder to the other twin. “Make sure she doesn’t do anything��reckless.” 

Luke complies with a curt bow before the door of the security room clicks shut. Left to his own devices, Luke chuckles. Rubs the chin of his mask in thought, studying the blue flicker of the various screens, all displaying you.

“More reckless than usual?” he quietly queries, amusement surfing in the undernotes of his voice.

—

Sylus is a businessman through and through. He built his empire granting favors, trading weapons, and other nefarious deeds. Despite how much he radiates murderous intent, he’s cordial as he shakes his guest’s hand. Dons a foolhardy grin, motioning for the man to sit across from him in his private office.

The gentleman’s bodyguards flank him when he takes his seat. Four of them standing in good form behind him, their bodies taut with the need to shoot if necessary. All for little old Sylus?

Sylus sits back in his plush, red leather seat. Crosses his legs, tapping his fingers together. Kieran stands not too far off behind him. All the muscle he needs. “Mister Fate,” Sylus acknowledges, finding it too easy to fall into such an affable role. He’s done this too many times. “It’s been too long.”

The man seated across cracks a smile. The years haven’t been kind to him, wrinkles and sunspots littering his face. “It has,” Fate agrees, twining his fingers in his lap. He hides his intent behind dark lenses. But Sylus already knows what’s genuinely driven him here to his club. Knows what lurks beneath that amiable mask of his.

“Can I offer you a drink?” asks Sylus, ever the trained actor. By the time he’s finished asking, Mister Fate’s attention is elsewhere, focused on the ceiling-high, one-way glass window beside them. A knowing smirk crooks Sylus’ lips. 

Beyond the window stretches his club below. Bodies writhing, merriment filling the air. And then there’s you, the focal point of the stage. Standing on the bull like a surfboard, that pretty smile canting your lips as you tilt your hat. You make it look so easy. His office is soundproof and shrouded in dim lighting. But he knows you’re dancing to your favorite song, basking in the attention. The limelight. 

Serving as the perfect distraction. 

And Mister Fate’s hooked. Tugs on the round of his tie, his mouth growing dry. He can’t look away, taken by your beauty and charm. You always play your role to a T. The pretty femme fatale that everyone wants a chance with but is rarely awarded your time. Your attention. 

Not like Sylus. 

And he doesn’t know what’s washing over him when his fingers twitch on the armchair, and his brow ticks towards his hairline. But he suddenly doesn’t like how Fate’s watching you like a prime cut of meat waiting to be seared and consumed. Had it been any of the others, would he still feel so defensive? “Mister Fate,” Sylus tries again after clearing his throat.

The gentleman in question finally tears his ironclad stare away from the window to look at Sylus. Like he’s been caught doing something naughty. It’s normal to stare. Sylus sometimes finds himself, too, falling prey to your allure.

Sylus motions to a whiskey decanter and two glasses on the coffee table before them. “Can I interest you in a drink? Something to wet your whistle?”

“Y-Yes, of course,” the aging man replies, bringing a shaky hand to his face to stroke his mustache. It’s comical how sweat collects on his forehead and between the thin hairs bordering his lip. You really are something dangerous, aren’t you?

“Such a beautiful girl,” Fate notes, more-so to himself whilst the slosh of viscous fluid poured into a glass fills the quieted room. Sylus slides the man his drink, and he’s not at all surprised to find him peering out the window again. “A very lovely girl.” He speaks as if he’s in a trance. Fallen prey to your spell, just like Sylus knew he would.

Sylus raises his glass to the man to toast but to no avail. He’s found what he’s looking for. And you’ve served your part well. And Sylus most certainly does not bristle as he leans back in his seat, dumping the contents of his glass down his throat, the acrid sting serving to ground him.

“Mister Fate,” he tries again, attempting to redirect the subject. He’s becoming increasingly sensitive when it comes to you these days. Doesn’t know why the thought of you makes his chest pull where before, you were something of convenience. 

There’s amusement in Sylus’ voice as he puts back up that arrogant front. “Did you come here just to ogle my dancers, or are we going to get down to business?”

Fate, as if remembering himself, quickly wipes his mouth after taking a sip. Sets his glass down, leaning forward with his elbows resting in the pockets of his thighs. “Ah, yes! Of course!” 

Sylus spares one more look out the window. You glance up as the crowd you gathered erupts in applause and praise. Like you sensed your boss’ scarlet eyes on you. And with a knowing lift of your brow and an unnoticeable nod from Sylus, he starts digging for what he’s truly after.

Information. 

—

Fate talks in riddles, but Sylus is good at reading between thin lines. 

They’re halfway through a game of chess when Sylus’ earpiece crackles to life for the first time in nearly an hour. And it’s your voice pouring through, dipped a few octaves down. Amused.

“Woah,” you chuckle, the click of your heels slowing to a stop. “Is that a gun in your indigo pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

There’s a rigidness to Sylus’ movements as he sets his rook down on the chessboard. The world melts away around him, and he finds himself trained on the hang of your voice on the other end. 

He tries not to show it, adrenaline spuming through his body. You said the code word. Indigo. Something to signify you’re about to be captured. You’d lain yourself out as bait to further Sylus’ agenda. You always did. Always served him well, the brawn and beauty. 

You’ll be fine, he tells himself. You always are. More than capable of holding your own. You wouldn’t be his ace otherwise. His jaw tenses. Doesn’t make him worry any less. 

This is a dangerous game you’re playing. The both of you. One wrong step and he could lose his diamond. He’s spent years hunting Fate down. Knew it’d be a matter of time before he bared himself, the greedy bastard. All thanks to you.

“Mister Sylus,” Fate interjects, tapping the clock on the side of their chessboard. Sylus glances up to see his lips crooked with a smile. Something omniscient. Smug. “It’s your turn.”

Sylus rights himself. Poises his hand over the next piece, prepared to make his move. He tamps down a rush of epinephrine when he hears a gruff voice grouse, “Yeah right, bitch, get in the car,” in his earpiece.

You laugh, the sound of it rich and complacent. “What? Not gonna buy me dinner first?”

There’s a brief scuffle taking place in his ear, followed by the sound of something blunt being jammed against bone. And then, there is but the sound of exertion. Orders being barked, car doors slamming. A shriek of feedback and then cold silence.

They’ve more than likely knocked you out. Found your earpiece and disposed of it.

He has faith that you’ll survive long enough to get to the auction unscathed. At least until he can track you to its location. 

—

“It’s been a pleasure, Mister Sylus,” says Fate once the game ends, shaking his hand a little too firm. “Maybe next time I’ll beat you.”

“You almost did,” Sylus counters on a double entendre. Fate regards him with a quirked brow, still holding fast to his hand, rooted to the spot. He scrutinizes Sylus a little longer before one of Fate’s bodyguards approaches him from his side, murmuring something into his ear. It’s hushed, but Sylus picks up on keywords and uses context clues to piece everything together. 

The package has been secured. 

That package being you.

The blood in Sylus’ veins turns to ice. He keeps up the mask of indifference as Mister Fate smiles at him a little too knowingly. Bordered by his men, he excuses himself from the Sylus’ office, taking his egotistical aura with him. 

He feels the twins standing behind him. Stuffs his hands in his slacks’ pockets, studying his feet, the tendons in his jaw pulling. 

“We found her, boss,” Kieran cautiously states. “Looks like they haven’t discovered the tracker in her brooch. You were r—”

“Alive?” Sylus interrupts. He knows you’re fine. But he steels himself against the worst outcome just in case.

“Looks like it.”

A glimmer of something indiscernible fleets over Sylus’ visage. Atta girl.

He signals for the twins to get moving over his shoulder. And when they clear the room in a gust of wind, he’s already sinking into the inky, feathery shadows of his Evol, prepared to find you before they’ve sold you off to the highest bidder.

He just needs you to hold out a little bit longer until he can get to you. And hopefully, the other girls are with you, too.

[odoraful]

𝑺𝑵𝑶𝑾𝑭𝑰𝑬𝑳𝑫 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑲 ᯓ 𝒁𝑨𝒀𝑵𝑬

the physician does not open his grand estate to visitors, however, he makes an exception for a special someone he’s known since childhood

⟡ content: reader is addressed as 'miss'; regency era inspired (certainly not historically accurate); reader and zayne are awkward yearners for each other; 3.5k wc

⟡ a/n: the mr darcy to zayne pipeline is very real to me !! did i watch pride and prejudice for the 234th time because of this? yes i did hehe i hope you enjoy mwah!

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Whilst many other gentleman in the country wished to show off their homes to display their refinement to the public, the solitary owner of Snowfield Park could not think of anything more undesirable. It was truly a shame, though. The estate had received its name from how picturesque it looked during the winters. Fresh snow fell in perfectly smooth blankets around the property, and dusted the foliage of trees as if intentionally painted on by an artist. When morning light emerged, and the snow began to melt away, the grand home would sparkle like sequins on a debutante’s dress.

Those who travelled past Snowfield Park could only admire it from a distance when heading to the next town over—rolling along on their carriages or leisurely walking by. What a waste it was, they all thought, to not allow visitation from guests and host lavish balls as often as one could. They all wondered whether the owner was even in his right mind.

He is a physician, that is the reason. He hardly has time to indulge in what he believes are frivolities.

A physician? How noble! He must be someone of great intelligence.

Indeed. I believe his name is Dr Zayne.

Quite the severe fellow I must admit. I remember during the last ball, the gentleman did nothing but loiter and offered a dance to no one.

Merely loitering? Goodness, has there truly been no one that has caught the man’s eye?

I wonder who is fortunate enough to be acquainted with him and be allowed visitation to such a place.

That was how many of the conversations that passed Snowfield Park went. Little did people know, other than the owner’s most immediate family, there was one other special person who the owner invited over.

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“Miss, you’re telling me you’re acquainted with the gentleman residing in Snowfield Park?” the driver of your carriage asked, speaking each word in disbelief.

You nodded. “Yes, I am.”

Your body also bobbed along with each trod of the horse. The carriage was open air, only able to seat two people, yourself and the driver. Much to your chagrin, your plain reply left the driver guffawing.

“You sure you’re not one of the many admirers trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive man?”

Glancing at the driver’s side profile, you could see him wiggle his brows. The driver was a young man, barely out of his teenage years, who had a penchant for dramatics.

“Certainly not!” you exclaimed, more defensive than your intended.

If the driver had not been so focused on the path ahead, he would have seen your cheeks turn pink.

“We have been good friends since childhood,” you asserted, “and just happened to drift apart when he went to university to study, that is all.”

The driver gave a sound of understanding, though, he still seemed unconvinced by your explanation.

It was completely true though. Your families lived in neighboring estates, and they endeavored to meet often when they found out they had children of similar ages. Many of your memories in youth had Zayne in them. Reading together in your grandmother’s study (Zayne reading aloud the narration, and you tasked with the dialogue for the characters), foraging for flowers and cataloguing them in your shared notebook, practicing your piano forte whilst Zayne completed anatomy sketches (with you often as the subject).

When he went to study medicine, you both sent letters to each other in those initial months. However, with your desire to seek your own passions (and your grandmother’s concerns over your entrance into society), and Zayne’s own pursuit of his career, the length of time between letters grew longer and longer.

Head swimming with memories, you stared off into the countryside. Tall trees that lined the dirt path segmented the bright afternoon sunlight as the carriage rolled past a long stretch of river. Far, far ahead, you saw a glimpse of Snowfield Park. No other details could be made out aside from that it was an impressive estate. You wondered if you could predict Zayne’s taste in design. Surely there would be a well maintained garden and a wide staircase leading to the front doors.

The driver could not ride fully into Snowfield Park as he had business in the next town he needed to attend to. You happily agreed to being dropped off a little ways before, just as the trees began to clear. The weather was pleasant, and it would take no longer than half an hour to walk. The driver pulled on the reins, causing the horses to slow to a stop. He hopped off first, moving to your side to assist you in getting down.

“Thank you,” you said as you smoothed out the skirt of your dress with your hands.

He gave an exaggerated bow. “You’re most welcome, miss. I hope Mr Zayne treats you well,” he winked, then hoisted himself back up onto the carriage.

Waving him goodbye, the carriage went on ahead to the next town over.

You were still quite a ways from the estate itself, left with a distance of grassy field to cross before it transformed into neatly sanded paths and a garden. Though, it was too small from where you were to make out any details. Thankfully, you enjoyed to walk.

As you set off, you checked the small purse dangling from your wrist. It contained your personal belongings, including the very thing that summoned you to Snowfield Park to begin with. A letter from Zayne lay neated folded inside.

Taking a deep breath, you began your journey on foot.

The closer you walked, and the more the house expanded in your view, the greater your heart twisted in your chest.

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Zayne’s home was even grander in real life than what you had imagined.

There was certainly a garden. One that stretched out well beyond the home’s facade, with neatly trimmed hedges, pristine white flowers and a three-tiered marble fountain. You walked through, gently reaching out to touch the petals of flowers. And there was certainly a staircase. Two to be exact, lined with railings carved from stone supported by miniature pillars. Both were built from the ground floor up to the first level, creating separate entryways from two different levels.

The estate was meticulously maintained and so peaceful. Only the wind and the trickle of water from the fountain could be heard. This type of serenity seemed fitting for Zayne.

You chose to walk up the stairs, heading toward the main entrance with ornate double doors. Your breath grew uneven with each step. It was inexplicable how rattled your nerves were at that very moment. What could possibly rouse your anxiety? You did not harbor any ill feelings towards Zayne. Quite the contrary, in fact. Back then, and even now, despite the length of time without contact, you were fond of him.

Rationalizing all this in your mind, you tried to bury your nervousness just as you reached the front doors. Grasping the knocker, you gave three firm knocks, hoping it sufficient enough to signal any occupants of Snowfield Park.

You readied yourself if Zayne himself would open the door for you. It was unlikely, but not entirely impossible. Typically, there would be servants that would initially greet guests. But, perhaps, the owner of the estate would alter convention for an old friend.

The door swung open and you subconsciously held your breath.

The person by the door seemed a bit older than you. She wore a simple dress with an apron tied around it, hair held back by a white bonnet. You exhaled. Conventions remain ever unchanging, you thought, putting on a shy smile.

“Uhm, good afternoon, my name is Y/N. I’m here to visit Mr Zayne.”

The lady looked you over up and down with her discerning eyes. Her brief inspection completed, her skeptical gaze gave way to a warm and inviting grin.

“Please come in! Mr Zayne has been expecting your arrival.”

You relaxed with relief, stepping in and getting a first look at Snowfield Park that many so desired to.

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Compared to your own abode with your family, the interior of this seemed to be fit for royalty.

The room had gold framed portraits of various people and landscapes hung on its cream colored walls. Ornate gold decorations filled the bare spaces in between each painting, reminiscent of leaves which curved and stretched towards the ceiling. The sunlight pouring through the large windows made each metallic embellishment shine. Tables held bronze candelabras with unlit candles and vases with arrangements of different florals. Lounges and chairs with navy upholstery lined the edges of the room, ideal places to sit and idle. Beyond you and to your sides were open archways, where you saw a peek of the winding staircases that led deeper into the home.

You tried your best to not just stand there slack-jawed at the entrance and follow the servant further inside. Was this really the estate that Zayne owned? The same Zayne who picked carrots off his plate at dinnertime and spent his allowance at the candy store in town?

The servant let you catch up to her in center of the room. She leaned in close to whisper, even though you were the only people in this vast space.

“Miss, just between you and me, Mr Zayne has been quite restless these past few days.”

“Restless?” you frowned. “Whatever for?”

She nodded towards you. Her implication that you were the object of Zayne’s anxieties made you even more confused.

“You must be a very special person to rattle him like that. He’s been pacing around, inspecting and re-inspecting all the furnishings in every room, buying fresh linens for your guest quarters.”

She then chuckled. “Quite frankly, it’s refreshing to see such a side of him since he’s so often busy with his work.”

“Speaking of, that is what he is currently occupied with now. I’ll let him know that you’re here.”

The servant curtsied to you before rushing through one of the archways. The sound of her footsteps on tiled floors retreated.

There was nothing to do but wait, and so you did.

You took a turn around the room, admiring the paintings of unfamiliar people and unfamiliar landscapes. Did Zayne know who these individuals were? Had he travelled to different parts of this country? You were now uncertain if the man you would shortly reunite with would even be recognizable to you.

One minute of waiting turned into three, then ten, then fifteen. You could probably recite the arrangement of paintings in the room with how much studying you were doing to fill the time. Looking off ahead of you, the entryways were a silent invitation to explore. Surely the servant wouldn’t mind that you had wandered off a little bit. She certainly hadn’t said anything against doing so.

Your feet moved of their own accord into the entry way ahead of you, eager to see more of the interior of Snowfield Park.

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“Mr Zayne,” Yvonne called as she knocked on the door of the study.

Zayne was penning a letter containing care instructions to the family of one of his patients.

He continued to write as he called out, “You may come in.”

Entering the room, the excitement on Yvonne’s face at being able to announce your arrival was replaced with horror as she saw Zayne.

“Mr Zayne! Have you not changed into your finer clothes yet?”

Zayne glanced up from his writing with a furrow in his brow. He was wearing his night clothes, a simple loose fitting white shirt, pants, and a robe. His dark hair lightly tousled from a restless night of sleep.

“I have not. Y/N isn’t due to Snowfield Park until the afternoon.”

Yvonne gaped at him, her voice high with alarm. “It is the afternoon now, Mr Zayne. And she has arrived not just a moment ago.”

The quill almost fell from Zayne’s grasp at his own shock. It was terribly unlike him to forget the time. His plans of burying himself in his work to keep his mind busy from your arrival had backfired on him.

He immediately stood up. Folding the letter and placing it aside, he strode towards Yvonne.

“She’s here? The time must have escaped me.” He ran a hand through his hair, attempting to steady his composure.

The day that he had perfectly planned had already sidetracked. You were here in his house and he was hiding away in his study in his undergarments. Outfit aside, was there even enough time to ready himself mentally as well? This was the first in a long time that he would be seeing you face-to-face, he hadn’t even thought of what he should say to you.

“Well don’t just stand there all flustered!” Yvonne huffed, piercing through Zayne’s thoughts. “You need to get changed right this instant!”

She scrambled behind Zayne and pushed him out of the study.

“It’s improper to leave such a lovely young lady waiting for so long! Come on now, Mr Zayne!”

He followed Yvonne through the familiar halls of Snowfield Park to his rooms. She spoke her thoughts aloud, deciding on what shirt, waistcoat and cravat would look the most appealing. He agreed with her that navy and white would make a suitable combination, though, Zayne had greater worries aside from the coordination of his clothes.

Five years it had been.

Five years since he went away to study at university and begun working as a physician.

Five long years of being away from you.

Gradually, you two had begun to drift apart like the slow moving of continents over centuries. Starting with a delayed letter, leading to a delayed response. The lengthy time between correspondence began to feel too awkward, leaving words unsaid. Once you had shared all the same experiences together, and now, you had become a fond daydream for Zayne. An occupant of his thoughts whenever the nights got too long for him. How were you? What were you doing now? Were you taking care of your health? Thinking of you seemed to soothe him.

That was why when there was a listing for an estate in the same village you both grew up in, he hardly hesitated in his decision to purchase it. Internally, he also saw it as a sign. If this were to be the place were he settled down, he knew he needed to invite you to visit.

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Snowfield Park could have easily been mistaken for a museum if one were to end up in the room you were in now. Not only were there more paintings hung on the walls, much like the entry hall, but there were sculptures, antiques and other unique trinkets on display as well. All were neatly spread out, with brass plaques beneath to provide a description of the piece. Too fascinated by the space, you forgot how much waiting time passed since the servant left.

One piece in particular caught your eye.

A sculpted bust of a man sat atop a pedestal, raising it up to your eye level. With a straight bridged nose and stern brows, the face would leave many people with a rather cold impression. Shivers winding up their spine by the frigidity of the sculpted likeness. Not you, however. Warmth bloomed within your chest. Lips parted in amazement. Many of the features remained the same, though refined with age. It was a familiar and cherished image of a close companion.

Zayne. Your Zayne.

Before you could stop yourself, your hand reached out. Closer and closer. Just until the pads of your finger barely ghosted against the cheek of Zayne’s face.

Hearing a step behind you, you instantly retracted your hand. Snapped out of your stupor.

“Y/N.”

You never thought your name could be spoken so gently until that moment. The origin was a low and smooth voice, like a spoonful of honey one would dissolve in a cup of tea.

Turning around with wide eyes, a name fell from your lips.

“Zayne,” you breathed.

In the quietness of the room, even your faint utterance of his name echoed in the space.

Zayne could have took you for one of the art pieces in this space with how well you looked. An ivy green dress with a grey shawl draped over your arms. You had traded elegance for practicality, leaving your gowns for balls at home so you could walk more freely. Still, the breath hitched in his throat as he looked you over.

His posture straightened before he bowed. “I’m sorry for frightening you.”

When he lifted his head, you noted how he blinked away from your gaze towards the ground. A habit he had as a young boy that he kept even now. Seeing it comforted you, though you could not understand why.

“I did not mean to disturb. I should have made my appearance known to you sooner.”

An apology. Those were his first words upon your meeting. You knew he had always been like that. Ensuring his intentions were made clear and rectifying anything that he misinterpreted. Aside from his manner, it was his appearance that also made your stomach flutter.

Both his coat and vest were navy, though the latter item was patterned subtly with white stripes. Tied neatly around his collar was a white cravat which accentuated his strong jawline. What was most striking were his eyes. Green and amber, resembling a precious gemstone. You didn’t remember them being so entrancing.

You shook your head (both in response to his apology and to dispel your meddlesome thoughts), and curtsied.

“It’s alright, truly. I was already at the end of my viewing anyway.”

He moved closer to you, each step reverberating. Your heart thumped traitorously in your ears. You hoped he didn’t notice how you stiffened when he reached your side.

“You seemed engrossed,” he said, looking over at his own sculpture.

“W-were you perturbed by my staring?”

His eyes brimmed with earnest as he replied, “No, no, not at all. That is a galley’s purpose. These artworks are displayed to be looked at.”

He hesitated, thinking about his words before continuing. “Though, I would hope that a… prolonged viewing indicates your favor towards a certain piece.”

You grew hot. Had your admiration really been so obvious?

“This is really a lovely home, nicer than anything I’ve had the pleasure of visiting” you said, quickly changing the subject.

A small smile tugged at his lips. People would quickly change their opinions about his coldness if they were to see the expression on his face.

“My staff are to thank for their work in its upkeep,” he responded. “I’m glad it is to your liking.”

Neither of you spoke for a moment. Mere seconds that felt like eternity as you stood side by side, fiddling with the material of your respective clothing, as if they were the most attention grabbing thing in this very room. You played with the hem of your shawl whilst Zayne adjusted the wrists of his jacket.

“Was your journey here smooth?”

The question tumbled out of Zayne more hurried than he intended. Desperation tinged his words, almost pleading you to continue talking to him. He wanted to hear your voice. Wanted to hear you speak to him about anything, like you once could together.

“It was. I rode a carriage from town then walked,” you replied, brightly. “I went through the garden at the front on my way to the entrance, as well.”

“The jasmines are in bloom now, as are many of the other flowers. I can give you a more proper tour later on, if you’d like.”

“I would enjoy nothing more,” you chirped, unable to temper your excitement. “I remember jasmines were your favorite when you were younger.”

His gaze fell on you, voice wistful and sincere as he spoke. “They still are, very much so.”

Two images seemed to flicker before you. The boy you once knew, and the man standing before you now. Perhaps the two were never separate. There would always be traces of your youth together, no matter when or where you found each other. This realization entered your mind with tenderness, much like the words of a loving mother doting on her child.

Again, the conversation lulled.

The statues and paintings were stationery witnesses to the endearing awkwardness of this pair reunited. Neither of you had the courage to look at each other, lest you revealed the flush that spread across both your faces. With nothing but Snowfield Park and time to yourselves, there would be much catching up to do.

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[the-modern-typewriter]

Heyyy I hope this is okay especially with how many requests you must get day in and day out 🖤 I had this idea of a dark knight who is in charge of watching over a captured princess and over the time of her being imprisoned she develops feelings for the knight. Eventually she decides to attempt an escape but when the dark knight catches up to her flirtatious tension arises (^◔ᴥ◔^) Honestly it’s your blog but if it’s WLW that’d be great, otherwise go crazy and have a good day!

"Trying to leave without saying goodbye? Heartbreaking. Just as we were getting along."

The princess whirled. Even as she did it, she knew it was foolish. By the time one had laid eyes on a dark knight, it was usually already too late to win the fight. Especially when it was her dark knight. Well, not hers, but...

The knight stepped forward, oh so obligingly, from beneath the night that begged for the honour of giving her cover. The moonlight kissed the sharp black edges of her armour, caressed the deadly tip of her sword, painted her lovingly in monochrome.

The princess's breath hitched.

"Wearing my clothes too," the dark knight said. "My, my princess."

"Well, my dresses do not exactly blend in. It is not sentiment."

"You look good in my things."

The princess swallowed. Her face bloomed with a treacherous heat.

"Have you come to say goodbye then?" She tossed the words half like a plea, and half like a gauntlet.

The worst part, after all, was that she had struggled over the thought of leaving without saying goodbye to her dark knight and captor - which was, frankly, ridiculous. Of course, that didn't mean she wanted her escape attempt to fail simply for the chance of seeing her again. She took half a step back.

The knight's head tilted, expression obscured by her mask.

"Goodbye," the princess said, determinedly. She kept her voice steady, or at least as steady, as proper, as she could. "I have enjoyed our time together."

"Then you will be delighted to know that this is not farewell."

The princess's fists clenched at her side. She edged back another step, gaze fixed on the knight. "Just let me go. You cannot bring me back to him!"

"I most certainly can. Or do you imagine it will be difficult to put you over my shoulder?"

She hated that part of the thought made her shiver, not exactly in terror. Made her think of the knight's lean arms, her lithe strength, the way she towered over the princess in the moments where they were pressed close. A force of nature. A girl made of shadow and bloodshed.

"Please," she said.

"Princess."

"Please."

"I won't tell him you tried to run."

The princess laughed, a bitter thing, shaking her head. She couldn't fight. Or, rather, she could fight but she would not win. Could she run? Maybe. People often underestimated how fast she could be, when she wasn't focused on the poise expected of her.

(People, her mind supplied, were not her knight.)

She jutted her chin up, she edged back another step. "If you cared for me at all, you would not bring me back."

"And if you cared for me at all, you would not expect me to forsake my job."

"Even if you drag me back I'll run again."

"Yes. And I'll catch you again."

"How did you even find out about this!?"

Her - the - dark knight moved then. Wicked fast. One instant she was a few metres away, the next second she had the princess pressed up against one of the forest trees. She did not reach for her sword. Her hand cupped the back of the princess's head, keeping her from bashing it as she was pinned back. Her hand tightened in the princess's hair, sending a sharp bolt of almost sweet pain and adrenaline through the princess's body as she tugged.

"Because, Zaria," her voice was a silken hiss, "I know you."

The princess's breath gave another treacherous hitch. She was sure her eyes were wide

The knight's lips were inches from her own, her head bent low. Lady death and the maiden, the gold jewels of a looming over kiss turned to lavish twilight and steel.

"I know you better than anyone ever has," the knight continued. "Your clever viciousness, your pretty lies, your beautiful cunning. People always mistake prey for something soft and sweet and innocent, don't they?"

"But you are not people."

"Of course you would run." The knight's free hand slid up too, from her shoulders, thumb brushing over the princess's parted lips. "As surely as I would hunt you. This was inevitable between us."

The princess's hand closed on the sword left abandoned at the knight's side. She could have drawn it. She could have plunged it forward in their closeness, hoped to dig past all of the armour to the intriguing thing she'd caught glimpses of beneath.

But then her knight would not be blood and shadow, she would just be blood, and pain, and gone. She wet her cracked lips.

"And does the hunter ever feel tenderness for its prey?" she asked, softly.

"The prey is everything to the hunter," the knight replied. "And so the hunter feels everything for her."

"But not enough pity to let her go."

"I feel no pity for you, princess. You are not a pitiable thing, are you?"

"Then that is not everything."

The knight laughed. "You are magnificent. Will you come willingly," she asked, "or should I actually drag you?"

"Oh, you can drag me. Kicking and screaming. I think you'd enjoy it. Me writhing and thrashing and hot and spent in your arms."

The princess was delighted, despite her losses, to see the dark knight swallow at that. To hear her breath hitch, a chink in the armour. Information, for the next time, perhaps. It felt like a victory, however small. Not escape, perhaps, but another rock chiselled hidden from her prison walls.

"Very unladylike," the dark knight managed.

"You should tell him," she said, and nipped the dark knight's mouth savagely. "How unladylike I am. A lost cause. Not worth keeping."

"Oh, you will always, always, be worth keeping. Of that I'm sure."

"Maybe you should work for me instead."

"Maybe I should. But not today. It is late, and the rest of us need our beauty sleep to keep up with you, my princess."

They were fighting after that.

[sleepydeprived]

A Chance for Redemption

—A mysterious high school student appears out of the blue, bearing the face of the late Martha Wayne and puzzling even Gotham's greatest detectives.

[chapter 3]

Mama I’m Chasing A Ghost.

| Platonic!Yandere!Batfam x Reader

The floor-to-ceiling windows of my bedroom looked out onto the manicured gardens of the estate, and in the distance, was a view of Gotham that never seemed to change.

The same scenery, the same routine.

The butlers, the maids, the drivers who ferried me from one lavish location to another.

Every day was like the last, but with one major exception;

Gotham Academy

For the first time in my life, I had been thrust into a world that wasn’t mine. My mother had insisted I’d go, telling me it was for my own good. I was homeschooled my entire life, my education confined to private tutors and digital classes.

That is.. until my mother moved me to a prestigious school a few months ago. I don’t know what changed her mind. She was always so hellbent on keeping my life private. Her sweet little girl that only she knew about.

But now here I am attending a school that is closely watched by weird, content-hungry journalists and creepy paparazzis hoping to catch a photograph of children with high titles.

Nevertheless, I felt like an outsider. A puzzle that didn’t quite fit. I was the new kid—the girl who came out of nowhere.

But being an outsider didn’t automatically mean loner.

My presence didn’t go unnoticed.

I was different. People knew it, felt it, and stared. Maybe it was the fact that I came from a family—a clan—that held such an influence over Gotham’s elites. I was basically one relative away from a famous celebrity or a corrupt politician.

But, of course, there was also the resemblance to Martha Wayne.

It was a ghost of a resemblance, really, but it haunted me all the same. From the first day I stepped onto campus, I heard the whispers;

She looks like Martha Wayne.

The wife of Thomas Wayne?

She could be her daughter...

Or granddaughter.

It had started out as idle speculation, but as the days passed, the gossip only grew.

People stared, talked behind my back, and pointed at me when they thought I wasn’t looking. They didn't know me, but they had already formed an opinion. The mystery girl. The girl who had somehow, inexplicably, appeared out of nowhere. The girl who had the same smile, the same eyes, the same air of dignity and grace as Gotham’s most beloved figure. The figure whose tragic death had left an indelible mark on the city.

I had never cared for the attention. In fact, I hated it. I’m not interested in being some object of fascination, and that’s just how I was raised. I’m not Martha Wayne nor am I related to her—or at least, that’s what I’ve been told. The more people asked, the more I pushed that idea away. But the whispers were constant.

It made me think. A lot. So much more than what I preferred.

And suddenly, the buried thoughts from childhood of who and where my biological father was came rushing back.

Ever since I was a child, I had learned to bury my feelings—bury the questions about my father, and why my mother wouldn’t speak of him. There had been one conversation about it, years ago when my mother still had the time to let me in her study.

"Your father is not someone you need to concern yourself with," mother had said, her voice cold and stern. "Do not ask about him. Do not seek him. He is not a part of your life. Understand?"

And now, in the halls of Gotham Academy, that memory itched at me, more often than ever before. The bell rang, signaling the end of another school day, but I didn’t hurry to leave. I stood at my locker, staring at my reflection in the shiny surface of the metal.

Do I look like her?

————————

taglist:

@leeleecats @mariadvorak @deans-spinster-witch @rainlovewrites @xoacesgf @whiteoakoak @uknowimdumb @otterluver05

[pearlessance]

Killshot, Baby! —part one

summary: nanami kento is a meticulous man; calm, stable, and precise. a perfect antithesis to your messy, impulsive ways. the longer you're around him, the more you're convinced you'll never agree on anything. well…except for the way you fuck.

pairing: brat tamer!nanami x fem!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, 10 year age gap (reader is 18, nanami is 28), fingering, dirty talk, pussy pronouns, use of 'little girl' as a pet name, cum eating, semi-public, praise, size kink, hair pulling, brat taming, reader has added backstory to progress the plot

wc: 3.8k

note: this is my first ever jjk fic pls be niceee :') not sure how many parts this will be, rn I'm thinking like 5-8 but we will see!! heavily influenced by the song killshot by magdalena bay!! tysm for reading i love u <3

[masterlist] [read on AO3!]

Places like this make your skin crawl. 

Even knowing you need to assimilate yourself to the glitz and glamour of it all, you just can’t shake the turning of your stomach as you watch drops of top-shelf liquor spill over the rims of glass tumblers. Liquid splashes that cost more than a day’s pay for someone less well-off than every person in that room.

When you step out onto the balcony, the air feels icy against your too-warm skin. The city lights twinkle in the distance, disturbing the black of night and shining too brightly to grant you the luxury of seeing the stars.

You wonder what time it is, wonder if curfew still applies for an event like this. And if it does, you’ll surely catch a reprimanding from Yaga in the morning even if Gojo takes the brunt of it. Maki’s incessant questioning that’s sure to come when you step back into the dormitories might be an even worse fate, though. 

“It gets to be a bit overwhelming, doesn’t it?” His smooth voice startles you.

Overwhelming is a cordial way of putting it, you think. “Suffocating might be a better word.” 

He huffs. Not quite a laugh, but a sound of agreement nonetheless. The shadows in the dark corner of the balcony keep you from getting a good look at him. You can only make out a handful of features—a few strands of blonde hair that have gone rogue from the combed, slicked-back style, falling rebelliously in front of his warm eyes. The tan slacks he wears look expensive and pressed, a stark contrast to the wrinkles in his white button-up. The sleeves are rolled casually to his elbows, and the moonlight reflects off the crystal face of his watch. 

There’s something about him that feels…familiar. A strange sort of sameness. And despite the way he exudes the same lavish energy that everyone else at the party does, you can’t help but feel like he’s somehow different than they are. Maybe it’s because you’re seemingly the only two who are struggling to find enjoyment in the reception.

“That bad, hm?” He stands from his seat in the corner and joins you at the railing. Even bent over with his forearms on the stainless steel edge he looms over you; a powerful, menacing presence. A man with an iron grip on control. “Which part, exactly, feels so asphyxiating?”

His voice sends a shiver down your spine. But maybe it’s just the chill in the air. “All of it,” you admit. “The gluttony. The carelessness. Everyone is so out of touch with reality. It’s like they become so absorbed with all the extravagance, they forget most people struggle to make ends meet. Ten minutes out of the city a mother is working eighty hours a week and still having difficulty feeding her children, and they’re drinking bottles of whiskey that cost more than she gets paid in a month.”

Your gaze focuses on his long fingers as he interlocks them together. “You don’t think those with money deserve to enjoy it?”

When you roll your eyes it feels involuntary, like second nature. “There’s a difference between enjoying it and flaunting it. I’ve never met Nanami Kento, but he seems like a real asshole.”

This time he does laugh. And the smile that stretches across his face, revealing a row of perfectly straight, pearly white teeth, is nothing short of debilitating. He’s beautiful, achingly so. And the deep, baritone sound of his laughter stirs something strange and warm in your chest.

You continue, asking, “How much do you think it cost him to host something like this? I mean, all together. The drinks, the food, the pay for the waiters, all of it. Even that ridiculous fucking ice sculpture.” He’s still grinning, and as you animatedly speak you can feel the heavy weight of his stare on the side of your face. It makes your cheeks burn. “My guess? Two million yen. Easily.”

“That seems a bit much,” he says. “It’s not that extravagant, is it? It’s being hosted in his home, after all.”

“Yeah, his penthouse,” you say with disdain. “What’s your guess, then? How much do you think was spent on this asshole’s little soiree?”

He seems to contemplate for several seconds, turning his head to the view of the city. His profile is breathtaking; all chiseled jaw and Greek nose and lush lips. You have to fight the urge to reach out and touch him, to feel the barely-there stubble along his cheek beneath your fingers. “One and half million,” he says.

This time you’re the one who laughs. It’s the first time you’ve done so all night, despite being promised otherwise. “As if that’s any better,” you say. “If he donated even half of what he spent to host a party like this, it could change someone’s life.” 

“I suppose that’s true. But maybe you’re wrong about the reason he’s gone to such extremes. Maybe it’s less about flaunting it and more about filling his home with people. Giving them an excuse to come here.”

“Why would anyone want this many people in their home? Making a mess, pouring their money down the drain? It’s not like this kind of luxury comes easily. He might be an asshole but he’s certainly a hard-working one. Why blow it on something as insignificant as a party?”

His answer comes quickly. “Loneliness.”

He says it with such conviction it’s as if he’s speaking from experience. And you suppose he very well could be. Standing in that crowd, not knowing a single soul apart from the one who’d dragged you here and promptly abandoned you, speaking empty words to people who won’t remember your name tomorrow—it had made you feel lonely, too. Lonely enough to step outside, to find comfort in the quiet as the beautiful man beside you had. “Maybe he should get himself a girlfriend,” you suggest.

“Maybe he should.” The lightheartedness returns to the conversation the second he smiles at you. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“That’s because I never gave it to you.” Your teasing seems to please him. 

His stare is intense, flickering between your eyes and the clear gloss on your lips. You want him to lean in and taste the cherry flavor. “What should I call you, then?”

You shrug, turning to face him fully, leaning against the balcony’s steel railing. It brings you just a little closer to him. Close enough to inhale the woodsy scent of his cologne. It makes you feel dizzy, makes you feel drunk. You say, “Whatever you want.” And mean it.

This is dangerous, you know. Standing out here alone with an older man, a stranger to you. Away from any semblance of safety. He could do anything to you right now and you’d have no way of fighting him off. He’s too big, too strong. And the worst part, you think, is that you’d just let it happen. That you wouldn’t even mind.

He reaches out and touches your cheek—a gentle, respectful caress. Despite the innocence, it leaves nothing but sinful thoughts swirling in your head. You lean into his touch, trying to ignore the way goosebumps rise over your skin.

“You’re a strange little girl,” he mutters. His voice slides through your center, sultry and captivating. You’re not sure if he’s complimenting you or not. It feels kind. Affectionate, even. But you can’t fully decide because your brain begins to short-circuit, hung up on the way the words little girl sounds in his tantalizing mouth. 

“Strange is better than boring,” you tell him. 

“You could never be boring.” There’s that conviction again. So sure of himself. Confident, steadfast, and solid. You wonder silently what that must be like.

Since learning you housed a rare ability to use cursed energy, there hasn’t been a single moment where you’re sure of who you are. But…right now, feeling the heat radiate off his skin, you think maybe you know what you want. “You don’t know me.”

“I want to, though.” The response is quick. Final. He presses his palm flat against your jaw, cradling your face, and slides it slowly to the nape of your neck. The friction feels intense. Heightened.

Your breath comes slow and labored, a conscious effort now. And you figure if he can touch you, that you can touch him back. But it’s less for enjoyment and more for necessity as you place a hand against his chest, feeling the softness of his cotton button-up beneath your palm. The way he looks at you makes your knees tremble. And he’s the solid, magnetic force you need to keep yourself upright.

“Pretty dress,” he says. It’s revealing, more so than you’d realized in the dressing room. Low cut and shimmery and pale pink—your favorite color. His warm eyes pierce yours as his free hand comes to your hip, resting against the textured sequins. “Expensive. Indulgent.”

He’s trying to call your bluff, you know. But your dislike for over extravagance is sincere and though he’s shaken your once calm equilibrium, it satisfies you to know he’ll never dissuade you in this singular thing. “I didn’t buy it.”

“No?” He fists the fabric, pulling the already too-short edge up higher. “Who did, then? Your boyfriend?”

My teacher. You don’t have the nerve to say it, though. Don’t have the words, patience, or breath to explain that Gojo gave you his shiny black card and insisted you find something worthy of tonight’s event. You find evasion an easier line of conversation. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

He fists more of the fabric, hiking it higher—inch by devastating inch. The air is cool against your exposed thigh, but it’s hard to notice. You can’t see or hear or feel anything but the way his deft fingertips stroke the lace edge of your panties, a teasing caress. “How…fortunate.”

Your pulse rings in your ears. Warmth builds between your thighs with the promise of his touch that seems to be all-knowing and omnipresent. He presses into the softness just beneath your navel and you can feel the pressure down to your toes. His presence is somehow even more smothering than the energy inside, but this is…different. Hot.

Every nerve ending in your body flares on edge when he slides his hand between your legs, the pad of his middle finger ghosting over your center. Your lips part and your eyelids flutter closed. Separated by only a thin layer of lace, you can feel the heat of him and have to fight the urge to rock your hips against his hand.  When he speaks, the words come out strained. “I need to know that you want this.”

There’s never been anything you’ve wanted more, you think. And you decide to tell him, to let the honesty bleed through, but then he’s moving his hand again, caressing your pussy with deft fingers. He does it with intention—a meticulous discovery of your body, preserving it forever in memory. It's such an intimate touch that it leaves you feeling open, chafed raw. All you can manage is a meek but resolute nod of your head in answer.

But it’s not enough for him. With such decorum, he says, “Use your words, sweetheart. Please.” It’s so polite it makes you ache.

You have to crane your neck just a little to look him right in the eye, but you do it anyway because you want him to see the truth. Want him to see just how bad you mean it when you say, “I want you.”

The corners of his lips turn up into a sinful smirk. And before you have time to catch your breath, before you can process just how unbearably handsome he looks with the city lights reflected in his honeyed hair, he’s slipping his hand into your panties and finding out for himself just how bad you want him. 

He separates your folds and finds your clit with expert precision, already wet and messy for him. Everywhere, all at once—he’s everywhere. His other hand rests firmly on the back of your neck, his body pressing against yours. He’s all you can see, all you can smell, all you can taste. The moment he begins circling the throbbing bud your spine arches, pleasure filling you with each calculated movement. “Oh, god.”

You spread your legs further for him, allowing even more access. The steel of his silver watch is biting cold against the too-warm inside of your thighs, the only sensation keeping you tethered to the Earth.

But any attempted salvation is shattered to pieces the moment he presses a finger into you, curling upwards as if he has known your body for far longer than just the night. “Fuck—”

“Language,” he quickly chastises. He slides his hand on the back of your neck into your hair and pulls, forcing you to stare up at him. It is so nearly like punishment, except he adds another finger inside you to join the first which feels much closer to a reward. The stretch is bliss, and you can feel your slick dripping down his thick knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper. And you’re not even sure why, but an apology just feels right. Feels good. But not as good as it feels when he presses hard against that soft spot inside you, quickly finding a rhythm that has sweat beading at your hairline. “I’m sorry,” you say again, because all other words have vacated your brain. 

He quickens the pace, fingers drawing out obscene moans from your chest. You wish he would kiss you. You want to feel the pressure of his lips against yours, want to taste the inside of his mouth. But you can’t bring yourself to ask for it, can’t bring yourself to do anything but watch him watch you. 

There’s this look in his eye that makes your heart stutter in your chest. Like he holds something more than divine in his hands. As if you’re not just some girl at a party but some god-like creature instead. You feel warm under his intensity. Burned. 

And when he speaks, his voice is so sultry and deep that you whimper. “S’that feel good? Right there?”

“Yes, yes—please, don’t stop.” You don’t even recognize your own voice. Can barely hear the way you beg for him over the ringing in your ears, permeated only by the wet sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you.

It’s rehearsed. Practiced. It takes just seconds before you start to feel yourself pull tight, straining against the unforgiving pace he sets. You're a gasping, desperate mess, and he seems to find such joy in it. Grinning down at you, forearm flexing in exertion, veins protruding from his wrist. He curls his fingers inside of you and positions his thumb so that it passes over your throbbing clit with each stroke. “You’re so pretty,” he says. “Do you know how pretty you are, little girl?”

“I—God—I’m gonna cum, I—”

“Yeah,” he coos, tone affectionate and tender. “I know it. Can feel this sweet pussy squeezing me so tight. She needs it bad, doesn't she? Hm?”

He thrusts his fingers into you hard—once, twice, and then your thighs begin to shake. Your fists tighten, knuckles paling as you grip the soft fabric of his button-up. Your breath gets stuck in your lungs and then it’s all happening at once, pleasure exploding beneath your skin.

You bite back your moans, trying not to think about the throng of the party just inside. Your entire body vibrates beneath his unyielding movements, slick walls squeezing and pulsing around his thick fingers. You don’t tell him but it’s like he just knows. “There you go,” he whispers, pressing his lips into your hair. “That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it. You’re doing so well. Let it happen, jus’ let it happen.”

Earth-shattering. Liquid pools in the palm of his hand and trickles down the inside of your thighs, soaking through the lace fabric, but he keeps you upright on trembling legs. Fucks you through it with those magical fingers of his, and doesn’t stop until tears prick the corners of your eyes. He slows, massaging that sacred spot inside of you just a few times more before slowly sliding his fingers out. When he holds them up between you, shiny and glistening with your slick, you can’t fight off the way your cheeks burn. 

It isn’t until this precise moment that you realize he’s breathing hard, the only chink in his armor of composure thus far. In all your life, in all your experience, it’s never felt quite like that.

Yet still, even more satiated than you’ve ever been, you feel your clit throb as he presses his middle and ring finger into his mouth and sucks them clean. “I…” You what?

Words evade you. You want to tell him how good it was, want to get on your knees and repay the favor, want to tell him your name. But his stare is intense and intimidating and—

The balcony door slides open and you both move quickly—stepping away from each other, smoothing the wrinkles out of your clothes.

Your heart races behind your sternum as Gojo steps out, all-black suit pristine save for the unbuttoned coat. “Nanami! I was just coming to find you to introduce you to our very special student, but it seems you’ve found her all on your own.”

Nanami?

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him wipe the hand that was inside you seconds ago on the back of his slacks. “Satoru,” he greets cooly.

Suddenly the balcony feels more suffocating than the unruly party inside. For a single second, the thought crosses your mind that you could jump right off the edge of the railing without a moment’s regret.

Gojo shoves his hands into his pockets and speaks with an airy tone, but you can’t hear him over the ringing in your ears.

Kento Nanami. 

The reason you’re here. The man who’d invited you. The man who’s hosting this party.  

Every second that’s passed since you stepped foot onto the balcony flashes through your brain. All the terrible things you’d said about him, every word of agreement he’d uttered back. Every signal, every sign he’d given you to shut the fuck up, and somehow you’d missed every single one and just kept on talking.

Guilt slithers down your spine, settles in your gut, and makes a home inside. You’d meant it, though. Every single word you’d said. But you’d never meant to say it to him, had never intended to be cruel. 

And then you proceeded to let him touch you without an ounce of resistance.

A grade one sorcerer, someone you should be learning from, someone you should revere…and you’d let him stuff you with his fingers before even knowing his fucking name. Begged him for it, even.

He’d licked them clean.

Gojo says your name, pulling you out of your head and back into the conversation. “Are you alright? You seem a bit…out of it.”

“Fine,” you answer too quickly for it to sound convincing. “I’m fine, sorry. It’s just…late. What did you say?” You try to ignore the sticky feeling between your thighs to no avail. 

“We’re going to head back now,” Gojo repeats. “If we stay much later I worry Ijichi might send out a search party for us.”

You’ve never been more ready to leave than you are right this second. You turn to Nanami and nod politely. “It was…uhm. Nice to meet you, sir.”

There’s nothing else to say, so you don’t. Pushing past Gojo and back inside, you weave your way through the moving crowd of people, trying to find the front door. It takes longer than you anticipated, but once you’re walking down the long penthouse hallway to the all-glass elevator you start to feel your shoulders dropping. 

You recognize the pattern of Gojo’s long strides easily, and he catches up to you just as the elevator doors slide open.

Ever the gossip, he’s making insinuations as soon the two of you step inside and begin the timely descent. “That was the most awkward thing I’ve ever witnessed. What the hell happened between you two?”

“Nothing.”

“Right…” 

“I mean it,” you insist. Because you might be older than the other students and Jujutsu High, but the last thing you’d ever want to do is put Nanami in a position to be ridiculed. He didn’t know. And you didn’t, either. “Nothing happened.”

“Oh, okay,” he says, voice holding a sarcastic edge. “Nothing happened. That’s why you had this look on your face like you were trying really hard to make yourself spontaneously combust. Right, right. Sounds like nothing.”

“Sounds like nothing because it was nothing.”

He sighs dramatically, turning to fully face you. “I can keep a secret. You know that. Just tell me now and we never have to talk about it again, I swear.”

You stand stone still, lips sealed firmly shut.

Gojo presses his hands together and juts out his bottom lip, and you wonder how the fuck you’d ended up here. Watching your mentor—a grown man—pout like a child for a scrap of information. 

With a roll of your eyes, you say, “We can stop at that mochi place tonight if you never speak of it again.”

“Deal.”

He stays true to his word, and you stay true to yours. 

When Gojo told you all about it on the way to the party, you’d thought he’d been exaggerating the decadence of the treat, but it truly was the best you’d ever had. You return to the dormitories with kinako dusted fingers, and Gojo doesn’t ask about Nanami again. 

You think, hope, that it’s the end of it. Hope that when you inevitably cross paths with Kento Nanami again, you’ll be able to act professionally. You’ll put this calamity behind you, never to be repeated, and absorb the knowledge he can provide about wielding cursed energy like a blade.

But when you wake up the following morning, Maki’s pounding on your bedroom door, holding a bouquet of white flowers in a pale pink crystalline vase. There’s a white, lace ribbon tied around the center of it with a hand-written note attached. The penmanship is meticulous. Precise. 

It reads, Thank you for the perspective. Apologies for the overindulgence. -K.

Maki’s brows are raised and her eyes are wide. She pushes you back into your room and seals you both inside. “Talk.”

taglist; @maybe-a-bi-witch @zeunys @mima0127 @unicornflutter

[anantaru]

synopsis. you're in a changing room trying on lingerie while rich boy aventurine admires you <3 dry humping n getting spoiled

cw. ⪩⪨ [ex]plicit, rich boy au, rich boy aventurine, reader wears lingerie, fingering & dry humping, fem! reader

somewhere amongst the fancy to love and favor you, rich boy aventurine has a habit of spoiling you without hindrance— at bottom, in the glow of his eyes, he views life as nonsense without a substance much deeper than that of materialistic possessions, all the more reason as to why you were the most valuable to the blonde.

rich boy aventurine walks you through the countless stores that were flashing the most luxurious brands— expensive bags and purses, or what about an avant-garde necklace for it to fit the other accessories? you hum, teeth sinking into your glossed lip as aventurine urges you to make him purchase it all.

your mind falls down into an emotion you could never get tired of, "this one? yeah?" aventurine says with a nasty grin, almost like he needed you to tell him again, this time a little harder, a little more sensual. his body language was becoming more excited, agitated in a way where he was struggling to hold himself back.

rich boy aventurine watches the shop workers help you get all glammed up for him, so eye-catching and entrancing until his mouth waters at the luring sight once you let him step closer, his observant gaze noting how the lingerie digs and moves in keeping with your skin.

"fuck..." his voice was much the same as gravel, saturated within a mirage of intense cadences dipped in swelling lust as he admires you, shortly after reaching one palm towards his groin to adjust himself a little.

the fancy material of your lingerie hugs up on your body as it was crafted for you, your skin glowing as you're beautifully showing off the exclusive garments that must've been used to create it, fitting you like it's only made for you to wear, for you to enjoy and aventurine to look at, the crystal-glazed necklace on your neck too, leaving nothing concealed.

rich boy aventurine cannot take his eyes off you, seeing you like this formed a thrilling mist of coveting desire inside of the small changing room, blanketing both of your bodies inside a warm conceal.

and how deeply he yearned to get a taste of you, endlessly worship your skin with his strong arms and frame your figure with them tight. aventurine believes you're so graceful when you let him spoil you in such striking manner.

like a dangerous drug, he would describe the excitement he felt whenever he was visiting multiple lavish stores to buy you exorbitant garments, barely holding himself back at the thought of ripping them off your skin later.

the dressing room was too tiny to fit two people, but the both of you made it work somehow— always, with cold glass you're being pressed at, the attention on your plushy ass growing stronger as you feel his agitated erection grind into you. he practically salivates at how he can see the reflection of you two in the mirror when he presses and fucks you through his clothes, two calloused hands holding you in place while you're sneakily brushing your fleshy ass back into his groin.

"baby, oh baby... can't wait to rip that off you…" aventurine lets out a pathetic, little whine followed by a deep rumble emitting from his throat— slowly adding a leisurely tempo to his pace as he humps his clothed sex into your ass before his tongue lewdly licks across the back of your neck.

rich boy aventurine won't stop until he's felt you up everywhere, entirely, he glissades one hand from your breasts to your stomach until settling on your clothed pussy, the small twine of fabric snuggled up between your wet folds was sitting perfectly, which gave him an optimal way to rub your cunt in erratic circles, his adams apple bobbing before he whispers your his name at his fingers gathering your slick.

your head slants back at the new, satisfying impact of two rough digits mounting over your squelching pussy— a marvel of bliss spiking your blood the moment he'd alternate between stimulating your warm cunt, lapping his tongue up and down your neck while humping his thick, clothed member into your plush ass.

it's so crowded in that small changing room, you fear aventurine might rip your new lingerie apart if he's continuing with this— how much you hope he does, it's always a pleasure when he fucks the literal clothes off you, not to mention how pretty he looks with his shirt sticking to his chest, exposing his defined abs.

most deliciously, you were certain that there must be a couple shop workers noticing the deafening noises coming from your area— what else was there to do for them other than listening to what filthy scenes were happening? while only wishing it was them instead.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[17020]

# I HEART PUBLIC RELATIONS (2)

in order to your boost your popularity as a lifestyle influencer, your manager decides to partner up with anri teieri and jinpachi ego, for a pr stunt with a man from one of japan's most famous content houses: BLUE LOCK.

the rules are simple: choose a man, post three videos together a week, post an (undisclosed) ad weekly, and interact with each other on social media. ooh! don't forget! the more chemistry between you two, the better.

STARRING . . . reo mikage, nagi seishiro, tabito karasu, yo hiori. fem reader!

CANDIDATE 5 — REO MIKAGE

USER: MIKAGE FOLLOWERS: 1.1M (100k were bought) CATEGORY: LIFESTYLE/FOOD

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION!

you knew you were in for a wild ride once you stepped into the house and saw none other than the heir of mikage corp standing there, pointing his finger at you and stating "she looks pretty! i'd like to work with her." as if he was the one who got to choose. nonetheless, you agreed to work with reo as he seemed like a pretty loaded interesting guy.

turns out, reo is very sweet. the first tiktok you filmed with him was for his account, in which he offered to take you on a shopping spree, with him and you making silly outfits for one another (just casually picking the ugliest clothes in gucci??) and then trying them on in the dressing room. you were filming a vlog for your account too, and you were surprised when reo surprised you with a very stylish outfit for you and him, to "go catch some dinner tomorrow." wow mikage, very smooth. comments went insane because 1. who are you? new friend? untold lore? 2. you are drop dead gorgeous even in the trash outfits that reo picked for you? and 3. please be in more of reo's videos!!

the second tiktok was a dance trend, the da' dip dance. it was done in very uncomfortable clothes, which were the ones reo bought the day before. it was funny to see reo dancing in a suit and tie, and you with a floor-length gown, in the content house. nagi appeared in the background as he was in the kitchen, which caught the attention of viewers. you posted the same dance, except it was filmed inside the restaurant, because with reo mikage, there is no such thing as shame. he cleared the restaurant out anyway because he wanted privacy, though, so the only preying eyes were those of the servers. reo was visibly flushed in the video, and his excuse was the poor lighting of the restaurant. girl that restaurant had better lighting than a photography studio you are not fooling anyone.

the last tiktok you filmed with him was... a food review! reo's comments are always flooded with "oh my god when does this guy ever eat peasant food", so you listened and brought him some of your favorite fast foods for him to try. wingstop is the biggest hit as of now, so you ordered some wings and tenders through a delivery app for him to give an honest review. people loved your video, as they felt they could connect with you and reo over something so mundane. viewers commented on the fact that you and reo looked like and acted like a married couple, which ended up boosting both your accounts even more.

(UN)DISCLOSED AD . . . HELLO FRESH!

we know that reo's meals since he joined the content house were all takeout from fancy restaurants. so when he got approached by hello fresh for a partnership, he agreed in a heartbeat. he made a video with you, the two of you preparing a nice, healthy dinner with the package from hello fresh, captioning the video "date night at home!" with clips of him behind you helping you cut some vegetables, making juice standing next to one another, and hands brushing every so often. fans were amused that reo finally opted for something other than takeout, instead preferring to spend quality time with you by cooking.

"Baya doesn't cook for me anymore, so me and bae always count on @.hellofresh #hellofreshpartner #ad"

THE VIEWS SKYROCKETED! BECAUSE . . .

because reo's lifestyle is extremely lavish, and you were one of the few who got to experience it to the fullest. reo looked like a lovesick puppy around you, and it wasn't hard to notice. he spoiled you rotten, and people could tell due to how your room slowly became flooded with designer after the first week of filming with reo. lovebombing much? the stunt was marvelous, with each of you gaining around 500k followers from it. to celebrate, reo booked a villa in marbella for the two of you to unwind and relax, wanting time for the two of you to get to know one another. plus, more content for the socials!

CANDIDATE 6 — SEISHIRO NAGI

USER: NAGI (reo bought it for him) FOLLOWERS: 940k CATEGORY: GAMING/LIFESTYLE(?)

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION!

the reason nagi actually went viral is interesting, which is why your management team chose him for you. he went viral because he was in reo's video in the background, and people began to fawn over the shy giant on their screen. he started streaming on twitch and also posting a few tiktoks, which gave him a boost on his overall social media presence. his management came into contact with yours for the stunt because they desperately wanted him to reach 1 million followers.

the first tiktok you filmed on his account was entirely on accident. you were going to film a vlog with him at the house as he didn't want to leave the house at all that day. he pressed record on his phone, and accidentally cut the video way too short. in the frame were you and him, with him saying "um, is this thing on?" and you trying to fix the framing of the camera, "nagi, can you move the cam—" and the video got posted instead of being saved as a funny draft. people were confused as to why that was posted, but it got around 10 million views. fans wanted to know who you were, and they were going to find out soon.

the second tiktok you filmed was for your account, with you preparing breakfast, lunch, and dinner as the "private chef of a famous lazy influencer", it didn't take long for people to put two and two together, seeing nagi in the background and making the video go viral. fans were happy that nagi was finally eating something healthy, and they loved the way in which you laughed at his sleepy self wandering around the kitchen, and also adoring his cute reactions to your food.

for the last tiktok, you gathered clips from nagi's stream, in which you and him played dress to impress. he had bought the two of you vip before filming, which made the competition between you two even funnier. nagi's outfits were absolutely horrendous, with the comments begging you to help him out. he agreed, saying that "i mean, y/n's beautiful and she's got great taste, so she needs to help me out." people did not know what your beauty had to do with your taste in fashion, and came to the conclusion that nagi was beginning to harvest feelings for you. he was way too blunt for his own good.

(UN)DISCLOSED AD . . . CELSIUS!

nagi got reached out to by celsius, as his brand as a gamer required him to constantly be sipping on energy drinks. he filmed the ad with you, as the video focused on you and him sitting next to one another, his head on top of yours. nagi took a sip of the celsius can and then passed on to you, with you doing the same. nagi was too lazy to come up with his own caption, so he copied and pasted one of the many which celsius sent him as an idea. people noticed right away because 1. seishiro nagi does not use caps. 2. seishiro nagi does not use emojis. 3. seishiro nagi does not add captions to his tiktoks. people laughed at his laziness, and saw how he genuinely smiled in the ad by sharing his drink with you. there was a ship name created, and the tag started trending...

You KNOW it's serious when you share a Celsius... 😘❤️👀 @.celsiusuk #Celsiuspartner

THE VIEWS SKYROCKETED! BECAUSE . . .

because nagi smiled whenever he was with you. he started being less aloof in his videos and streams, which caught the attention of the public. they started to wonder what kind of drug you were, because you had nagi HOOKED. he was looking only at you on every video you filmed with him, and he looked for every excuse possible for him to be close to you. it was like watching a little kid fall in love, and you both gained 300k followers from it. when he hit one million followers, you decided to throw a mini surprise for him in his room, and when the video was posted, people saw that for the first time, seishiro nagi willingly threw himself at someone with a biiiig bear hug.

CANDIDATE 7 — TABITO KARASU

USER: OSAKASSASSIN FOLLOWERS: 760k CATEGORY: PSYCHOLOGY/LIFESTYLE

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION!

when you entered the house and saw none other than tiktok's clown psychologist tabito karasu, you held in your laugh. yes, he loved to analyze people, but that ended up combining with thirst traps and becoming his social media personality. once you got to know him when planning, you realized he wasn't that bad at all.

of course, the first thing karasu suggested you do was a mini series of "advice on how to get a girl" in which he explains the most basic advice on how to ask someone on a date. i wouldn't be surprised if his fanbase were children aspiring to be him, but anywho. he starts off by filming a "so you know how i'm always preaching about how to treat a woman right? we're gonna put it to the test" and proceeds to take you on the best date of your life. he surprises you with flowers, drives you to a nice restaurant, pays for your dinner, takes you for ice cream, and the high and mighty tabito karasu lets you win at every game in the arcade he drags you to. the end of the tiktok contains a screenshot of your text saying "i'd go out with you again :)" and the fans went off in the comments. he didn't show your face, but he did mention that he helped take pictures of you with the plushie he won for you at the arcade.

the second tiktok was on your account, which was an aesthetic video of "come to the arcade with me!" and included clips of the date without seeing karasu. except for the fact that there was a clip of you and the plushie, to which people asked "who took the picture???" your response? "the worker! :)" and all of a sudden people were commenting on karasu's tiktok "yo you working in an arcade now???" and "did you take @.yn out on a date???" yeahhh. you posted on your instagram with the plushie, and also a pic of two ice cream cones, with the caption "late nights" and karasu was tagged at the very end. there were more than 100k comments on your post, gushing about how the two of you seemed like a cute couple.

the final tiktok was a dance trend, filmed at your home (karasu insisted, because "the house is too crowded, and it would ruin the tiktok" ok pretty boy). it was the dumb dick dance, and what karasu didn't expect was for you to not do the dance and hit him straight in the nutsack instead. karasu fell to the floor and people thought it was so funny that the king of rizz got absolutely owned by his date. some people strted commenting "deserved omg i can't stand the guy" to which you replied "well now he can't stand either!!!" you became an icon in the eyes of the public. congratulations.

(UN)DISCLOSED AD . . . POPPI!

another drink guy! karasu partnered up with poppi's healthy sodas because sodas magically cure depression. don't ask me! ask dr karasu. his ad for poppi included a fridge restock, with the whole upper shelf of the fridge being different poppi flavors, as "my girl likes sodas, so i wanna make sure she gets the best of the best. stay healthy, choose poppi." queue the montage of you and him being happy drinking doc pop and the comments saying "for fucks sake just buy regular dr pepper.... cute tiktok i suppose." people were divided, as some said to buy regular coke, and some said the lovesick look you had while filming made them accidentally buy 500 poppi cans.

cleanse your gut, cleanse your mind ✨ @.poppi #poppipartner

THE VIEWS SKYROCKETED! BECAUSE . . .

because karasu is one flirty hoe. he was constantly referring to you as the 'baddie' on his videos, and always having his arm around you. people pointed out that since being with you online, he stopped posting thirst traps, and when asked why, he simply answered "those are for my girl now :)" this man was in too deep he cleared the roster. he cleared his online bench. for a stunt? mhhhmm. you both gained around 100k followers, as your fanbases already knew one another. it was bound to happen. karasu asked you to be his girlfriend around a month after the stunt, and you knew it was coming due to the change in his content from "how to get every girl" to "how to get THE girl". the internet knew something was up when he suddenly started posting "how to be a good boyfriend" cheers to the newlyweds!

CANDIDATE 8 — YO HIORI

USER: HIORIYOOH FOLLOWERS: 1.3M CATEGORY: GAMING/TECH

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION!

you didn't even have to go inside the house, as hiori had sent you a dm about a potential collab due to his management team and yours coming to contact with one another. you did a stream playing dress to impress, in which hiori commented "let's play together sometime! check your dm :-)" (written by karasu, sent by karasu) and you agreed to his invite to play roblox together.

hiori isn't on tiktok much, so the first tiktok you did was a promo for his livestream, in which you and him decided to play chained together. it was funny to see hiori and you yell and struggle, eventually giving up on the game and ordering takeout while on live, and just becoming a regular hangout. hiori showed a side of himself no one expected him to have—a sociable, extroverted side of himself, as you were so easy to talk to according to him. he was all giggles and smiles with you, which is why he ordered takeout as an excuse to spend more time with you. hiori ended the live and continued getting to know you, with his social media being confused as to why he decided to stop the live so suddenly, with the words "HIORI", "LIVE", "Y/N", "SIMP", and "STOP" trending on x.

the second tiktok filmed was on your account, which was a comic con vlog. hiori was invited as he was a streamer, and he took you with him as his plus one. he asked to cosplay with you, with him being link and asking you to be zelda. cosplay was actually a big word, as you did inspired outfits, but they were obvious enough for everyone to know who you were. which inspired lots of fan pictures, with hiori fan accounts posting them and being like "the couple is at comic con!!!" and starting huge threads on every interaction you two had. the pictures fans took all focused on one thing: hiori's reactions when speaking with you. all smiles by the way. who is this man???

the final tiktok was for your account, and you planned this along with nanase and isagi. you went to the house as hiori had invited you to film both of you playing league of legends before the second part of arcane came out. you and the boys stood outside of hiori's room, knocking the door. once hiori opened it, isagi threw a bouquet towards hiori, with you catching it before it hit him. you couldn't even ask if he was alright, as you got so lost in his eyes. so did he. it went viral. hiori was a whole tomato umemiya could have easily planted in his garden. hiori was definitely shocked and flustered while you filmed content for his socials, causing the internet to make youtube compilations of every time hiori smiled or blushed at the sight of you. millions of views.... millions.

(UN)DISCLOSED AD . . . RAID SHADOW LEGENDS!

there's no surprised he partnered up with raid, as most youtubers do. in order to do the ad, though, he made a SKIT. those typical, drew gooden-esque skits in order to introduce the ad in his video with you, with you participating with him, and even playing raid shadow legends alongside him. since it was a video, there was a clear indication that this was an ad, and people noticed how. again. you were the first person who brought him out of his shell to do a small skit for an ad. fans adored how you and him held in your laughs while filming, and even showed the bloopers for the ad at the end. in the bloopers, though, while you were in frame playing raid, hiori whispered that "you look real pretty here, y/n." he didn't edit his videos because he has an editing team, so when the video was published he noticed that fans could hear his off-screen commentary loud and clear. oops! someone fire the editing team real quick.

"you look real pretty here, y/n—anyway um, okay—look at the screen on your phone, then at the camera and say 'this video is sponsored by raid shadow legends" "this video is sponsored by raid shadow LEGENDS 💜" "how did you do that—"

THE VIEWS SKYROCKETED! BECAUSE . . .

hiori is an absolute sweetheart, whose face went beet red whenever you complimented him in every video. like isagi, mans is shy, give him a break, okay? whether it was your hands brushing against one another, or shoulders bumping while filming, you could see hiori tense up and have his face on fire from how hot it was. his eyes never left your figure if they weren't on the screen in front of him, which said a lot to his og fans. they witnessed a change in hiori, for the better! thanks to you, hiori started to bloom. due to this stunt, both of you gained almost 1 million followers, as the slow-burn was that interesting. hiori gained the balls to ask you out after that. people suspected that perhaps you were dating, but you always said you were really good friends. around five months later, the cat came out of the bag as there were pictures of you two leaving the same apartment, to which you had to clear the air. you had moved into hiori's apartment two months ago.

taglist (open, yippee!): @kaiser1ns @stunies @ryescapades @nyxypoo @littleplantfreak @heartkaji @maruflix @phinbie @vinomino @kunitsyn

[saintobio]

⊹★⋆ two wheels and a hot guy.

pairings. gojo satoru, fem!reader tags. 1k wc, biker boy x biker girl au, non-sorcerer au, crack, fluff, dirty jokes (?), satoru rides an s1k, biker!sukuna mentions, same au as my other fic. sparked by a random idea bcos why haven't we thought abt biker!gojo honestly? he would be so funny on tiktok if he was a biker boy lmao

You’ve all heard about Biker!Sukuna. That famous biker boy on biketok who has tattoos and rides a blacked out Yamaha R1. 

But have you heard about Biker!Gojou? 

Well… For starters, Satoru Gojou wasn’t a seasoned biker. 

In fact, he was more of a poser than anything, but you’d never catch him admitting that. His prized BMW S1000RR, the crown jewel of superbikes, was more about image than skill. The sleek, aggressive lines of the machine, combined with the prestige of the BMW logo, were all he needed to keep up appearances on TikTok. And he learned that appearances were everything, especially when Sukuna, with his obnoxious face tattoos and natural charisma, hogged the limelight (especially from all the girls!) with every post, even with a girlfriend already in tow. The sheer audacity of that scum was enough to drive Satoru up the wall. Fine, he had to admit. He was jealous of Sukuna’s popularity and the fact that he snatched a cute booktok girlfriend as his backpack. 

Suguru, his best friend and fellow biker, didn’t let him forget it either. As they stood by their bikes outside Barnes & Noble to spot booktok girls, Suguru glanced at Satoru’s liter bike and smirked. 

“Pretentious motherfucker,” he muttered, slinging a leg over his Yamaha MT-10, the less flashy but undeniably badass naked bike. Unlike Gojou, Suguru didn’t care about clout. The MT-10 was all about raw power and agility, the kind of bike a real rider appreciated. “You only got that thing because it’s a BMW. You gonna actually ride it for real one of these days?”

“Shut up.” Satoru rolled his eyes, adjusting his white Alpinestars riding gloves while holding his phone up to go live on TikTok. Starting with a 1000cc as a beginner bike wasn’t a very wise choice, but still... “People love the S1K, you know that.”

And let me tell you about Satoru’s favorite time of the day (or night). It was whenever he would go live, and the comments would pour in as soon as his stream started. That was when he could lavish in his social media presence the most.

user19463: Bro, when are you gonna show us some actual riding content?

anon875biker: All that thirst trapping. Bet you don’t even take that thing out of the garage. 

harleysRbetter: U punks R ruining the riding community! 

Gojou grinned at the screen, winking at both his followers and haters. “Alright, boomers, calm down. I’ll post some riding content soon. Don’t cry too much before then, yeah?”

r1.skn: Sir, can you do wheelies? 

Suguru found that comment hilarious, recognizing the username and knowing exactly who it belonged to—Sukuna. But Satoru’s competitive nature kicked in instantly while he continued to scroll through the comments. “Yeah, I can do wheelies. Ignore Sukuna, guys. Focus on me!”

msbikerluvr: Still looking for a backpack, Gojou? Lmao.

“About the backpack… you know, I’m just waiting for the right one. Applications are still open—” He was about to launch into another witty retort when a sound cut through the chatter of his stream—it was a deep, throaty rev that sent a shiver of excitement down his spine. Satoru’s head immediately whipped to the direction of the sound, just in time to see a flash of race blue zipping down the street.

There you were, riding a Yamaha R7, your black Dainese jacket hugging your curves as you leaned into the wind. The way you handled the bike, so smooth and confident, it was as if the motorcycle was an extension of you. 

“Damn, she’s hot.” Without a second thought, Satoru ended the live stream abruptly, “Gotta go, guys. Someone just stole my heart,” and pocketed his phone.

“Did you seriously just—” Suguru started, but Satoru was already mounting his S1000RR.

“Catch you later, Suguru!” he called, gunning the engine without even looking at his best friend. Soon enough, the 1000cc bike roared to life when he shifted into first gear, and he sped off in pursuit of the blue R7.

He caught sight of you at the next red light, the signal holding you in place just long enough for him to catch up. Thank God there was no sign of a biker boyfriend around when he pulled up alongside you, visor down, adrenaline still kicking him alive. He tried to get your attention by revving his S1K, and you turned your head slightly, barely acknowledging him as you pulled your visor up and revealed the prettiest eyes Gojou had ever seen. 

Satoru flipped up his visor too, then flashed his most charming grin. “Hey there,” he said, trying to keep his voice smooth and casual. Like it was a normal encounter. “You’re fast. I like that.”

You may have rolled your eyes, but he could tell you were smirking underneath the balaclava as you talked through the Cardo intercom linked to your AGV K1s. “And you’re obnoxious. I don’t like that.”

Oooh, she’s spicy. He laughed at the silly thought in his head, unbothered by your dismissal. “Come on, don’t be like that. I’m just trying to get to know the girl who stole my heart in the middle of a live stream.”

“Your heart, huh?” you teased, revving her engine just slightly. “Sounds like you’re more interested in what’s under my jacket.”

“Now that’s a baseless accusation,” he retorted, leaning in slightly. “I don’t do anything on the first night, you know. I usually wait until the second, after a nice dinner. I’m a gentleman like that.”

His remark made you snort, shaking your head at his boldness. “You’re a ridiculous guy.”

“But I’m also serious,” he added, his voice sincere despite the playful glint in his eyes. “Let me take you out, just dinner. No strings, no funny business—unless you’re into that kind of thing. I don’t mind that, either.”

Your laughter sounded like a sweet melody to his ears. “You’ve got guts, mister. I’ll give you that.” Has anyone told you how hot you looked while leaning into your bike? Damn. Satoru was distracted, checking you out for a moment until you spoke again, “Fine. One dinner. But don’t think you’re getting into my pants just because you ride a fancy bike.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he promised, grinning from ear to ear.

The light turned green, and without another word, you revved your engine and took off with Satoru right on your tail. The chase was on, but this time, it wasn’t just about the thrill of the ride. 

For Satoru Gojou, it was about something far more exhilarating—winning the attention of the most intriguing biker girl he’d ever met. 

And perhaps, the biker boyfriend and backpack girlfriend content he’d been hoping to post on Tiktok may slightly change into a different direction than he expected. 

[renren-006]

Doctors Magic | Lucius Verus x fem reader

plot: a doctor (previous gladiator) catches Lucius eye. A friendship forms and maybe more. Macranis is an envious man, an evil man.

warning: not historically accurate, violence, fluff, a littleangst

Word count (very long story): 6900 Words

a/n: Here is another story because this man is consuming my every waking moment! My friend said she would go see the movie with me again, and I'm excited about that. (I have to wait a few weeks tho) So until I can see my man on the big screen again, please enjoy my stories!! This is a really long one that took me a few days to finalise so please enjoy this long story!

Other Lucius Stories: Familiar Eyes Emperor Lucius

Ravi wandered into your makeshift home in one of the back cells of the gladiatorial pits. Your room was filled with a desk, a bed, and a closet. You didn't have much, but it was enough to feel like a home. You had no home of your own and no family now, so the cells became your refuge. After your own gladiator days and winning your freedom, you worked with Ravi and became a doctor. 

 A sheet hung over the cell door, along with a little sign saying “Welcome” or “Leave.” It was short, but it got through to the boys. 

“I am telling you, more and more stubborn men in this place,” he said as he sat down. You turned from your desk, a book left open. “This new one, you would like him”

“Oh, would I?” you asked, facing towards the man who sat in your patient chair. “How do you know what I like?”

“I have eyes, femina. I see what you watch” he told you wiggling his finger at you, “and this one would make you…”

“I do not need you insinuating anything about my feelings, Ravi,” you told him. You got up from the chair and walked past him to the door. You peered out of your cell, which looked towards the training grounds. “Where?” Ravi got up and pointed towards the man. He was practicing his fighting against another gladiator, their swords crashing into one another. 

“Am I right?” Ravi questioned, leaning slightly over their shoulder. You smiled up at the man, a brother of sorts to you now. “I…Maybe,” you told him, looking back at the brown-haired gladiator. “He looks troubled,” you noticed. This man looked as if he cared so much on his shoulders. The burdens of his past seeped into his being. Ravi nodded as he exited your tiny home, traveling back towards the gates where the other gladiators fresh out of the sun needed help. You took the morning off to be able to read a new book you had acquired. You watched the new gladiator fight from your door until he felt your eyes and turned to look at you. Dipping back into your room, you returned to your book before you made a fool of yourself by watching this man. Unfortunately, only so much could keep you attentive to your book as one of the boys traveled up to your door, another day of saving lives. 

You knew most of the men who worked and played here. Macranis was one of these men, always trying to worm his way into your life. He had not been the one to bring you in, a champion. He was so irritated and jealous of his competitor that it was rumored he had the man killed and took the slaves he owned. This was a rumor, of course. You knew this man was trouble no less and kept him further than an arm's length away. The problem with your avoidance is his insistence that you join his gatherings and events and even watch the games alongside him. You couldn't avoid it even when Ravi offered to cover for you and say you were not feeling well and were under the doctor's orders to stay in bed. 

That was where you sat that afternoon, watching the gladiatorial games beside Macranis in the emperor's box. Knowing you would be watching the boys get injured and be unable to treat them because of these obligations haunted you. You shifted uncomfortably in those lavish chairs. 

“How nice of you to join us again y/n,” Geta spoke, “always nice to have a favored victor in our box”

“The pleasure is all mine. I am pleased to be able to sit here with your allowance, Emperor Caracalla and Geta,” you told them, sucking up to the emperors. They both looked at you with some form of hunger. You did your best to swallow your disgust down. Macranis's hand came into view as he put it onto your arm. 

“I am thankful you allowed my request to have her join us,” Macranis said to them.

“For our friends, of course,” Caracalla said in a sing-song voice. You smiled, fakely, at the emperors and Macranis before focusing back on the game in front of you.

Just as you did, the new gladiator stepped out into the arena with a few others following. When he glanced up at the box and his eyes cast over everyone, they stopped when they landed on you. You both watched each other briefly before he looked back to the arena to see who he was fighting. The man atop the rhino left the gates, and you gasped slightly. As the fight continued and the gladiator continued winning, you could see him calculating his next move. As the rhino charged, he threw the gravel and rolled the other way. The gladiator on top of the rhino had no choice but to leave it and fight your gladiator on the ground. 

“Mercy, Mercy,” shouts rose from the crowd; they did not wish to see him killed. 

“Mercy,” you spoke, as did Lucilla. The woman's eyes met yours, and a small smile was placed there. She was a woman that many would underestimate, but you could tell she was the smartest one here. You smiled back at Marcus Aurellius' daughter. 

“Your life has been spared,” Geta said to your gladiator. “I would sooner face your blade than be given Roman mercy,” he yelled back right before he killed the man in front of him and stumbled back down to the ground. You could see his wounds and knew you had to tend to them. 

“I must take my leave; my boys need me,” you told the others. The General and his lovely wife, Lucilla, gave you a smile. Macranis, however, looked displeased.

“They will survive one more game without you,” he said matter-of-factly. You shook your head.

“After this last battle, I'm afraid I must insist,” you said as you rose, to which Macranis grabbed your arm.

“Then I will see you at my ball tonight,” Macranis implied. He had a way with words where they sounded like questions, but really, he wasn't asking. 

“As you wish”

Back with the gladiators, you found your way to the gladiator's room. He sat there watching his arm bleed. When he noticed you had arrived, he stiffened.

“Come, I should fix that arm of yours,” you said, motioning for him to follow you back to your room. Hanno nodded and followed suit. He sat in the chair beside yours and propped his arm on the table. “You're going to want to take a big whiff of this; it's for the pain,” you told him while holding up a tiny dish with smoking opium. He only nodded and sniffed right before you put the needle into his arm. 

“Damn woman,” he said to you, and you chuckled. 

“I have heard worse,” you told him, “Tell me, gladiator, what is your name?” “Hanno,” he grunted, his teeth showing the pain he was in regardless of the opium flowing through him.

“Well, Hanno, I am y/n,” you told him, trying to make conversation while you stitched him up. You looked up to see Hanno nod at you in acknowledgment. 

“Why were you with Macranis?” he asked you. You looked up to meet his eyes. His blue eyes were almost consumed by his pupils, high off the opium. He looked at you sweetly, swaying slightly in the chair. 

“A request I couldn't afford to refuse,” you told him. Hanno was quiet after that, letting you finish stitching him up and tend to his other injuries. Once you were done, you sat back, seeing Hanno leave. “I look forward to seeing you fight again, Hanno,” you told him. 

“I look forward to being in your care again,” he told you, that you were left alone in your room once again. 

Macranis required you to join his party, and it was almost required after you left early from the games. You wore one of your more elegant dresses and headed for his estate. Once there, you made your way inside and saw the rest of the elite of Rome. You felt entirely out of place. Macaronis made it his job once he knew you had joined to keep you at his side. As the hours ticked by, you felt more and more ready to leave and return to the gladiators. Soon Macranis led you away and into a room out of wandering eyes. 

“I should get going,” you told the man, hoping to avoid anything he was panning or even the conversation you were being brought into. 

“Do you not wish to stay with me?” he asked smoothly. You felt your skin crawl at his words. You did not want to keep being alone with this man. 

“As much as I enjoy your company, I need to go so I am ready for the games tomorrow and my job,” you told the man. He didn't like that answer. You began to get a bit worried, looking twords the doorway.

“Stay,” he commanded. You wanted to run as his hands clasped over your arms. He was too close, and you turned your head.

“I must leave,” you tried again. His only response was to grab your face and turn it to look at himself. As he got closer and closer to you, you decided to push him off you. Macranis stumbled back. “I said I must go,” you said again. As you turned to leave, Macranis grabbed your hand and pulled you back. His fist flew towards you. It rang through your skull, making you stumble. You haven't been punched well since you won your freedom. The slap that followed was harsh. He grabbed your face in his hands again. 

“Next time I offer you a spot by my side, do not push me away,” he said, and he kissed your cheek, “I won't be as…kind about my violence next time.” 

Once the man let go, you sprinted out the part, never making eye contact with anyone there, knowing your abrupt departure probably caused no one to turn. 

You stumbled back into the gladiator's arena. Your dress was disorganized, your hair a mess, and you could feel the forming bruise deepening on your cheek. The cut on your lip made you wince, and you didn't even want to know how you looked. As you made your way past the training grounds, you could see Hanno, your gladiator, training. He looked at you as he heard the footsteps, and you could see you did not look well by the look in his eyes. You turn your head fast and quicken your pace to your cell. He followed.

“What happened?” he asked at your doorway. You had just sat on your bed when he rounded to your door. You didn't say anything, and I'm still unsure if your voice would work. The ability to put what happened into words was hard. Hanno came inside the room, closer to you now. “Who did this?” “Macranis,” you spoke lightly. Finally, finding your voice. You looked up at him, a wordless plea for him to sit beside you. Hanno came over to your bed, sitting gently next to you. 

“I will kill him for you, if you wish,” he said; you laughed a little but winced slightly when your lips upturned. A small subtle joke to lighten the mood. The undertones of the offer hung in the air. “What shall I use to help?” he asked. 

You motioned with your hand to the rag on your table, a small bowl of water and ointment you knew would help your lips from becoming infected. Hanoo gently did as instructed and cleaned your lip, cheek, and the cuts on your forehead. Once done, he put a small amount of ointment in your lip and a small torn piece of cloth to help it stay. You were grateful for his help.

“Thank you, Hanno,” you told him. He only nodded. You could hear the guards rounding up the others to get them into their cells. “As much as I enjoy your company, I'm afraid it is your bedtime.”

“That time again,” he told you getting up from next to you, “I will see you tomorrow, y/n”

“Sleep well Hanno”

The next day, you woke up to a bruised cheek, split lip, and a pounding headache. You dressed fast, set your hair up in a hairdo that wouldn't aggravate the headache, and headed out. YOu passed by the other gladiators and stopped by Ravis set up.

“You mind?” you asked him. Ravi looked up from his unpacking to rush over to you.

“y/n! What on the gods happened.” “I can not speak his name right now,” you said, glancing around at the guards. Ravi quickly understood, having known about Macranis and the rumors. Ravi motioned you to sit as he worked on your split lip. He stitched it up once and washed it to disinfect it. The bruise, however, couldn't be helped much. He put a light amount of bast to help, but that was all he could do. 

“I am sorry for this,” he told you. You shook your head, knowing it was never his fault.

“Should have seen Hanno. Looked as if he wanted to rip the man's head off” 

“He saw?”Ravi asked surprised. “He helped,” you told him simply. “Gladiator tending to his doctor, what an interesting turn of event.s” 

“Did I not say you would like him” Ravi said. You chuckled and nodded your head. That day you didnt join Macranis inside the emperors box. You did not leave the grounds for many days, deciding keeping to be around the gladiators was safer than the world beyond those walls.  

*

“Are you from Rome?” Hanno asked. You looked up twords the man. You had sat yourself outside by the training grounds. Another one of the books you remembered your father reading was in your hands. Hanno had walked over from where he was training to join you. As you looked twords the sky, you realized how the afternoon had slowly started to turn to night. Many of the other gladiators had already left. 

“Yes,” you told him, “I used to live just outside of Rome.” “How did you end up here?” he asked curiously. “My father. He was not well-liked,” you told the man. Hanno sat next to you, obviously wanting to know more. “He was a political speaker, always talked about the good words of Marcus Aurelius and how our Rome should be as he speaks. It is as they say; his words were real until the moment they were talked about, and then it became a whisper once again.n” “What happened to him?” “He was killed. Right here at the coliseum, actually,” you told him. You remembered the moment he died, standing close to him on that gravel arena. Your father spoke no words at that moment but looked to the sky as he was killed. After that, you were instead sentenced to be a slave to the games. “I was forced into the games after that, and my mother was long dead before any of this.”

“Im sorry” he told you. The words of understanding, the pain inside that sorry. You knew Hanno had lost people, you knew he understood your feelings.  

“You have lost people, so have I. I fought for years with his ideas in my mind, but with these new emperors and Macranis, I am not sure that the Rome Marcus Aurelius spoke about is achievable,” you told him, shutting the book in your hands. It wasn't like you had given up on your father's words, but you feared they started meaning less at some point. “I think it can be,” Hanno told you. “I hail from Numidia but was born here in Rome.” You met his eyes. He kept this to himself; you had not heard the others talking about where he was from. You were shocked he trusted you enough to tell you about his origins. 

“You are Roman” you asked, the shock of his reval settling into your bones. 

“Yes. I lived here during and after Marcus Aurelius” he told you. “I know those ideas”

“I guess his vision is not completely a whisper then” you told the man. Hanno nodded. “Would you tell me more about your home?”

Hanno and you traveled to his cell and talked for hours in hushed tones about his home, and you talked about yours. You recalled all the memories of your childhood home, the garden, the foundation, and the long walkway to get to your home. You talked about the way your father would always smell of parchment and how he had an entire room of Marcus Aurelius's words and writings inside, along with other political and philosophical ideals. Hanno asked many questions about your father and his ideals, and you told him everyone. The idea of a new Rome, a better Rome, was something even the two of you still hoped could exist. You, in turn, asked about his life in Numidia and what it was like there. He told you about his home and his late wife. You wanted to know more about his home but it was still a subject of sorrow for him. When the night became late, the two of you didn't stop talking. Instead, you curled in His small bed and continued till your eyes fell heavy.  

Another day woke the world. You rose from Hanno's cot, and it was another long night of talking. It was starting to get to you during the day and you knew Hanno needed more sleep for his games. You rose from the side of the bed closest to the open room. Slipping out from under Hanno's arm, you slipped out of the cell and back to your room. Unfortunately, you were again required to join Macranis in the emperor's box. You had refused to see him for far too long that you knew there would be trouble if you didn't go. You wore the same pink dress you had whenever you sat there and strolled back out into the world. Macranis was already in the box when you joined him in the afternoon heat.

“The champion doctor” Get a spoke, “finally back in our box” 

Macranis eyes met yours, and so did the Generals. That bruise and cut lip were still not fully healed. 

“Take my seat y/n” General Acatious spoke, “I wish to sit a bit higher up today” You could feel the tension in your back left as you sat next to Lucilla, refusing to look twords the man next to Acacius. 

“Afternoon, my lady,” you spoke to the woman. She smiled warmly at you. 

“Welcome” she told you, “Now I finally have someone to gossip with” she told you, clearly doing her best to lighten the mood. 

“I do enjoy a bit of gossip,” you told her, “The gladiators don't gossip much. I require some good Roman insite.” Lucilla smiled, enjoying your company already. You knew the woman had supported your father during his political activism, and she clearly remembered who you were. If only you were able to speak to her now about it all. Lucilla eyed you curiously. You smiled and shook your head. As the two of you continued to chat, Lucilla told you about the new elite women and wine companies opening up by the ports. Once it was Hanno's turn, your focus was more on the games, and Lucilla seemed to also be particularly interested. As you watched him walk out like he always does, a smile played on your lips. Hanno eyed you in the box and shifted them between you and Lucilla; he smiled and even took a moment to just look at you. You wish your heart was not pounding as hard as it was, but he had that effect on you. Lucilla gave you a knowing look.

“Your favorite?” she asked. You laughed a little.

“What gave it away?” you asked. She only smiled at that. 

“He is a strong and capable one,” Lucilla remarked, almost as if she wanted to know what you thought. 

“Hannos a good man,” you said to her. Lucilla looked…proud at your words. The games continued o,n and when Hanno won his game and was sent back under the arena, you took your leave. Lucilla bid you farewell, as well as General Acasius. Macranis only focus on the games, no mind to you. Worry built inside you at that. When you walked back down to the gladiators and that moment played in your mind, you almost missed the door to your room. 

Macranis grew increasingly insistent on your attendance in the box and even at his parties. You had not gone, and even when you joined them in the box, Lucilla started making Gernal Acasius give his seat to you instead. You had not talked or spoken to the man in a few weeks. 

“You seem worried today,” Hanno told you as he entered your room. You nodded your head at him.

“I have fought in those pits, and for some reason, Macranis scares me more than those men ever did,” you told him, “I do not want to go alone to that lavish party.”

“He is insisting again?” he asked shocked. 

“It feels more than just insisting, almost like he thinks he can command me to go,” you told him. “I am sick of men telling me what to do.”

“Believe me, y/n, I understand,” Hanno told you, causing you to take a deep breath and calm down. He had a way of calming you down, even if his words were simple. “Do not go if you fear it; stay here and talk with me.” Hanno's pleading eyes were enough to almost make you say yes.

“I wish I could,” you told him. “I wish nothing more than to stay here with you, but I can not. This man, the power he holds here, it is worse if I do not go.”

“Take me” he said quickly. You looked at the man with shock. 

“You must be mad!" you said with wide eyes. Hanno had to have lost his mind. “Take me; I will protect you,” He insisted, grabbing your hands. There had been a shift in Hanno since you started speaking and lying together at night. Those moments together left him wanting to be a different, better man. He says you and you saw him, and because of that, he tried to protect it. 

“Taking you is too much, Hanno, that's asking for punishment not only for you but me too,” you told him. “I will go for a short time and be back before you know it”

While the party was lavish as ever, many of the roman elite were there again. Many more men and women were there from the pleasure houses for the gusts, too. Macranis spotted you immediately. 

“My my y/n, you look wonderful tonight,” he told you. Bowing you kissed his hand as he extended it to you. A small prayer went out to the gods in favor of no violence happening. You smiled up at Macranis.

“Thank you for having me,” you told him, lying through your teeth. He only cooly smiled. He kept you by his side, and he talked with others. Then, with one group, they spoke of the games and the gladiators in them; Macranis smiled. 

“Y/n” he said, “You have a soft spot for those gladiators, do you not?” “I…I treat their injuries, if that is what you mean?” You said to those around you. “You are the doctor?” One of the ladies asked with disgust, “How can you stand it?” “It is not all that bad,d,” you told them.

“She was a slave in the Colosseum,” Macranis said quickly, causing many eyes to fall on you, “She would not be disgusted by these men because she used to be one” “I…” 

“You were a slave,” A mother spoke, the disbelief and disgust evident on their face and in their words. You wanted to shrink away or even yell at them that their opinions of slaves and gladiators were wrong. You could only look at the eyes of everyone and see their true feelings and judgment. 

“Yes. Yes. She was quite fierce. Were you not?” you could only focus on the growing ringing in your ears. MAcranis laughed slightly and his arm cascaded over your shoulders. “It's no wonder she stays; she's got many men down there to satisfy her.”

“I do not,” you snarled. You looked at Macranis with a feeling you haven't felt since the arena. You wanted this man dead. “I am there to treat them with the respect they have earned.”

“Respect? Why would those lowly and traitorous men deserve respect?” He asked you. He had a motive here, to make you seem undesirable to the people around him and to remind you of your place. He was still pissed about not allowing his advances and your avoidance of him in the emperor's box. MAcranis was not a man to take lightly; he was dangerous. 

“They deserve more respect than you do,” you told him, shoving his arm off yours and leaving his lavish palace. 

When you retuned, you found a woman talking to Hanno. He saw you in the hallway before the woman did. Lucilla turned twords you, letting her veil sway as she did. She smiled at you before she turned back to Hanno and bid him a good buy. 

“My dear y/n,” Lucilla spoke to you, “thank you.” Wonder flooded through you. Glancing back to Hanno, you saw him seated with his head in his hands.

“Is he okay?”

“I believe he will be. He will find a way to be with your help,” she told you. You were ever curious about why she was there and what her words meant. “I must be off. Oh, and dear, you better take care of that,” she said, pointing to the matchup you knew was running down your face. As you swiped it away, she was gone. Looking back you saw Hanno watching you, he motioned you to his cell. As the door was opened for you, he swallowed you in his arms. 

“Are you alright?” he asked you. A small laugh escaped you. 

“I could ask the same,” you told him as he realized you to look at your face. He brushed your cheek, spearing or clearing the rined makeup you were not sure. 

“What did he do?” he asked, the intensity of his voice surrounding the room. 

“I never realized how hard words could hurt,” you told him; another tear fell just at that. “I was there just to be humiliated,” you told Hanno. 

“He is a dangerous man,” Hanno said; you nodded your head. “I..need to tell you something,” he spoke to you, leading you over to his bed. 

“What is it?” you asked him. He looked as ifhe wanted to take back what he said. 

“I have not been truthful with you,” He told you, “I'm more than just a Roman. My name is Lucius Verus Aurelius, and my grandfather was Marcus Aurelius.” You stared at him, unable to think of what to say next. You just nodded your head at him, eye contact never breaking. “I'm sorry I did not tell you before” 

“Why are you sorry?” you asked suddenly, “Han-Lucius, you have a name, a history that holds such weight within Rome, of course you did not say anythin.g” 

“I had not come to terms with who I was for a long time,” he said, “I did not want to be him, but I think it is time I remember who my family was. It is because of you I can accept it” “Lucius,” you said, sweetly saying his name as you held his face in your hands. “I did nothing. You had to concur that battle yourself.” 

“I could not have done it without you,” he told you. Leaning into your hands. You wanted him close to you, your heart beat faster. “Thank you”

“I'm so glad I could help you,” you told him. “I…I know you are not ready…but if you tell your secrets, I should tell mine.” “If you wish,” he said, you dropped your hands into your own lap.

“I did not mean to fall for you, Lucius, but I have. I know your past and pain, and I do not wish to force anything onto you, but I think you should know my feelings,” you said, only looking up once you had finished. Lucius held an unreadable face. “I'm glad you told me about your origins. I will leave you for the night,” you said and got up. Lucius' hand found yours before you could leave. You glanced back at him, only for him to place his hand on your cheek and bring you close, kissing you sweetly. You almost lost your balance, but Lucius held you. When you broke,e and he looked at you, the smile in his eyes and lips made you understand. 

“I do feel the same, but I am still a broken man,” he told you, “Would you be there with me to learn to love again?”

“For you? Anything” you told him. Lucius smiled and pulled you in for a hug.

That night, you lay in his arms as he recalled the memories he had as a child. He recalled the memories with his mother, his grandfather, and the man he admired, who was his father. You remembered Maximus, who set out to get revenge against Emperor Commodus. Here, his son lay after twenty years of being away from Rome, only to end up in the same games his father played in. Lucius was strong; you knew he was. 

You were not told about the plot to de-throne the emperors until a few days later. Lucius returned from his naval battle after trying to kill General Acacius, only for his mother to go and tell him about her plans. Lucius felt terrible for letting his anger get the best of him and almost killing the man his mother clearly loved. He told you about their plans and how Macranis was slowly inching his way further and further into the emperor's minds. He was evil; you both knew it, but how much did the people know. You could always feel the tension between the people and the emperors, knowing they were close to rebelling. 

It was a lovely afternoon when a few men came to take you to Lucius mothers home, Lucilla stood at the gate with a smile on her face. You embraced her and walked in together. As you two talked you could tell she wonderd how much you knew. 

“They do not hold the people's hearts,” you told Lucilla casually. “One wrong move by the emperors, and I fear the people may result in madness.” You gave her a knowing look that, hidden within your words, were hits to cause something to get the people on their side. 

“I fear that as well,” she told you. Lucilla was already aware of the people's disloyalty. She nodded her head twords you, understanding that Lucius had told you everything. “How is your gladiator?”

“Very well” you told her smiling, “he has a heart I havent even beguin to understand fully. I look forward to learning more”

Lucilla smiled, another knowing glance. She could see the blush on your cheeks and maybe also your red lips. There was a glow about you, something only Lucius could bring out. 

“Lucilla. He makes me believe in Rome again,” you said to her. A vulnerable statement with no layers or undertones, a clear meaning anyone could understand. You did not wish to hide how her son made you feel or believe in a better future. 

“You have truly helped him find himself then,” she said. “I always knew his father's heart was in him” 

“He's got his mother smarts as well,” you told her, “and his grandfather's spirit.” Lucilla could feel your pride for her son. Lucius was a good man who had overcome so much in his life. Now that he was here in Rome you could believe that Rome could change and be better. Lucilla could sense this revelation and leaned back in her chair. The rest of the afternoon was spent gossiping and even talking of favorite tea flavors. It was evening when you arrived back at the gladiator's homes. You were not alone. The moment of capture happened so fast that you had no time to panic. You were unconscious before you even fell. 

When you awoke, you were in a lavishly designed room. Around you were some chairs, a table, a small closet, and a window. You rise from the bed, realizing you are still wearing the pink dress you wore to meet Lucilla. As you walked over to the window, you looked out onto the Roman streets and noticed the Colosseum loomed close to the building. You were inside Macranis house. When those doors opened, the man himself walked through the doors. He smiled at you and clapped his ringed hands together. 

“Welcome,” he said. You looked back outside before you glanced back. 

“How long have I been here?” “Only a few hours,” he told you and walked over. “We have a spectacle to put on today, my lovely. Get changed, and I will escort you to the Colosseum.”

“What spectacle?” you asked. 

“It will be your spectacle,” he said, “A spectacle for the people on what happens when you fool me.” As he left, you felt yourself fall to the ground. He had planned for your death since that first incident, and now he had his opportunity. You dressed in the lavish white gown he wanted you to wear, your hair was braided elegantly, and you were led out to the games. As you walked in, cuffs were put onto your hands. 

The more you walked, the more you realized no one was on this side of the colosseum; you were going to the second entrance to the gravel pits. You stepped inside, and every memory that was housed here from your time came flooding back. You remember your fights, your rage and your ability. The ability to fight for survival had been lost to you, put away but now back. 

“Passed famed gladiator y/n now here for her traitorous acts of not honoring an engagement and being with a slave gladiator, Hanno” the announced shouted twords the people of Rome. You could hear the disagreeing voices of the crowd. This was what a mass crowd looked like when angered. As you looked into the emperor's box, you saw Macranis smiling and the emperors watching with intrigue. Lucilla sat in her chair near them chaine,d and General Acatious was held similarly. Lucilla looked at you with fear for yourself and yourself. Understanding shone in your eyes; you were all here for one territory or another. Macranis had made your spectacle be first saving Lucillas and the generals for later on that day. You where calculating your odds when the doors opened. Lucius walked out but stopped once he saw you in the center. The guards around you were ready to close once he came closer. He walked slowly, never letting his eyes leave you.

“y/n…” he muttered, pain evident in how he spoke your name. He worried the whole knight over where you were.

“Wait,” you told him. You knew they would be listening, and you didn't need him being dragged into this. You were still thinking of how you were going to get out of here when a sword was thrown at your feet. You glanced twords the box as Geta stood. 

“Gladiator, do your job and kill this…whore before you. She has betrayed a dear friend of the emperors and must be punished.” He spoke with conviction, sure of his words and actions. The crowd booed at them; some stood, and others stayed seated, speaking their minds. Lucilla looked twords you; maybe she could also sense the emperors losing their support. The emperors were oblivious to the rising hatred. You looked back at Lucius, hoping he could see the rage in your eyes. You wanted to show these people that they could fight against the emperors against the people who oppressed them. 

You crouched and gathered your sword and locked eyes with Lucious.  You moved your hands so the chains clanked against one another, and Lucious's eyes grew. Good, he knew what to do. Lucius raised his sword, showing his acceptance of the game. He charged at you, and in the last moment, you opened your arms till the chains pulled against one another, and Lucius' sword swung down, breaking them. The guards around you readied their swords. 

“Seems I get to see you in action now” Lucius said with a smirk.

“Ready to see what a champion looks like?” you asked smuggly, turning around and becoming flush with Lucious own back as you wathed the wtow sides of the arena.

“You ready?” he asked. “As I'll ever be” 

The guard charged, and you danced with them. Your sword flew through the air, your enemies falling prey to the sharp edges. The dress you wore flowed with you, you were the waves against the italian shore flowing with power and grace. The cuffs and loose chains rattled against your arm and sword as you spun, making your ears ring. Blood now stained that white gown and you hardly cared. Your hair slowly came loose from those braids, and you felt the same feelings you had all those years ago. You had been free for three years, and here you were back where you started fighting for your life, which was exhilarating. You missed the way your blood pumped and your sword cut. You missed the way a sword felt in your hand, like the perfect extension. When you spun around and realized too soon all your enemies lay dead on the collosium floor, you breathed slow and deep. You soaked it all in, letting the sun warm your face. It was exciting when you looked behind you and found Lucius turning to face you. You both had slain the men put here to guard and potentially kill you. When you looked up at the box and saw Macranis with a crestfallen face, you knew you had one last thing to accomplish. As you looked around, you saw one of the men with a knife strapped to his side. You stormed over twords him, dropping your blade with a clatter and ripping the knife out of its sheath. Lucius was by your sid,e instantly taking the knife from you. 

“Lucius” you said daringly. He only smiled.

“Allow me the honors” he said, “I said I would kill him for you and that is what I intend to do.” 

You watched as the man before you somehow found a way into the emperor's box, walking past everyone there and right to Macranis, who had no time to fight before the knife was plunged deep into his heart. There were words whispered by Lucious into Macranis's ear, only for him to know. The look that befell Macranis's face told you that whatever words had been said had killed him more than that knife had. 

“Guards” Geta yelled, but no one came. As you looked at the crowd, you realized why. There, the people took up their own arms and fought against the soldiers stationed there. Your intended execution had caused the people to realize their low place in this Roman world, and now they were doing their best to take it back. As Geta and Caracalla left the coliseum, you knew their lives would be ended shortly. 

*

Lucious stood out on the hill looking down twords Rome. You wandered over from your farmhouse and hugged the man, sliding to his side. 

“You overthink,” you told him. He laughed before looking down at yo,u pulling you closer to his side. It was a wordless encounter, knowing only you knew him and his soul now. Lucilla and Acacius were alive and back in their home in Rome, leaving you and Lucius to move out to the countryside. You preferred this life, a quiet one, compared to your formal living arrangement. You still worked as a doctor, tending to some of the locals and Lucius when he got nipped by the chickens. It became well known that they preferred you to him. You relaxed in Lucius arms, this was what your father had been talking about. Peace and steadyness in Rome. You could feel it, like Rome had been holding her breath for so long, and now she had let go. The people of Rome were treated better now, in the hands of the people for the people. 

“I guess his dream was not a whisper after all,” Lucius said. “Our fathers will now be at peace”

[rauspberries]

The Dinner | A.H

lawyer!aaron hotchner x paralegal!reader.

summary: at a party you don't fit into, you run into the one person you don't want to see. luckily, your hot boss is totally okay to play along, and take care of you afterwards. tags/warnings: afab reader, no use of y/n or description of reader [other than wearing a dress], more hidden flirting and tension, protective & dreamy aaron hotchner, slight age gap, mentions of a narcissistic ex-boyfriend and gross men, mentions of alcohol and drinking, word count: 4.2k notes: I LOVE IT HERE i actually had so much fun writing this

You don’t know why you agreed to come to this stupid thing.

Usually, you thrived at parties. You wore something that made you desirable, you floated through a room instead of walking, you held a dazzling smile and you attracted the eyes of everyone you wanted to. You enjoyed parties so much that you tended to be the host of them, or at least the person that people went to when they needed something.

But parties like this, filled with lawyers and district attorneys and firm owners, were exhausting. Lawyers, usually men, were arrogant, to the point that it was suffocating. They believed they dominated the world the same way they owned the courtroom, that they were the most convincing batch of people in the world just because they could win a case or two. Being a woman in a room full of drunk male lawyers was not your definition of a fun Friday night.

Glancing around the room, your eyes catch on the reason you were here just as you bring your vodka soda to your lips. The prosecutor you had come to enjoy the presence of was talking with one of the district attorneys, no emotions reflected on his face as he spoke, large hands wrapped around a glass. He looked delectable in a perfectly tailored dark suit, the top button of the navy blue button-up undone and no tie in sight. It was the closest you’d get to seeing him dressed down without ambushing him outside of work.

Aaron had come into your office on his way out the day before, repeating the same routine he had suddenly developed, his suit jacket draped over his arm. In the same nonchalant tone he usually kept, he had asked you if you were planning on going to the party. You had heard about it around the firm, but you had assumed it was for associates and partners only. Paralegals didn’t often get invited to parties, being the small fish in the pond of lawyers. Plus, you didn’t like conversing with lawyers longer than you needed to – unless they were Aaron, of course. 

And because you couldn’t help yourself, because you couldn’t say no to him, you smiled at him and told him you’d go. Then, you had kicked yourself mentally as soon as he had left, knowing everything you’d have to do to prepare yourself. A new outfit, a good mental peptalk to hype yourself up, and a shot before you enter the door for good luck.

You’re interrupted from shamelessly ogling your boss by a familiar booming laugh, your gaze immediately darting over to a group of men. They’re all fondling a glass of some sort of dark liquor, ranging from whiskey to scotch to bourbon. Your heart rate picks up as you glance at each of the faces, body stiffening at the sight of a familiar one.

Back when you were newly a paralegal, before you had been introduced to the rules behind the politics of being beneath lawyers in the corporate food chain, you had made a stupid mistake – you had dated one. 

Michael had been a good man, buying you gifts and taking you out on lavish dates you’d never be able to afford on your own, until you had had a chance to look back on him. Slowly, you had become more of a trophy to him rather than a loving girlfriend. He had carted you around to parties just like this, hand curled around your waist like he was afraid you’d drift away, slipping in comments about how you were just a paralegal, how you were fighting to become a lawyer, like you hadn’t been working your damn hardest to balance a new job, its workload and all of your classes as well.

Your break-up hadn’t been amicable, or even neutral. It had been a two-hour long argument, screaming until your throat hurt, each scalding insult out of his mouth piercing directly into your ego. After him, you had put your foot down about dating lawyers, especially young ones with a lot to prove. Since your break-up slash fight, you had managed to avoid him pretty well – until now. 

Immediately, you’re spinning around to aim your back towards him, only to come face-first with Aaron’s chest. Despite the heels you had purchased just for this event, he still towers over you, your chin having to tilt up to catch his eyes.

“Are you okay?” He asks, the low baritone washing over you like a wave. Despite the gentleness of the question, his face doesn’t change, oddly calm. You notice that his gaze is still sharp and focused, not as dazed as some of the other prosecutors surrounding the two of you. Glancing down, you also note that the single ice cube in his scotch had melted, and the drink was only halfway downed. He hadn’t been drinking, just socializing. That was good.

Shaking your head, you hold your drink closer to your chest. ‘Uhm, yeah. Fine.” You clear your throat before bringing your glass back up to your lips, downing what’s left of it before placing the empty glass on the table behind you. “Just don’t have much in common with people here.”

“You’re working to become a lawyer and you don’t have anything in common with other lawyers?” He questions, tone amused. You don’t miss the small tilt at the corner of his lips, or the crease at the corner of his eyes, the small little things that made up his amusement.

Huffing, you shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. “Not men. All the men here probably see me as a glorified assistant. I wouldn’t be surprised if a few of them call me sugar and ask me to get them another drink.” You can’t help the slight scorn that seeps into your tone, leaning back against the table behind you and letting your eyes land on Michael again.

Aaron notices the change in your body language, his eyes following yours to look for what’s distracting you. “Who’s he?” His head tilts towards the group of lawyers before he’s glancing back at you, sipping at the scotch in his hand.

“What?” You question, too fast for your own liking, pulling your lips into your mouth in an attempt to keep you from rambling nervously. At the slightest quirk of his brow, you’re crumbling, deciding that he’d pick apart your lie more and more the more you tried to keep it up. “My ex-boyfriend. Dated him back when I was too stupid to know better.”

He lets out a huff of a laugh, sidling up beside you and letting his arm brush against yours. “Didn’t end well, I assume?” 

One glance up at him, you try to fight the smile that threatens to cross your lips. Rather than trying to avoid confrontation, he’s doing the exact opposite of what you’d do, his dark eyes zeroing in on the young lawyer that was still somehow oblivious to the death glare currently directed towards him. With Aaron standing beside you, you feel more confident, like he’d protect you if anything happened.

Before you have the chance to respond to the prosecutor’s question, Michael’s eyes finally catch yours. You note the furrow in his brow before his eyes light up, dread pooling in your stomach as you watch him excuse himself from his current conversation, immediately making his way towards you. If you weren’t too focused on shooting daggers at him, you’d have noticed the way Aaron slowly moved closer to you, until his entire arm was pressed up against yours while his free hand set his drink down.

Michael calls your name as he gets closer, like he’s unaware of the fact that your entire attention has been focused on him for the past couple of minutes. He has the flushed look to his cheeks that tell you he’s already drunk, his hair mussed on top of his head from running his hands through it. He looks happy to see you, which couldn’t be anything but a problem.

“What are you doing here? Become a lawyer yet?” It’s meant to be demeaning, although it's masked by amusement as his hand comes up to brush against your shoulder. You tense up at the touch, causing him to immediately pull his hand back. He recovers quickly when you don’t respond, his attention turning to Aaron. “Hi. I’m Michael, but many people around here call me Mike. Nice to meet you.”

Aaron glances down at his hand, however he doesn’t make any move to shake his hand. Instead, you’re surprised by the feeling of his fingertips skirting along the small of your back, moving until his hand completely curls around your hip. The touch is light at first, testing to see how you reacted, before it finally settles like a dead weight. “Aaron Hotchner. I’m a prosecutor.” He introduces himself, still eerily calm, even if you’re sure he can hear your racing heartbeat from where he stands.

From how close you are, from how close he’s slightly pulled you from his hold on your hip, you can smell his cologne. It’s manly, spicy, like bergamot. Usually, colognes were overwhelming, suffocating. Here, in his warm touch, it’s comforting. 

Michael’s eyes flicker down to the hand on your hip before back up to his face. He’s completely ignoring you, instead attempting to suck up to the man beside you for his political benefit, even if Aaron is obviously dismissing him. You want to laugh in his face, but you decide that taking the high ground is better.

“Oh, yeah. You worked on the Williamson case recently, right? It was all over the papers, your win. Man, I’d love to hear more about it.” He’s practically slobbering as he looks up at the prosecutor, eyes wide as saucers. It makes you nauseated to think that you were every romantically interested in the man.

Aaron must’ve noticed the way your eyes glazed over in boredom, fingertips pressing into your hip bone as he gives you a soft squeeze. “You said it yourself, it was all over the papers. Feel free to read up and send an email to my paralegal if you want any information.” He glances down at you for a moment before back up at the man in front of you. “Actually, please don’t contact my paralegal, or me.”

And then, with a soft ‘excuse me,’ he tightens his hold on your hip, urging you away from Michael. Unable to resist the urge, your lips pull up into a flattering smile as you glance at your ex-boyfriend for one last time, tongue dragging over your top teeth before you step away with the prosecutor. 

Once you’re out of earshot, you murmur softly. “What was that?” You muse, glancing up at him.

“You’re a smart girl, you can figure it out.” He responds nonchalantly, finally letting his hand fall and bringing it back to his side once you sidle up to the open bar. Tapping the counter, he orders you another drink, handing it over to you without a word about it. 

For a moment, you wonder if he’s flirting with you. You let the thought consume you for just a moment as you pull the drink closer, enjoying the cooling sensation of the condensation against your skin as you take a long drink, before you push it away. Aaron is distinguished, mature. He wouldn’t go for the young paralegal with nothing but silly little relationships under their belt.

After you’ve nursed the drink for a while, feeling small underneath the focused gaze of him, he stands up straight, hand finding your back again. It’s a habit of his now, you assume, to lead you around with a gentle touch. However, unlike how it had been with Michael, you didn’t feel like a trophy to him. It was a hold meant to steer you, not a hold meant to control you. You know that if you pushed him away, he’d back off without a second thought. “Come on. We’re gonna introduce you to some of the good lawyers. As a smart paralegal, not as the woman I happened to have my hand on.”

And so he did. For the next couple of hours, Aaron leads you around, introducing you as his favorite paralegal. The compliments that spew from him towards the people around you keeps your cheeks warm all night, constantly keeping your drink full to try and let yourself loosen up beneath his praise. Unfortunately, your attempt at calming yourself only gets you as drunk as the men around you, although you’re easily more controlled than they are.

By the time everyone starts leaving, you need a cab. Aaron lets you hold onto his bicep with a tight grip as he leads you outside, still the face of utmost patience and calm as he helps you down the steps in front of the building. You lean into him as the cool air brushes across your heated skin, taking a deep inhale.

“You’ve been so nice to me, all night.” You babble, letting yourself fully lean into him and enjoy the warmth of his body through his suit jacket. Almost like he senses it, he leans away from you just enough to pull it off, draping it over your shoulders before wrapping his arm around you again. “See? Like that. You’re just so nice.”

His chest rumbles against your shoulder as he leads you down the sidewalk, eyes flickering to your face before your surroundings. “I’m doing the bare minimum. If you believe this is the nicest thing someone can do for you, I’m worried.” He’s amused, you can tell by the lilt of his voice.

With a huff, you push at his chest, although his hold on you makes it so he doesn’t move far. “You know what I mean, Hotchner. You keep doing nice things for me. Like that thing with Michael. And introducing me to all of those lawyers. That could help my career, you know.” Suddenly, you gasp, stopping your feet so fast that he has to hold you up from falling on your face. “Are you trying to make me leave the firm?”

“I’m sorry?” He moves to stand in front of you, hands sliding down to grab your hips to steady you on your heels, which make you realize just how much your feet and ankles ache. 

Placing a hand on his chest, you push into him to keep yourself steady as you raise your foot, fingers digging into the heel of your shoe to pull it off. “You kept introducing me to a bunch of other prosecutors and lawyers and singing my praises. It sounds like you’re trying to pawn me off to some other attorney.” Your voice slowly trails off into a grumble as you peel off your shoe, immediately moving over to your other one.

Aaron lets out a soft sigh as he watches you remove your shoes, nose wrinkling slightly as your bare feet touch the sidewalk. Before you can speak again, he’s sliding your bag off of your shoulder, hoisting it up on his own. In one swift move, he’s crouching down, one arm sweeping beneath your legs and the other bracing your back as he lifts you up. A soft squeak leaves your lips as you’re suddenly lifted off the ground, one hand holding at the back of his neck for some type of stability. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m not letting you put your bare feet on the sidewalk. In this weather, you’ll catch a cold.” He responds easily, hands warm against the exposed skin of your lower thigh as he continues your walk. “Is it alright if I drive you home?”

Sighing, you pull your hand back towards your chest and lean your cheek against his shoulder, eyes fluttering as you fight the tiredness. “If it gets me to my bed faster, sure.” Suddenly, your eyelids pop open again, glancing up at his face. “You never answered my question. Are you trying to pawn me off to the highest bidder?”

Aaron’s quiet as he makes his way to his car, only speaking once he gets to the passenger side door. “Reach into the left pocket of my suit jacket and unlock the car, please.” He instructs, looking down at you.

“Answer my question.” You retort stubbornly, lips pulling down in a tight frown, bottom lip pushing out in a pout.

Rolling his eyes, he’s suddenly moving you in his arms, placing you down to sit on the hood of his car. One hand stays on your hip to keep you perched there while the other digs into the pocket of the jacket covering your shoulders, pulling out the keys himself as he stares directly into your eye. He unlocks the car as your pout deepens, opening the passenger side door before picking you up again.

He places you on the seat gently, laying your shoes and your bag at your feet so you didn’t lose them. Slender fingers grab your seatbelt before he’s leaning over you, cologne wafting over you again as he clicks the seatbelt into place. Rather than immediately pull back, he turns his head to look at you, face so close to yours that you can smell the remnants of his one scotch on his breath. 

“I am not trying to get you to go to a law firm, or another district attorney’s office. I would like to keep you around for as long as possible, if I can.” His hand reaches up to brush a loose strand of hair out of your face, fingertips brushing against your cheekbone and short-circuiting your drunk brain long enough for him to be able to pull his upper body out of the car.

The passenger side door shuts before you can say anything, leaving you in silence as you try to wrap your head around just exactly what’s happening. Unfortunately, you come up with nothing, especially since your last drink is just now settling in and everything is growing fuzzier by the moment.

As soon as Aaron’s in the car, he starts the engine, turning on the heat and reaching over to adjust your vents. “Let me know if you need me to roll down the window.” He murmurs, taking one last once-over of your face to make sure you were okay before turning his gaze back to his mirrors and windows.

You want to take this time to talk to him, to ask questions and enjoy the presence of him outside the office. Despite your drunkenness, you are still rational, but he doesn’t have to know that. You could say whatever you wanted, blame it on the drinks if it backfired. Unfortunately, you’re too tired to come up with anything to say, leaning your head against the car door and letting yourself drift off to sleep.

You’re awoken what feels like ages later by a warm nudge on your knee, eyelids peeling open to see Aaron’s large hand on it. Licking your lips to try and solve your drymouth, you turn your head to look at him, softening under his gentle eyes. “Hi. Are we at my home?”

He chuckles softly, thumb brushing against the side of your kneecap before he sits up, removing his hand and leaving you cold. “You fell asleep before I could ask your address, so I brought you back to my apartment. Is that okay?”

Sitting up, you run your fingers through your hair, praying that your make-up hasn’t smeared too much and you don’t look as dishelved as you feel. “As long as there’s somewhere for me to sleep and a glass of water.”

“Lucky for you, I have both.” With a flash of a smile your way, he turns off the car, immediately opening his door. In a moment, he’s at your door, opening it. Your head finds his shoulder again as he picks you up, abandoning your shoes in the floorboards as he shuts the passenger door. 

He has you inside his apartment before you can even register that you’ve moved, setting you back down on your feet and tugging down the hem of your dress to keep you covered. While he locks the door and sets down his keys in the tray next to it, you take the moment to look around, the hardwood cold against your feet. “Your apartment is very… boring.”

He snorts in amusement from behind you, gentle hands pushing your hair to the side so that he could pull his suit jacket off of your shoulders. Noticing your shiver once the cool air hits you, he tosses it to the side, running his warm hands over your exposed skin. The front of his thighs nudge you forward as his hands slide down to your hips, urging you towards the couch and directing you to sit down. “Good thing it’s not a hotel, then.”

“Zero stars.” You agree, curling into yourself as you settle down into the crook where the arm of the couch met the back of it. “It's freezing in here.” 

Grabbing a blanket off the back of the couch, he drapes it over your lap, both covering the expanse of thigh revealed by sitting down and warming you up. “I’ll grab you some clothes that’ll warm you up,” he responds briskly.. “Did you have any other complaints, princess?” He taunts, a smile pulling at his lips as he stands up straight, placing his hands on his hips..

You copy his grin, tilting your head to the side innocently. “The fact that you haven’t called me that before is quite a shame.”

He makes it apparent that he doesn’t take you seriously, his eyes rolling dramatically before he turns around, disappearing into one of the rooms off of the living room. He returns just a moment later, handing you a stack of clothes. “Shirt, sweatpants and some socks. The bathroom is just there.” He points to a shut door.

Nodding, you slowly stand up, making a show of pulling your dress down for yourself before grabbing the clothes out of his hand. You’re steadier on your feet now as you make your way towards the bathroom, giving him a brave and flirty smile as you shut the door behind you.

In the silence of the bathroom, you take the time to make yourself just a bit more presentable. Peeling off the dress you had bought just the day before and probably wouldn’t wear again, you quickly pull on the clothes that Aaron had given you, glancing at yourself in the mirror once they were on. Both items of clothing swallow you whole, the sweatpants hanging extremely low on your hips and the shirt draping down to your mid-thigh. To prevent accidentally flashing your boss, you use your hair tie to tie up the front of the sweatpants, making the waistline just tight enough to keep the sweatpants from falling.

After wetting your fingers and wiping away all of the make-up that had smeared, you finally step out of the bathroom, taking in the sight of Aaron. He’s changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants, just like you, although they obviously fit him a lot better. The shirt stretches across his shoulder blades as he drapes a blanket over the couch, the sight sending not-so-PG thoughts to your brain.

He turns around at the feeling of your eyes on him, that same amused look he had been sporting all night painting across his face as he notices the look in your eyes. Slowly, his eyes skirt along your entire appearance, softening ever-so-slightly at the corners at just how baggy everything looks. “Are you warmer?”

“Very much so.” You respond, lips parting in a large yawn. “Is this my abode for the night?” Your hand points at the small set-up he’s created on the couch, a couple of throw blankets and a decorative pillow.

Almost immediately, he shakes his head. “No, it’s mine.” Noticing your look, he quirks a brow. “You’re going to comment on how nice I am and then be surprised that I’m letting you take my bed for the night?”

Huffing, you move past him quickly, laying down on the couch before he could stop you. “Not happening, Hotchner. There is such a thing as too nice, and it’s what you’ve been tonight.” Pulling your legs closer to your chest, you lift up the blankets, sliding yourself beneath them. 

To your surprise, he leans down to tap your shoulder, adjusting the pillow behind your back once you’ve leaned forward. “Fine. But you can’t say I didn’t try.” After he’s sure you’re comfortable, he turns around, stepping away again. “Let me grab the stuff I left you in my room, then.”

While he’s gone, you settle deeper into the couch. It’s either surprisingly comfortable, or the alcohol in your system has really taken a toll on you. Or maybe it’s the fact that you’re surrounded in the smell of him, both by the clothes on your body and the blankets over your body.

Your eyes are fluttering closed as you hear his footsteps again, noting the clink of a glass on the side table and the soft rattle of pills. You can’t bring yourself to open them again, or open your mouth to thank him, but luckily he doesn’t seem to expect anything from you.

The only thing you’re able to register before you finally fall asleep is the soft brush of fingers on your forehead, pushing away a couple of stray hairs, before the soft click of a bedroom door.

[ninibeingdelulu]

Morning run ✧

Plot: Kaiser come back from his morning run.

The early morning light filtered through the curtains as Michael slowly blinked awake. His chiseled features settled into that signature smug smirk as he turned to admire your sleeping form beside him.

Just the sight of you curled up peacefully under the sheets made him feel like the luckiest man alive to have such an exquisite prize.

Leaning over, he pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek, lips quirking at the way your nose scrunched adorably in your slumbering state as you let out a soft mumbled groan.

Your arms instinctively reached out, tugging him closer in a sleepy snuggling embrace as if to keep him there.

"Stay..." you murmured groggily into his bare chest.

That low rumbling chuckle vibrated against you as Michael extricated himself with easy confidence.

"I'll be back in an hour, liebe. Morning run."

He threw you a wink before slipping from the warm cocoon of blankets, already energized to tackle another grueling training regimen befitting his status as one of the world's elite youth strikers.

True to his word, sixty minutes later the bedroom door swung open again as a sweaty, freshly exercised Michael returned.

He didn't hesitate before launching himself onto the bed, bounding over and unceremoniously sprawling half on top of you. You jolted awake with a breathless giggle, squirming under the sudden weight.

"Michael! You're all sweaty and gross," you protested with no real heat, trying in vain to shove his muscular frame off as he merely grinned unrepentantly.

With that wolfish glint sparking in those piercing azure eyes, he caught your wrists easily, pinning them over your head as he leaned down to trail hot, openmouthed kisses from your forehead to the tip of your nose.

You laughed again, torn between playing keep-away with your face and just surrendering to his passionate attention.

"Just admit you like it when I'm all hot and bothered for you," he purred cockily against the hollow of your throat.

Michael's wicked tongue darted out to drag a scorching path along the rapid flutter of your pulse.

"I-I haven't even brushed my teeth yet!" you protested weakly, stomach clenching at the blazing path his skilled mouth was mapping with each molten kiss lavished across your skin.

Michael pulled back just far enough to meet your conflicted gaze, sheer naked lust searing behind those intense eyes.

"Don't care," he growled before crushing his lips against yours in a searing, demanding kiss.

A trembling whimper escaped you as your treacherous body arched into him on instinct.

His talented tongue swept past your lips without resistance, slicking against your own.

Michael kissed you deeply, thoroughly enough to leave you dizzily breathless by the time he pulled back with a self-satisfied smirk curling those obscenely full lips.

Tendrils of copper hair stuck wildly to the light sheen of perspiration on his forehead in a way that should have looked ridiculous yet somehow made him even more irresistibly roguish as your shaky fingers caressed the sharp angles of his chiseled jawline.

"Gonna hit the shower," he husked, voice rough from your heated make out.

With one final toe-curling press of his mouth to yours, Michael rolled off you and strutted towards the bathroom, casually swiping his towel from the hook with an exaggerated sway of those powerful hips and not an ounce of modesty.

As the sound of running water reached your ears, you laid there for several long moments just catching your breath and grinning goofily at the ceiling.

Utterly under the spell of your impossible boyfriend - arrogant and domineering, yet somehow filling you with a sense of being the most treasured goddess in existence under his worshipful attentions.

With a deep sigh of contentment, you stretched out the lingering tension before climbing out of bed to start your day.

Your feet still felt a bit unsteady beneath you as you moved towards the kitchen, just imagining the sweltering sight awaiting you later when Michael finally emerged from that shower...

[eroselless]

───────── wait for me // down to the riptide

summary: even divine favor can't save him from the price of doubt. [5.9k]

[charles leclerc x reader]

Greek!AU, orpheus and eurydice

dttr masterlist

warnings: smut, cumplay, cowgirl, death, description of death, religious/theological references (its a greek mythology story)

note: *throws fic, runs away* hehe, see you guys laterrr, bai :)

Charles had always been told he had been touched by the gods. The first time he’d sat down and brushed his fingers delicately a lyre, the melody flowed so effortlessly that even Apollo’s priests began to whisper among each other, wondering how a mortal could possess such a diving talent, one that could even challenge their god. 

Whenever he played, the air around him would still. Animals gathered and the restlessness of his fellow men would quiet. Kings sought him out for their courts, poets would beg to set their words to his melodies and aristocrats would pay millions for even a minute to hear him.

But he never cared for that, not really. Not until he laid his eyes on you. 

You were beautiful in the way soft things were beautiful: delicate but with a strength that made Charles ache just to look at you. It was as if you carried Aphrodite’s beauty in your smile, the way you seemed to light every room with your presence.You were the kind of woman that was written about, craved and yearned for. 

You were the daughter born of a high-born family, promised to Lord Damian an older man your parents had meticulously chosen for you. Wealthy and proud, his status was rivalled only by his towering ego. Your status paired with your beauty made you untouchable, promised to a man of power and ambition Though you were worlds apart, at every banquet, every court gathering you’d find your eyes lingering on Charles for just a moment too long. He would meet your eyes as he would expertly pluck at the strings of his instrument. Your eyes would be half-lidded, chin resting on your hand as if you were hypothesized. And Charles? He could feel your eyes like the warmth of the sun. It wasn’t something he could ignore, even if he wanted to. 

Your first meeting was almost accidental. You’d find him on a marble bench in the gardens late at night, taking refuge from the ongoing party, playing softly to himself under the light of the moon. Most of the guests were still enjoying the lavish reunion, conjuring the spirit of Dionysus in their wines and dancing.

You watched him momentarily from the shadows, admiring how the light flowed around him, as if the gods were watching him at that very moment. Your silk down brushed the hedge, catching on the little branches as you hesitated. 

“You play beautifully,” you call out, stepping into the moonlight. 

Charles looked up, startled momentarily, fingers faltering on the strings. For a moment, all he could do was stare. Having you so close and all to himself, he gave into the temptation. You were luminous, hair catching the silver glow of the moon only made the red carnation tucked behind your ear stand out more.  For the first time, he truly understood why the poets spoke of mortals shining brighter than stars. 

“Thank you,” he replied, his voice quiet but steady. “I didn’t realize I had an audience.”

“Would you mind if I stayed?” you asked, your voice coming out in a shy whisper. “Just for a little while.”

Charles should’ve said no. He should have packed up his lyre and left, putting distance between himself and the tragedy that was only waiting to happen. But he didn’t. He nodded, returning to a melody he’d never played before, inspired by the way you watched and the way you seemed to glow as he played on. 

Over time, you inched closer, asking him questions about himself long into the night. You sat among the stars, giggling together. He’d even placed his lyre into your hands, instructing you how to play as gently as he could. 

“I don’t think I should be here anymore,” you whisper suddenly. Your voice is low, something he can’t quite recognize dripping from it. He could see your eyes drooping, just as they did whenever he played his lyre. It was a look you saved just for him—a gaze that sent shivers down his spine and, now that you were so close, stirred a deep, undeniable heat within him. You were sitting face to face, now seated in the grass instead of the bench you’d been on at the beginning of the night. 

“Then why are you still?” he murmured back, his voice low, his lips close were enough to brush against your temple. 

“I don’t know,” you say, feeling yourself lean closer to him. 

He meets you half-way, his lips pressing against yours hesitantly. He thinks he can feel your mirrored hesitance, almost waiting for him to pull away. There’s a flutter in his belly that erupts in waves as you tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him ever closer. You’ve risen up on your knees, moving into the space between his outstretched legs. His hands caress your back, bringing your chest to his, your breast firmly pressed up against him. He licks into your mouth to glide his tongue over yours, a silent confession of how long he’s been fantasizing about this moment—since the very first time he laid eyes on you. You carried the subtle sweetness of the wine you’d been sipping all evening, while he tasted of something richer, almost intoxicating—a flavor you knew you could never tire of. His hand slips up your torso, sliding over the hills of your breast before finding home at the base of your neck. It stays there, not squeezing but almost as if to memorize the feeling of your skin under his fingers. 

You settle into his lap now, hips gently beginning to rock against his. As your hands fall down to his chest, you can almost hear Eros whispering in your ear, enticing you to give into the feeling that was burning between the two of you, to slip your hand under his tunic or to bring his hand under yours. 

It’s distant, but you hear your name called from beyond the hedge, the voice oblivious to the predicament you’re in. You agonizingly pull away from Charles, staying silent, hoping they’ll move on, but instead, they call out for you again, louder this time.

You sigh, pressing a light kiss to Charles’s lips again before telling him to meet you after the next banquet. Charles nods, blinking as if he’d been pulled out of a dream. He watches as you flatten your gown before giving him a shy wave and disappearing behind the hedges. 

It wasn’t long before you’d see him again, the excuses flowing like water. You would meet with Charles again under the protection of the night, Nyx watching overhead. You’d sneak away from the feasts just as you did that first night, everyone at court whispering how you’d simply tired of Damian’s company. No one suspected where you went instead—slipping through the darkened halls and shadowed gardens to wherever Charles was.

☾ ⋆・゚:⋆・゚

“Oh how the gods have smiled upon us,” he says one night. He has you in his arms, your gown pooled in your lap. It doesn’t stay there, his hands impatiently pulling the scrunched piece of fabric from your frame. He drags his lips down your neck while his hands are anchored on your hips, shifting them gently on his cock. 

You can only muster a weak hum, quietly agreeing with him. You’re shaking a little, your legs exhausted from the effort you’ve been putting in all night. It is almost overwhelming how deliciously he’s pressed to your walls. His moves have been small and gentle tonight, yet he could feel as your walls would tremble with every little push. Your head lulls back, hands anchored to his shoulders, opening up your chest and he can’t help but smile as he sees your chest heaving. 

He kisses at the flesh of your exposed skin, tongue licking long stripes down to your breasts, eventually pulling a pebbled nipple into his mouth. He relishes at the sound of your voice and how it whines at the feeling of his tongue swirling over the sensitive bud. It makes you arch your back slightly, shifting him inside you. 

“Please,” you implore, eyes squeezing shut, begging him to do something, anything to ease the delectable ache he was causing between your legs. Charles sweetly presses his lips against the column of your neck, tilting your face back towards him. “T'es tellement belle comme ça, mon coeur,” he says warmly. No matter how many times he saw you like this, completely bare, he always had a way of turning you into a giggling mess whenever he spoke to you in French. There’s a flutter in your chest that pulls a laugh from your lips that slowly turns into a moan as he pushes you upward before dragging you back down.

He pushes his nose against yours, chasing your lips as he leans back in the bed and pushes up into your. His arm wraps around your waist to hold you steady as he pounds into you. Yesyesyes. You can feel your release nearing. There’s a flash of heat throughout your body as you feel it, a loud groan falling from your lips. Charles keeps pushing his hips, trembling as he pulls out, reaching for his cock. With one stroke, he spills onto you, painting your navel and chest in white. You’re heaving, the sounds of his moans making your center warm up again. 

You slump down to the bed together as he drags his finger through his spend that is pooled on your skin. You eye him, tongue poking out to lick your lips before taking the finger into your mouth as you giggle. He gives you a smirk before reaching for something to clean you up.

Once you’re relatively clean, he joins you back in bed, pulling your body on top of his. Your head rested in his chest, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over his skin. His arm is wrapped around your shoulders, his own fingers smoothing over your bare shoulder as he stared up at the ceiling. The high is dissipating, the silence makes you feel safe, cocooned in each other. You stay quiet for a while, not sure how much time passes before he speaks. 

“What’re you thinking about?” He murmurs, voice heavy with the oncoming wave of tiredness. His other hand comes up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. You tilt your head slowly to look up at him, lips curving into a soft smile. “You were right, it is as if the gods have smiled on us and allowed us this night.” Your voice is soft, as if you didn’t want the gods to hear. 

Charles chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Yet I’m worried that it's a dream that could fade with the rise of the sun,”

“If it is a dream, then let me never wake.” He says, burrowing into the bed. You reach up at his response to trace the lines of his face—his strong jaw, the lips that you were so addicted to. 

“I could spend an eternity like this,” your voice cracks a little as the voice falls from your lips. “I can’t bear the thought of a life apart.” 

He blinks slowly, eyes filling with tears as he looks at you. “There’s no distance I would not travel, no risk I would not take if it meant keeping you.” 

Your throat feels tight as he says this, tears threatening to fall from your eyes now, hot and unbidden. He presses his nose to your cheek, pressing his lips there as his thumb brushes away a stray tear that has slipped down. “I love you,” he says, voice low with his confession.

Your chest feels tight as you shudder, tears cascading down your cheeks. “I have loved you since the very first moment you looked at me and saw not just a lowly musician but a man.” You smile as you let his words sink in. You kiss him, slowly and deeply, almost cradling his face in your hand. It was as if you were trying to imbue in your kiss what words could not. “And I love you,”

Your fingers gripped onto his as you pressed your forehead to his. “What if we left this place?” You ask. “We can run away to somewhere that no one will find us and live out the rest of our days the way we want to.”

Charles stills, his brow furrowing as he searched your face. “Damian will not let you go,” he puzzles, his voice heavy with foreboding. “He won’t accept this rejection, he won't let you slip away.” 

“He doesn’t need to know,” you reply swiftly, your eyes burning with determination. “We can vanish without a trace. He will wake to an empty house, and by the time he realizes we’re gone, we’ll be halfway to the ends of the earth.”

Charles closed his eyes, his jaw tightening. “It’s not that simple. He is a man who sees defiance as an insult, and insults must be repaid. Even if he doesn’t find us, he’ll punish others in your place—think of yours. He’ll ruin them to make an example.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t back down. “And if I stay, what then?” you ask, your voice sharp with desperation. “What becomes of me? A prisoner in a marriage I did not choose, chained to a life I cannot bear? I will wither, Charles. I will fade until there is nothing left.”

“Please don’t ask me to stay,” you beg, your hand gripping his. “Don’t ask me to trade my soul for his pride. We can escape him, Charles. We can outrun the chains he would place around us.”

“And if he catches us?” Charles asks, his voice trembling with the weight of the question. “What then? What price would you pay for this freedom?”

“I would pay any price,” you whisper. “Because freedom with you, even for a day, would be worth a lifetime in his shadow.”

He stared at you, torn between hope and fear. Slowly, he pulled you close once again, pressing his forehead to yours. “You are braver than I will ever be,” he murmured. “And more reckless.”

“Then be brave with me,” you whisper, a shake in your voice. “Be reckless with me, Charles. I love you. And I will not let him take that from me.”

His breath caught, and for a moment, he simply looked at you, his hand brushing your cheek as though committing your face to memory. “I love you,” he says at last, his voice breaking. “I love you more than I ever thought I could love anything.”

“Then let’s leave,” you declare, your  eyes burning with more unshed tears. “Together.”

Charles Presses himself to you once again, arms pulling you as close as he could. When he pulls apart, his hands linger on your face, his touch soft but steady. “The next full moon,” he said finally. “We’ll go. No one will stop us.”

“No one will find us,” you correct him, a small smile breaking through your tears. “And if they do, it will already be too late.”

“Together,” he said, his voice resolute.

“Together,” you echoed, your hand curling against his chest.

The weeks go by quickly. You disappear into the night, leaving Damian to ruminate in his study. He could see you weren’t tired, something in your eyes giving it away. “She’s hiding something,” He says one day, tone as cold as the marble floors beneath his feet. Lysander stands at the foot of his desk, the servant waiting for his master to give him the orders. 

“My fiancé disappears far too often to my liking. Follow her. Watch her. And when you’ve discovered what she’s been up to, you report back to me.”

Lysander bows. “Yes, my Lord.”

It only takes a few days for Lysander to catch you. He watches you from a distance, careful not to draw attention to himself. Your movements start mostly harmless—spending hours in the gardens, wandering through the halls and finally, like clockwork every night returning to your chambers early. 

It's not until one evening that he catches you leaving your room, through the abandoned guest wing of the manor. He follows you as quietly as he can, heart thumping wildly in his chest every time he follows too closely. You arrive at a secluded area in the woods, a small cabin nestled among the trees. 

It's there when he sees him. He can see through the window as you meet Charles in a kiss, hands tangling in his hair. He can see how you hold each other as if you’re each other’s lifelines, desperate to keep afloat. He watches as you writhe under Charles’s touch, a passion igniting between you two that he hasn’t even glimpsed at between you and his Lord. It makes Lysander avert his eyes, feeling disgust as he waits in his spot. 

He doesn’t leave. Lord Damian’s orders were clear and Lysander’s curiosity was stronger than his discomfort. He lingered in the shadows, watching as Charles loses himself between your thighs and how you toss your head back with a lust filled look on your face. He can hear as you call out for Charles, and how easily the iloveyous are exchanged between you.His stomach churns with unease, he wants to leave. But he could not come back empty handed, Damian would not tolerate it. 

Soon the space quiets and he dares look in through the window. You're draped over Charles’s chest, Hypnos’s touch making you hazy. Your voices are soft as you speak and Lysander can hear every word.  

“Just a few more days,” you whisper into Charles’s skin. “The moon is just about full and we leave all of this behind.”

Charles’s fingers cart through your hair, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “Are you still sure?” he asks, his voice low. “Once we leave, there’s no going back.”

“I’ve never been more sure about anything,” you reply, voice steady. ““He can have the titles, the wealth, all of it. I want none of it. I only want you.”

Lysander’s breath catches in his throat, his fingers twisting the fabric of his tunic. This was much more than just an affair—it was treason. He backed away slowly, careful not to make a sound as he retreated from the light of the cabin. 

His hands shake as he stands before Damian, recounting everything he’d seen. Damian’s eyes darken at every word, lip stiffening and knuckled whitening as he grips the edge of his desk. “The little bird thinks she can fly away.” he muses, his eyes drifting toward the open window overlooking the woods. A sly sneer curls his lips.“But I don’t think so.”

☾ ⋆・゚:⋆・

You’re breathless as you arrive at the clearing, cloak pulled tightly around you. You carry a satchel over your shoulder, some supplies from the garden and little things you could take from home that wouldn’t be missed. Charles is waiting for you at the edge of the forest, an almost identical satchel around hung on his shoulder. 

“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice laced with urgency. His hand holds the back of your neck, tilting your face to look up at him. 

You nod. “I don’t care where we go, as long as I’m with you.”

There’s a silent adrenaline in Charles’s chest just waiting to ignite as you begin making your journey through the woods. A feeling he can’t quite shake pools in his gut, but he doesn’t know what it is. The sun has long been gone and you’re guided by the light of the moon. It’s quiet as you walk, both of you too nervous to say anything quite yet, as if any word could break you from this dream that was slowly becoming reality. 

The pit in his stomach only grows the further you walk. He doesn’t regret this, neither do you. But it is as if Fortuna has turned her back on you tonight. 

It happens in seconds, the sound of horses and shouts coming from behind you. Lord Damian. 

“RUN.” Charles urges you, tugging you deep into the forest. Caution is thrown into the wind as you run. That adrenaline is now raging in your chests. You turn into a field, the grass shrubbery as high as your knees as you run to reach the other side where you could lose Damian in the trees. You’re exposed to the air, a clear view of you from where Damian calls for you. You can hear him as he shouts. 

“My little bird, you’ve disgraced our union with your actions. It’s time to return—we’ll marry at first light, before your reputation is further stained. In time, I may find it in my heart to forgive you.”

The words send shivers down your spine. What would he do to you if he caught you? What would he do to Charles?

You’re almost to the trees when you feel your gown catch on a shrubbery, halting your run completely. You pull it away and take a few steps, only to be yanked back, caught on the branches of a fallen tree. There’s panic in your voices as you call for Charles, tugging at it desperately. You can’t think straight. Charles pulls at your gown, trying to set it free. Damian’s creeping up slowly on his house, watching you as you struggle. He’s taunting you. 

You almost don’t feel it—the sudden, sharp sting on your ankle, like a thorn pricking your skin. But then comes the second bite, a searing pain that shoots up your leg. You gasp, Charles finally pulling your gown for the branch. You watch as a viper slithers away, hissing as it disappears from your sight. 

Charles urges you again to keep running, not yet noticing the limp in your step or the blood that's begun seeping from your leg. “Charles,” you whimper as you feel your vision begin to blur. “We’re almost there,” Charles promised, his voice low but urgent. 

You’re so close to the tree line but the world spins around you as you meet his eyes. “A snake, Cha,” you gasp, your chest feeling tight. He drops to his knees next to you, hands cradling your face. His eyes wander down, finally catching the wound. There’s a terror in his eyes, an expression you’ve never seen before. You try to pull yourself up, to stand, to run with him into the trees. If you could only just make it to the trees. But you can’t. There’s a fire burning through your limps, a newfound heaviness. The trees in front of you blur into one as your vision slipped away. 

You can hear Charles pleading with you as your vision goes out. You can feel him crying over you begging you to stay. Don’t go where I can’t follow.

You try to speak, to tell him you were still there but your throat wouldn’t form the words. Gods, no. I love him. But you can’t, Thanatos is already pulling you away. 

Charles feels his heart rip from his chest as he sees the light in your eyes go out. How cruel the gods were to grant you this one chance, only to take it from you in the blink of an eye. He can feel your warmth begin to fade as his shaking hands brush your hair from your face. You’re gone but he can’t help but plead with you over and over again. 

He can almost see the shadows that grow longer over him, Damian and his men drawing close. He had to move—had to escape. But how could he leave you here, alone in the dark?

He lowers you to the ground, closing your eyes as he settles you there. You looked peaceful, so heartbreakingly beautiful. He lingered for a second, fingers reaching into his satchel to pull out a single red carnation. He’d planned to ask you to marry him that day. Now he can only give it to you here as you lie. 

He presses the flower to his lips, tears falling onto the petals before tucking it behind your ear. 

“I’ll come back for you,” he whispers, his voice raw. “I swear it. This isn’t the end.”

The sound of Damian’s men grew louder, their shouts drawing nearer. Charles stood, his fists clenched, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He kisses your forehead one last time, turning and disappearing into the forest.

☾ ⋆・゚:⋆・

Charles wanders the woods aimlessly for days, his guilt weighing heavy on his chest as runs. He’s not sure where his feet are taking him—the only thing he knew was there he couldn’t let Damian’s men find him. There’s a faint pounding in his head as his breath comes in ragged gasps, legs burning as he pushes himself forward. He heaves as he ducks into an empty cavern, almost collapsing onto the ground. Tears begin to fill his eyes as catches his breath, mind filling with thoughts of you. Your face is burned into his mind, your smile, your laugh, the way you had once looked at him. And now, you are gone. 

He pulls out his lyre, wincing as he stretches to pull it from its spot slung on his shoulder. His fingers tremble as they find their home on the strings.

The first few notes are soft, trembling like the tears that streak his face. He plays, the gentle melody rising into the air like a prayer. It’s raw, unfiltered, a song born of grief, desperation and loss. The air around him seems to stop, the wind stilling, trees freezing in place. Even the stars he sits under seem to listen to him, weeping with him. 

He’s bathed in silver light that falls from the skies, slowly coalescing into two figures. One is dark and towering, his shadow stretching over the ground like an imposing shroud. The other is radiant, her eyes filling with immense kindness and sorrow. 

The woman calls his name, halting his playing. He’s never seen her before but he knows her name, Persephone, queen of the underworld. His voice is soft as her words gently echo through the air. “Your song has reached even the depths of my realm.”

“You mourn deeply,” observes Hades, his voice a deep, resonant growl. “Few mortals would dare to love so fiercely.”

Charles drops to his knees, clutching his lyre tightly as he does. “Please,” he begs, his voice broken and weak. “If my music has touched even the gods, I only ask one thing. Let me bring her back, I’ll do anything.”

Persephone tilts her head, studying him with endless, violet eyes. “You would risk everything for her?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation, his voice now steady despite the tears in his eyes. “I would give my life if it meant hers could be returned.

Hades steps forward, his presence looming. “We are not so generous as to grant such a request freely,” he begins. “But your devotion… it is rare. We will grant you a chance.”

Charles’s breath catches, hope flickering to life in his chest. “What must I do?”

“You will descend to the underworld,” Persephone instructs. “There, you may plead your case for her soul. But beware, mortal. The path is perilous, and the rules are absolute.”

“If she is to follow you back,” Hades continues, his tone dark and heavy, “you must not look back at her until you both have reached the surface. Should you falter—should you give in to doubt—she will be lost to you forever.”

For you, Charles would face anything. 

☾ ⋆・゚:⋆

The path is dark, just as the goddess had promised. Charles stumbles as he enters the cavernous opening in the earth, like the mouth of a beast preparing to devour him. The air seeped out, heavy and damp, cold as it carried disembodied voices. 

The descent was steep, the darkness growing around him, growing thicker with every step. His feet carry him over a winding path of jagged stone but soon there is nothing but smooth obsidian beneath him, slick and unforgiving. His shoes slip on the stone, sliding further into the darkness. He loses himself, focusing only on the path in front of him. He can only think of you, the only thing that pushes him forward. 

His first arrives at the River Styx, the waters swirling endlessly before him. Charon, the ferryman, waits there for him. His hollow eyes watch Charles with disdain, disgusted as he sees the very alive man pleading with him. 

“I have nothing to offer you,” Charles admits, his voice hoarse. He’s thirsty but his fingers dance softly on the chords of his lyre. The notes are rich, weaving a melody of loss and longing. Charon pauses, his skeletal fingers curling back as he listens to the man. 

The ferryman’s expression softens the slightest bit and with a slow nod, he gestures for Charles to board his boat. It rocks under his weight, the journey across the waters eerily quiet, except for the steady splash of Charon’s oar. When they reach the other side, Charles slowly steps out, turning back only to bow deeply to the ferryman in thanks. 

The path takes him to the Fields of Asphodel, where he sees how the dead wander in eternal monotony. Their eyes are sunken and blank, their forms just a little more than shadows of what they had been in life. As Charles passed, many began to stir, drawing to the scuffing of his steps. 

“Play for us,” they whisper, their voice dry like the leaves of fall rustling in the wind. “Play for us and you will pass safely.” 

Though it makes Charles’s heart jump in his chest, he stops to bring the lyre up higher to play. He plays the only tune that comes to his head, the one he had played for you the night you had kissed for the first time. It begins soft as it did before, only growing sadder and he remembers why he’s playing it in the first place. The souls gather around him, their movements slow as they listen. Many weep at the song, their shadows trembling as the last note fades into the dark air. Slowly they part, allowing him to continue. 

It is not long after that that he reaches the palace of the king under the earth. Hades and Persephone wait for him, their thrones looming above him at the end of the hall. The queen looks down at him with sympathy in her eyes contrasted by her husband’s cold and unreadable gaze. 

“You have come far, mortal,” Persephone tells him, her voice soft. “And your music has touched even the dead.”

Hades leans forward, his tone as sharp as the edge of a blade. “We will grant you what you seek. She may return to the world above. But you must remember the condition: you must not look back at her until you both have reached the light of day. Should you fail, she will suffer in the fields of punishment for both of your treacheries.”

“I understand,” Charles said, his voice steady though his heart raced.

You appear just as he turns back toward the path. He hears you call his name, the warning ringing in his mind, don’t turn back. His eyes fill with tears as he feels you press your head to his face, the fabric of his tattered tunic wetting with your tears. Your fingers wrap around his wrist gently as if to tell him, I’m here. 

“I’ll follow where you lead,” you whisper. “Take me home.”

Your ascend begins, each step growing heavier than the other. The patter sounds like a faint drumming that pounds as the terrain changes and changes. Their soft scuffle of your sandals is the only sign Charles knows you’re there. But it doesn’t keep the doubts from slipping into his mind. Is this truly there? Have the gods tricked him?

You eventually reach the obsidian path, the final stretch, Charles thinks. You climb, higher and higher, Charles stopping every now and then to listen for you. 

“It’s ok,” you remind him. “I’m coming.” Though it reassures him momentarily, it soon disappears and he has to stop again. The whispers of the underground grew louder as the light at the top of the tunnel grew larger. They swirled around him, each word needling into his mind. She’s not there. You’re wasting your time. You failed her once already, why would they give her back?

His breath quickens as he doesn’t hear your steps, calling out your name. “I’m coming, I’m coming. Wait for me.” you huff and now he can hear you and your slow steps. You trudge on. His heart screamed at him to look back, even just for a moment, just to be sure. But he doesn’t, he knows he mustn't. 

The light is just ahead now, so close Charles can feel the warmth of the sun. But the silence has returned, making his chest tighten in his chest. His breath came in shallow gasps, it was too much. The urge to turn, it consumed him. He finally turns, his body trembling with the effort to resist, as if there was something begging him not to look back. He calls your name as he does, seeing you just a few feet away. 

You were there, alive and just as radiant than the moment he lost you. For a moment your eyes brighten as you meet them, but it doesn’t last long. 

The shadows surround you, wrapping around your legs and torso. 

“Charles, no!” you cry out, your eyes filling with tears. You try to push your legs to walk but with no avail, the shadows holding you in place. Your hand reaches out for his, desperate as they brush the air between you. He takes off in a sprint, lunging towards you. 

He sees the terror in your face as if to say don’t let them take me as the shadows begin to close around your face. It is the expression he saw in the moment just beyond the treeline. And he can’t bear the twisting feeling it creates in his gut. 

The last thing he sees are your eyes, tears steaming and evaporating into the shadows before there's a strong wind, pulling you away and pushing him out into the light. 

Charles awakens to the warmth of the sun as it caresses its cruel hand on his skin. It almost pains him as he opens his eyes and realizes where he’s laying. He sits up, seeing his lyre on the ground before him. Between the strings, there’s a carnation, its stem threaded there. He clutches his chest, gasping as he cries. “Gods, please!” he cries, fingers digging into the dirt beneath him. But there is no one there to hear him. 

☾ ⋆・゚:⋆

From then on, his music changes. People stop asking him to play at their parties, more asking for him to play at wakes or funerals. It still carries magic, and though people still stop and stare,  many say his songs are no longer for this world.  He plays for no one but you now, hoping the gods might take pity on him again. But they never do.

Index:

Apollo - God of the Sun, music, prophecy, healing, and the arts. Eros - Greek god of love, passion, and fertility. Hades - God of the Underworld and the dead, ruler of the realm of the departed. Persephone - Goddess of Spring and Queen of the Underworld. Daughter of Demeter. Dionysus - God of wine, revelry, and ecstasy. Thanatos - Personification of Death. Often depicted as a gentle, peaceful figure who guides souls to the afterlife rather than a force of violence or terror. Nyx- Primordial Goddess of the Night.

a/n: i genuinely have no idea how i got to almost 6k words but if you're here, I wanna say thank you so much for reading. Any feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated :)