#STOP PUSHING HIM AND IMPRISONING HIM | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

absurdthirst · 7 months ago

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Love Across Lifetimes {Marcus Acacius x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 20.8k

Warnings: War, death, kidnapping, attempted escape, nudity, voyeurism, attempted assault, violence, hand jobs, oral sex (female receiving), loss of virginity, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, pull out game is strong, imprisonment, death by beheading, reincarnation, oral sex (male receiving), happily ever after

Comments: Sent to retrieve Caracalla's bride, General Marcus Acacius finds that you never agreed to marry the emperor. Falling in love with you on the journey back to Rome and discovering how dangerous that love could be.

A/N: Written before I saw the movie on Friday but just couldn't get it edited until now.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Marcus Acacius MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“I am getting married.” Caracalla announces suddenly, surprising his generals as they crowd around the table that has the map of the empire laid out. “Congratulations, highness.” Marcus secretly feels sorry for whatever maiden has been coerced or picked to marry the spoiled ruler, but he nods respectfully. “We had not been aware that you had arranged a union.”

Caracalla grins. “That is why I need you, General Acacius.” He explains, pointing to a small kingdom on the edge of the Roman Empire. “My future empress is far enough away that I need you to fetch her.” He tells him. “Give her a proper escort to Rome.”

Marcus frowns slightly as he wonders what games the man is playing but it comes off as thoughtful instead of disrespectful. “Then I will gather my men and bring your bride to you.” He agrees, trying to imagine the spoiled, haughty girl that wants to be the empress of Rome.

****

You growl as your arrow misses the target. You’ve been training every day but you are still learning how to fight. Your father wants you to be prepared to defend your people when you become queen once he passes. Your instruction adjusts your arms, “you must concentrate. Your mind is not focused.” He murmurs and you narrow your eyes, focusing on your aim after you reload and you release, the arrow hitting its target. You grin, pleased with yourself, when you hear the horns. Soldiers come rushing towards you, “we must get you somewhere safe, Princess. The Romans are here.” Your eyes widen, “here? Why - why are the Romans here?” You ask, stumbling as they escort you inside and the battle begins outside to protect you and your kingdom from invasion.

****

Marcus wipes his brow, his skin covered in blood as he fights the men of this kingdom, knowing what his goal is, but they fight to protect their home. Why they fight when he was here to escort the princess to Rome, he doesn’t know but he had no time to ask when they attacked. He hears a battle cry and spins, swinging his sword to behead the man, his head rolling on the ground and Marcus’s chest heaves as the last of the men fall. He has won. Now, it’s time to meet the king and his daughter. The real reason he’s here.

“Do not cry, daughter.” Your father wraps his arms around your body to try to comfort you. He knows he will die, his army has been defeated by Rome and now the leader of that army will bring his head back to the emperor. “Show strength to our enemies so that they may know that we are not afraid.” The doors to the throne room are pushed open and a Roman soldier strides in, his walk confident yet weary. Covered in blood and dirt, he had not bothered to stop to clean up, eager to get this unpleasant task over with.

Marcus stands tall and watches you cling to your father. He says your name and your father frowns, “why do you want her? Surely my head is enough to satisfy the emperors.” Marcus frowns, “they informed me that she is to be empress to Caesar Caracalla. I thought this deal was arranged.”

Your father scoffs, “then why would my men fight?” He reasons and Marcus tilts his head, “I am following orders. She must come with me to Rome.”

Your eyes widen, “no. No. I will not. Father. Please.” You beg and he shakes his head, cupping your cheek, “be strong, daughter. Remember your training. Remember who we are.” He orders and nods to his men to grab you so he can step forward. “No! No!” You cry and your father kneels down before Marcus, “do what you must but know that I will curse the Roman Empire and her emperors.” He warns and Marcus swallows harshly, withdrawing his sword. “Make it quick.” Your father orders and you bury your face in the chest of the man holding you so you don’t see your father beheaded.

Marcus sighs as he lowers his sword. “I will not spill the blood of my future empress’s father.” He declares. The king is old and does not have too many years left, it is better to show you the mercy of Rome. Most of his soldiers are dead. “Your daughter will rule the world”, he tells the old man before he turns towards the man holding you. “Have her belongings packed and give them a few minutes to say their goodbyes.” He instructs, cursing Caracalla for what he has done. This is not a retrieval of a bride but a kidnapping.

You pull away from the men holding you, scrambling to kneel down next to your father and pull him close. You wrap your arms around him and he kisses your head, knowing he has no choice but to let you go. Your maids rush around to pack your things and soon, they are being loaded into the carriages that the Roman General brought to the palace. “You need to go.” Your father says and you shake your head, “no. No. What if - I do not know the emperor. He must be cruel. He must be, to have sent his army to destroy our people.” You choke, tears in your eyes.

“Men may think they rule the world but they do not. It is women who are smarter, emotionally stronger. They manipulate the men to do their bidding. Be like them. You may marry a man you do not love but you will be Empress of Rome. You will have power. Power is stronger than love.” Your father murmurs and wipes your tears away. “Be strong, daughter. Rule the world.” He orders and you nod, glancing over his shoulder to where the general waits for you.

“I love you.” You murmur to your father, knowing you’ll never see him again. “I love you too.” Your father nods, not letting you see how his heart is breaking. You try to step back but you don’t let go. Clinging to your father until the Romans step forward and grab you, dragging you away with a cry. You are carried onto a horse, the general swinging on behind you, and you sob as you are taken away from the only home you’ve ever known.

Marcus lets you cry, not bothering to offer you any platitudes or false words of comfort. He had just destroyed your home and stolen you away because his emperor wanted you. He’s sure Caracalla purposefully didn’t inform him that there had been no agreement, which angers him. Many good men had died for nothing. Marcus hands you a somewhat clean linen to blow your nose as he guides you farther and farther away from your home.

You don't say a word as you take the linen to blow your nose. You remain silent, refusing to give the General your voice as company while he begins the long journey back to Rome. Hours later, Marcus orders his men to set up camp when the sun starts to disappear beyond the horizon and he dismounts his stallion, holding his hands out to help you but you huff and kick his hands away, swinging your leg over to land on the ground with skills beyond a Roman woman. You have been raised around horses, taught to ride from a young age.

Marcus raises his brow at your stubbornness, secretly admiring it, but he knows that means you will cause trouble. He turns to his page and says, “have a bath prepared, I need to clean up, but allow our guest to bathe first.” He instructs. “She will be your future empress, so treat her with respect.”

You cross your arms and stubbornly stand there while his men work on setting up his tent and grabbing the tub that was carried on the cart at the back of the militia to prepare for you. You watch Marcus speak to his men, his body covered in the blood of your people and you clench your jaw. You don't wish to be empress to murderers, pillagers...monsters. You glance around, his men are busy and you see the horses are loosely tied up while they set up camp. You decide to take a chance. You run to the General's horse, swinging your leg over his back as you jump onto the horse, grabbing the reins to take off from the makeshift camp.

Marcus is talking to one of his men when he sees you jump onto the horse, his horse. “Shit!” The men start shouting and running towards you, spooking the other horses and causing chaos. He takes a second to admire your form, your ease in which you command the arrogant horse. Even if it’s no use. While his men scramble to stop you from escaping, Marcus plants his feet and sticks two fingers in his mouth. Emitting an ear piercing whistle that immediately makes his horse’s head rear up and change the direction he was running. Coming back to his general because he has been called.

You try to stop the horse, but he makes his way back to the general. You scramble off of him, jumping and falling into a heap. You hear footsteps towards you and you try to stand up, attempting to run but your arms are grabbed and you are pressed against the general. “Do not make another move, Princesa.” He growls, his knife pressed against your neck as his arm wraps around you and you hiss, sweat on your brow and you stop struggling, slumping in defeat.

Marcus hates how you look crumpled and broken, but he needs you to cooperate with him. Once you get to Rome, you can cause Caracalla all the headaches you wish, you will be his problem. Marcus just needs to deliver you to him safely. He softens slightly, pulling the knife away but he keeps his arm around you. “I don’t want to chain you up, but I will.” He threatens softly. “I would rather you make this easier on both of us.”

You nod, knowing you have no chance of trying to escape again if you are chained up. “Fine.” You murmur, inhaling deeply when he lowers his arms and his men gather around the horses, one of them taking the stallion back to the group. You are soon escorted into a tent, a bath full of hot water awaits you and you glance around at the soldier, “I will not strip with you standing there.” You declare with your chin raised up, “send a woman or leave me be.” You order and the soldier hesitates but steps out of the tent to speak to his superior.

Marcus sighs and dismisses his man before pulling the flap back and stalking into the tent. “There are no women here.” He tells you, making you snort. “I’ve seen the women.” You huff, crossing your arms and he frowns. “The camp whores.” He tells you bluntly. “Women who travel with the army to fuck my men. That is the kind of woman you wish to attend you?”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head. You’ve heard about the women of the night and their services but you know they are hungry for coin, for status, for power. He watches you shake your head, “then you will have to strip with a guardian. I cannot allow you to be alone since you’ll try and run again.” He says and you scoff, “you want me to display myself in front of your men? They will take what does not belong to them.” You spit and Marcus sighs, “then allow me to stand guard. I will turn my back.” He turns around to allow you modesty and you huff, unsure of when your next bath will be so you reach for the clip that holds your robes together, letting them drop to the floor, unaware that a mirror is in Marcus’s eye line.

He had meant to be true to his word, to allow you privacy, but the movement in the mirror had made him instantly tense. Anticipating an attack. Only to find your dress falling from your body and your beautiful tits on display to him. You are gorgeous, like one of the goddesses. He can see why Caracalla would send him to retrieve you for his own. He would want you, if he were in a position to have you. He clears his throat and looks away, only to be drawn back to the vision when you turn around to step into your bath.

You sigh as you sink into the water, not as hot as you like it but beggars can’t be choosers when you are facing your entire world being turned upside down. You see how tense the General is as you reach for the oils, bathing yourself with a soft hum. You want to show him you are unbothered by his presence.

Marcus keeps looking away and then finding his gaze coming back to the mirror. Watching as you slowly go through your bath. It’s incredibly sensual and his cock twitches under his tunic and armor. He has been a long time without a woman, and you are gorgeous with the fiery spirit Marcus likes.

You wash yourself, making sure you are clean for the arduous journey ahead and you stand up, reaching for the linen to wrap around yourself to dry off and Marcus is still turned away from you. You glance around, “I have nothing else to wear. I will need to redress.” You say and Marcus shakes his head, “there are tunics in the trunk. Mine but you’re welcome to one.” He says and you huff, walking over to open the trunk. You drop the linen to pull the tunic over your head.

It’s jarring to see you, to see any woman in his clothes, but Marcus grunts as he turns towards you. “Now I need to clean up.” He tells you, expecting you to demure and turn away so he can clean the dirt, sweat and blood off his skin and change into clean clothes.

You sit down on the chair that faces the bath and you stare at him, challenging him to strip off in front of you. You won’t shy away and give him the advantage even if he gave you the same courtesy. You want to irk him. Get inside his head. That’s your ticket to escape.

He watches you with a frown for a moment, but you just arch your brow and he snorts. Reaching for the thick leather ties of his chest plate to start stripping off the protective gear.

You watch the general that has stolen you from your home strip off. He’s strong, that’s evident in his form, but with each piece he removes, you see how war hardened he truly is. The deadly strength in his form has you shifting in your chair and when he pulls his tunic over his head, your throat goes dry at his exposed figure. His cock flaccid and you hate how your stomach twists at the sight of him.

He’s grateful that he’s got enough self control that his cock isn’t hard. You act like his body doesn’t affect you and he pretends like it’s nothing to be naked in front of you. “There are guards outside the tent.” He warns as he grabs his own linen and strides over to the bath, eager to clean up.

You roll your eyes at his warning and watch as he gets into the water, blood immediately turning the water red. You swallow at that. The blood of your men swirling in the water. “Is the Roman army always so brutal?” You ask, watching him wash the blood from his skin with the cloth that he grabbed.

“Your men attacked us.” Marcus reminds you. “We believed that we were simply fetching the emperor’s intended bride.” He sighs softly. “When they attacked us, we had no choice but to fight back, believing we were being drawn into a trap.” In truth, he regrets the bloodshed, and would have avoided it if he had known you were unaware of the emperor’s claim on your hand. “I don’t like killing needlessly.”

You swallow harshly, tears stinging in your eyes at the deception. Either by him right now or by the emperor you are intended to marry. “I never agreed to marry your emperor. I have never met him. What is he like? Is he cruel?” You ask, knowing some leaders can be too obsessed with themselves to do what’s right for their people.

“Sometimes.” Marcus tells you honestly. “He - has whims that drive him.” He knows that you could tell Caracalla and he would be angry at his general, but he also needs him to win the wars and claim the territories that he craves. “He will not like you running from him, he is used to being publicly adored.” He snorts, knowing how most really feel about the ruler.

You scoff and roll your eyes, “he sounds like a true Caesar. Self absorbed and focused on his own whims instead of helping the Romans achieve greatness. There’s no greatness in the vastness of the empire, there’s greatness within their people but from stories I have heard, they are starving. Taxed to their eyeballs and looking for salvation from anyone but their emperors.”

Marcus doesn’t confirm your comments, although they are true. “Then perhaps you as her empress can bring comfort to the people.” He tells you, continuing to wash. The water is murky now, but he feels better. He just needs to wash his back and his hair.

Your lip curls at the thought of marrying the emperor. You’ve heard rumors about him and his twin brother. How they make rash decisions based on emotions. “Perhaps I shall arrive and the emperor doesn’t deem me beautiful enough for his hand. Or maybe I will be too dumb. Or untameable. These are all things he should consider when picking a wife, no?” You tilt your head and look at the general’s back.

“You would think.” Marcus mumbles under his breath. “The emperor is very certain in his choices once he has made them.” Until he decides against them. He doesn’t tell you that, knowing it would be unfair to give you false hope. Caracalla wants you, so he will have you.

You huff, “I don’t know why he picked me. My lands are not conquered. My father will delegate someone to inherit the kingdom. I have nothing to offer.” You confess and Marcus grunts as he tries to clean his back. “

“I cannot claim to know what the emperor chose you.” He huffs, knowing he should have called his page into help. His muscles are sore from the fighting and he is not as limber as he might have been. He needs help to wash his back.

You see his struggle, your eyes glancing down to the knife that lays on the floor by the tub, clearly left there for him to use if needed. You see your chance. “I can assist you, General.” You say and stand up, kneeling next to the tub. He eyes you cautiously but hands the cloth to you. You grab the knife with your other hand and lean closer, starting to wash his back with the cloth. You see him relax slightly and decide to strike, dropping the cloth and bringing the knife up at the same moment.

Marcus reacts quickly, grabbing your wrist and squeezing it. “You want to kill me?” He growls, scowling at you. “Do it when you’re the empress.” He tells you. “Until then, remember that I hold your life in my hands.”

You drop the knife and he catches it with his free hand, placing it on the other side of the tub. “You’d never escape without my men delivering you to the emperor. They are on orders to take you there even if I’m dead. You’ll be delivered to the emperor. Dead or alive.” He warns even though he knows it would be his head if you are delivered dead but he won’t be looking over his shoulder the entire journey home. “Fine.” You hiss, “you’re a bastard.” You growl and he chuckles, “nothing I haven’t heard before. Now, you were washing my back?” He reminds you, handing you the cloth. You roll your eyes and continue washing his back, knowing you’ll need to make a new plan.

He can hear you fume and plot needlessly as you roughly swipe the linen over his skin. “It will take us several weeks to get back to Rome.” He reminds you. “I would rather this be a pleasant trip.”

His tone makes you clench your jaw but you know you can’t run yet. You decide to focus on your survival and you know the General is key to that. You clean his back, your eyes trailing down his chest to take note of the scars and blemishes on his skin. “You have been fighting a long time.” You observe, “you must be weary.”

Marcus hums, knowing that he is weary of war and watching men die. One day he will fall on the field of battle and his fight will be over. “It is a heavy burden to watch men die.” He tells you. “Or be the cause of their death.”

You nod, seeing the haunted look in his eyes, and you are taken back by it. You had heard about the General, whispers from men who returned from far away lands that the General was lethal but right now you see a man who is tired of war and tired of death. “I can only imagine the things you have seen.” You hand the cloth back to him now that his back is clean and you reach for the oils, deciding to help him wash his hair. Perhaps you can win him over with kindness.

“My hope is that because I have seen them, my children will not have to.” He murmurs, even though he has no children. He sighs and shakes his head. “It does not matter. Wars will always be fought.”

You pour the oils into your palms, rubbing them together and you slide your fingers through his strands, your fingertips turning red as you wash his hair. “War will always be a man’s game. If women ruled the world, there would be no war. Simply silence.”

“Women are smarter than men.” Marcus’ eyes slide closed as he leans back. “I have always thought so. You might not have the strength that I do, but you think differently.” He chuckles.

You smirk, picking up the jug to rinse his hair, “women have their power between their legs. Men’s weakness is between their legs.” You say and Marcus snorts, closing his eyes as you slide your fingers through his hair.

“My father - he’s a good man. I- I want to thank you for sparing his life.” You murmur, admiring the general up close. He has lines on his face but he’s handsome. “Do you have a wife? Children? Back in Rome?”

“No.” Marcus’s brow pinches together for a moment. “My wife died in childbirth many years ago.” He hasn’t talked about Marcella in a long time, but he feels like he owes you a little bit of himself after all he’s taken from you.

Your stomach drops and you find yourself feeling sorry for him. “I’m sorry. No words can ever take away the pain I imagine you must feel.” You whisper, finding a vulnerable part of the war hardened General.

“They are running through the Elysian Fields, waiting for me.” He murmurs. “Or with the gods.” He sighs. “Or just gone. I don’t know. But it was a long time ago.”

“I am certain they are at peace, waiting for you. You shall die in bed knowing they are there waiting.” You say and he shakes his head, “I shall die on the battlefield. Killed by a man my junior. I have accepted my fate.” He murmurs and you sigh, “and I will not accept mine.” You withdraw your hands from his hair and grab the linens for him to dry off. “I am tired and hungry. I wish for your men to bring me a tray.”

He cracks an eye open and watches you. “I cannot have you telling Caracalla that you were starved on the journey to Rome.” He snorts before he grips the sides of the tub and heaves himself up with a groan. Water sluices down his body and he steps out of the tub onto the carpets lining the floor of his tent. Taking the linen with a nod of thanks, he quickly dries himself off and wraps the cloth around his waist to move to the tent flap and opens it. “Bring food and wine.” He orders one of the guards. “Enough for me and our guest.”

Your eyes follow his form, the muscles in his back moving in a way that has your throat dry. You need wine. That’s all. Yet why did you find yourself wanting to strip the linen from his waist and see more of him? “Thank you.” You murmur, certain that his men are whispering. “You will need to be careful. I’m sure you do not want your men spreading rumors that you are nude and in a tent with the future empress. The emperor will not take kindly to not having a pure bride.”

He lifts a brow, amused and confused by your worry of his own safety. “I thank you for your concern.” He nods as he moves over to the trunk you had pulled a tunic out of to get his own. “Although I doubt Caracalla will believe that I seduced you.”

You raise your eyebrows, “and why is that? You are too loyal to your emperor to imagine you committing such treason? Or am I not pretty enough for the revered General Marcus Acacius?” You scoff, wondering why he is so loyal to his Caesar when it’s clear he is weary.

He snorts and shakes his head. “You misunderstand.” He tells you. “I am old, scarred.” He gestures to his body. “Not young or handsome, rich or powerful.” He doesn’t bring up his rank, because you don’t seem like a woman who would care about a generator. “Caracalla would believe that I was too unappealing to seduce someone of your beauty.”

His answer makes your stomach lurch and you stand up, walking over to him. He puffs out his chest, prepared for your attack, but instead, you slide your hand down his covered chest. “You are not old. You are experienced. You have wisdom. And you are handsome. Weathered but I guarantee you any woman would eagerly slide into your bed. Do not discount yourself, general. You are appealing. You could seduce if you wanted to.” You pull your hand away, “Caracalla sounds like a fool if he believes otherwise.”

Marcus knows you are trying a new tactic and he frowns slightly. Your words make his body tighten in need but he doesn’t reach for you. “Perhaps I appeal to some.” He concedes, stepping away from you and reminding himself that you are trying to escape. “I am not worried about who would want me in their bed.”

You frown when he steps back. You may have been trying to form an escape plan but you genuinely mean your words. You sigh and make your way over to the chair just as his men bring in food and wine. You are starving and you should wait to see if Marcus eats first but you highly doubt he’d poison you when his job is to deliver you to the emperor.

He thanks his men and pours two large cups of wine before handing you one. “Drink.” He murmurs softly. “It has been a long day for you and you will make yourself sick if you do not drink and eat.” The sadness that had made your heart hurt has now been replaced with a fiery glow and he has to admire it, even if he needs to squash it. The men carry out the tub silently and he sits down on the bed since there is not another chair. He will have to have one brought, but for now, he will give it to you.

You know you can’t starve yourself in protest, you’ll need your strength if you want to attempt an escape again. You pick up the cup, taking a sip and you have to admit the Romans know their wine. You look at the meat and cheese on offer, taking some in your free hand and you chew on it, watching Marcus as he sits on the bed. “Will I have to share the tent with you?” You ask and he snorts, “I cannot have you running off again.” You nod, strangely feeling safer being in his tent. You know his men would likely take advantage of you on your own. Men at war are monsters, and you feel better knowing the General whose head depends on delivering you safe to his Emperor, is the one sharing your tent.

Marcus relaxes as you start to eat. His body is weary and he is tired, but he still watches you to make sure you don’t try to run. “Did you have a man you were to marry?” He asks. “In your land? Is that why you would not want to be empress?”

Your eyes flick up to meet his and you stare at him for a moment. You shake your head, “no. I did not. Many asked for my hand but I wanted to learn as much about my kingdom as possible from my father, to be the best Queen I could be for them. I was focused on training and politics. Not men.” You confess, “the only man I spent time with was my stallion.” You tease, placing a grape into your mouth.

“A wise choice.” He chuckles and takes a sip of his wine. “Horses are far better than people.” He sighs softly. “For what it's worth, I am sorry that your life has been disrupted and changed.” He murmurs.

It’s clear he genuinely feels that way and you nod, “thank you. I appreciate you being so honorable. A rare trait nowadays.” You sigh and he nods in agreement. You continue eating in silence until it’s time to sleep. “Will I be sleeping on the floor?” You ask, seeing one bed and nothing else for you to lay down on.

Marcus shakes his head. “You will sleep on the bed, with me.” You huff and he lifts a brow. “I will not touch you, except to make sure you do not try to escape.” He tells you. “Would you rather be tied to the bed so I can sleep?”

“I didn’t know you were that way inclined, General.” You tease, knowing that having an attitude won’t get you anywhere. You sigh and make your way over to the bed. “If we are to be sharing a bed for weeks, I pray you do not snore.” You slide under the sheets and turn on your side, not wanting to watch him as he settles in.

Marcus sets his cup down and kneels in front of a small altar he has set up for the gods. Lighting the incense to burn through the night for the souls that had been lost today in battle. He closes his eyes and murmurs a prayer. “Keep my men safe, allow them to return to their wives and mothers.” He says, like he does every night. “If my life must be the sacrifice for that, let it be done with honor.”

You listen to his prayer and you frown, maybe he isn’t a monster. He is praying for his men to return home safely even if it means his death. It takes you back and you turn to look at him as he stands up from his kneeling position. “You are different from most men, General.” You murmur.

“I will take comfort in your words when you are cursing me for completing my task.” He frowns slightly. “The gods have forced us together and I can only hope that there is a reason for it.” He sees you shiver and frowns, “do you need another fur?” He asks, thinking you might be cold since the temperature is dropping now the sun has gone down. He runs hot so he doesn’t sleep with many blankets no matter how cold it gets.

You nod, shivering under the sheets and he grabs another fur from the trunk, placing it over you, and you watch as he slides under the sheets beside you. “Goodnight, princesa.” He murmurs and turns his back to you after blowing out the candle next to the bed. You watch him as he relaxes and you close your eyes, sleep finally taking you after a traumatic day.

Marcus stays awake for a long time, listening as your breathing evens out and he sighs. “Damn you, Caracalla.” He curses softly, knowing that he would have never fought your people if he had known you were never in agreement to marry the emperor. Guilt swirls in his stomach and he wonders what the other man will do with you once he has his prize.

You awake with a start, confused by your location until you realize where you are and what happened. You blink and your lower lip trembles but you refuse to cry. You wake up a little more and realize you have shifted in your sleep and you are curled into the chest of the General, his arm under your head, and you gasp at the way you somehow curled around each other during your slumber.

Marcus is awake, he has been for hours but he refused to move when you were nestled up against him and sleeping peacefully. “Sleep deep, princesa?” He asks, his voice rough with disuse.

You immediately shift away from him, sitting up, and you’re flustered. You had liked how it felt in his arms and that scares you. “I- I’m sorry.” You choke out, shifting away from him.

“Do not apologize.” He murmurs, missing the feel of your body against his. “It is natural to seek out comfort when you are vulnerable.” He sighs. “Even if you would not when you are awake.” He groans as he shifts to sit up. “Come, I will have water brought for you to clean up and give you a moment of privacy for you to use the pot.” He motions over to a screen that he had ordered set up for your comfort when nature calls.

He’s considerate and that takes you back. “Thank you.” You murmur and he nods, shifting to stand up with a groan. You watch him leave the tent after putting on his sandals to get his men to bring water and you use the pot during his absence. His men bring water and you clean off behind the screen and Marcus returns with food and drink. It takes a while for his men to pack up camp but Marcus looks at you when you stand by his stallion. “I’d offer you a hand up but I know you are more than capable.” He says and you chuckle, reaching for the saddle to swing yourself up onto his stallion, wearing a new tunic from his trunk.

Marcus tries not to stare at your legs, his tunics much shorter than the dresses you have undoubtedly packed away in your things. Instead of saying something, he takes his cloak off and drapes it over your legs for warmth and privacy. “My men are not used to seeing such a beautiful woman.” He explains so you do not take offense before he pulls himself up behind you and takes the reins.

You scoff, “no need for flattery, General, I am willingly on your horse. I am not running away.” You lean back against him a little as he flicks the reins to move the stallion forward.

“No flattery, but the truth.” He hums in your ear. “The whore’s fuck them. But you are beautiful, untouched. Legs on display, you will have my men fighting to touch you and then I will have to kill them.”

“To preserve my innocence for the emperor.” You murmur, turning your head and your face is so close to his. Your eyes focused on him as he blindly controls the horse. “Yes.” He rasps and you hum, “you serve your emperor well, General. Many never see loyalty as strong as that in their lifetime. I wonder what would cause you to break that loyalty, make you throw your morality to the wind.”

He doesn’t answer, knowing that you don’t expect a reply. The army moves slowly and there are times that Marcus stops with you to let you attend to your needs before catching back up with the other officers. Many horses come up to him while you ride, asking questions or informing him of different things, but Marcus handles all of them with ease and grace, aware that the road is weary for everyone.

The sun beating down on you has you weary and you find yourself leaning back against the general, closing your eyes, and his arm wraps around you to keep you in place when you fall asleep. He’s spoken to you about Rome, answered your questions, and you have told him about your people, your lands, in between riders offering him questions or information.

Marcus looks down at you and sighs. He should slow the travel down. You are exhausted and he knows Caracalla will be less than pleased if you arrive worn out. He motions for his men to approach and speaks quietly. “We will make camp early every night.” He decides. “It will take longer to get home but the men will be better rested.” He isn’t doing it for the men, but for you. Perhaps by that time, you will have accepted your fate as empress. “Have the scouts find a place to rest for the night.”

Marcus shakes you awake gently when the horse has stopped moving. You gasp, reality hitting you once again, and you fluster, realizing that you fell asleep on him yet again. “I seem to be creating a habit. I’m sorry. You are welcome to wake me any time.” You say and he tuts, “you need your rest, princesa.” You don’t argue and you see the men starting to prepare camp. “I wish to have another bath.” You say and Marcus nods, swinging his leg over the horse and he holds his arms out for you to help you down. This time you allow it, his large hands gripping your waist as you are helped down from the horse and your chest is pressed against his, your head slightly tilted towards his face. “Thank you, General.” You murmur, patting his chest plate and stepping back, hating how your heart pounds at his proximity.

His dark eyes watch you. “You are welcome.” He nods and hands the reins of his horse off to one of the men. “Would you like for one of your trunks to be brought to my tent, or would you like to keep wearing my clothes?” He smirks slightly as he asks, secretly enjoying the way you look in his tunics.

You smirk, “I suppose I should wear my own clothes so you can have your cloak back during the rides.” You tap his chest plate, “I also would like to wear something that reminds me of home.” You murmur and he nods, calling over one of his men to retrieve your trunks. It doesn’t take long for the men to step up camp and you enter Marcus’s tent, grateful to be out of the sun, and you walk over to your trunk to open it, gathering the oils you wish to use for bathing.

The tub is brought into the tent by three men and set in the middle of the space. “We will bring hot water as quickly as it boils.” A young boy of fifteen informs you with a small blush. “The general ordered the water to be hotter than it was yesterday.”

“Thank you.” You tell the boy, knowing his mother must be worried sick about him wherever she is. You know Marcus is speaking to his men and won’t return until you are done with your bath. Two men return with pails full of steaming hot water and you thank them, watching them leave after they fill the tub. You’re just about to remove your tunic when the tent flap opens and one of the men return. “Did you forget something?” You ask and he chuckles darkly, “I wanted to see what the fuss is all about. Why did we lose men to retrieve you as our future empress? You must have a cunt made of gold.” He says and you try to open your mouth but he covers it with his palm, his other hand grabbing your waist to drag you against him. Your training kicks in and you bite down on his hand while elbowing him in the side, making him choke, and you rush out the tent, screaming for Marcus.

Marcus is talking with his men when he hears a scream of his name and instantly knows it’s you. His eyes dart towards the tent even as he draws his sword, lurching forward to race towards you as he sees your figure darting from between the tent and the men, looking behind you with an expression of pure terror. He sees one of his men chasing after you and he would have believed that you were trying to escape again if it weren’t for that scream and that you are racing towards him. When he reaches you, he throws his arm around your waist and drags you behind him roaring the name of the soldier as he plants his feet as a barrier between you and the other man. “What the fuck is going on?”

You cling to him, feeling safe with him in front of you. “He - he grabbed me in the tent. Came back alone and I tried to scream but he covered my mouth. He was - he said he wanted to know why I was chosen as empress. Said he wanted to know if I had a cunt made of gold.” The soldier scoffs, “she’s lying. She tried to escape. Bit my hand when I tried to stop her and she’s a lying cunt.”

“If she was trying to escape, she would not have screamed my name or run towards me.” Marcus growls, furious that one of his men would try to harm you. He points his sword at the man. “Tell the truth now or your death will be slow and painful.” He warns.

The soldier scoffs and rocks on his feet, his eyes narrowed towards you. “As if any man here would deny wanting to feel a virgin cunt around their cock? And the future empress? Fuck the Emperor and his ridiculous wars. We lost men retrieving this bitch. I wanted to see if she was worth the sacrifice.” He confesses, looking around to see if any of the others would back him up.

Marcus waits, giving the men time to speak up and voice their opinions but everyone is quiet. Feet shuffle and leathers creak as they stand and wait for their general’s wrath. He rocks his jaw. “I have lost men for a cause I would never have agreed with.” He admits. “But that is not her fault. And I have never condoned rape.”

The soldier scoffs, “men have taken what isn’t theirs throughout history. We need to remember that. Perhaps the General wants to save her for himself? That’s why he is kept in his tent.” The soldier digs a deeper hole and you step around Marcus. “I never asked to be taken from my home, from my people. I am sorry you lost men, so did I. I never asked for this and I certainly never asked to be taken against my will.” You stand tall, not letting the men see you are afraid.

Marcus lets you speak, knowing that it is your right. “You dared to try to defile the future empress of Rome.” He reminds the man. “Dishonoring your house, your name.” He reaches out and pulls you behind him again and steps forward. “The gods will judge you.” He declares, his sword coming up with a quick swing of his arms and he beheads your attacker without any hesitation. The headless body stands for a moment before collapsing onto the ground as his head rolls away. “Any man who seeks to take what is not his will be given the same.” His voice lifts and his words are stern. He looks back at the body and spits on it before dropping his sword.

You don’t flinch at the sight of the beheaded man. You’ve witnessed worse as the Princess of your kingdom. You never shied away from the horrors of war, knowing that you needed to experience it to lead your men. Marcus grabs your arm but you’re not scared of him as he escorts you to his tent. He releases your arm as soon as the flap to the tent closes and you turn to face him. “I’m sorry.” You spit out, worried that he’s angry with you.

“Did you try to seduce him?” Marcus demands and you hiss in anger. “No! I did not try to seduce him!” You look angry, but he can tell you are being truthful. “Then you have no reason to be sorry, princesa.” He responds quietly. “He made his decision to act like he did and it cost him his life. You did not cause it.”

You nod, knowing he's being reasonable, and you sigh, glancing at the bath. "I would like to bathe now." You say and Marcus has the man's blood splattered on his face. "You need to as well." You observe and he nods, "I will leave you." He says and you reach for his hand, "no. Can you - can you stay? I don't want to be alone." You plead softly and he nods, looking down at your hand. He turns his back to give you your privacy and you undress, sinking into the water.

Rage arms in his veins and he doesn’t dare to look into the mirror right now. Afraid of his own reaction. He hasn’t killed the man because he had attacked the future empress, he had killed him because he had dared to touch you. The possessiveness that is silent in his system is not good and he clenches his fists as he takes several deep breaths to calm himself down.

You slide your oils along your skin and it hits you. A sob escapes your lips as the reality of the past few days hits hard. You have been taken from your home, nearly watched your father be killed, nearly assaulted, and you are to marry a man you've never met. Your emotions run high and you sob, tears dropping into the water.

Marcus hears your muffled sobs and they rip at his heart. “You’re safe, princesa.” He says roughly, thinking you are overwhelmed from your attack. “No one will harm you while I live.”

His words wrap around you and you feel safe with the man tasked to take you. You are conflicted and your sobs calm, inhaling deeply as you wash your face, "thank you, Marcus." You murmur, watching his back as he stands guard.

“And I am sorry.” He confesses softly, feeling more like himself now. He doesn’t turn around and watches the tent flap for any movement outside. His back is tense as he stays turned away from you and you wash quickly, standing up, and you wrap the linen around your form. “You can look now.” You say, certain that he wants to wash off the blood of the dead soldier. “I have oils you can use.”

“Thank you.” He nods his head and starts to strip, not realizing his body is still hard. His cock jutting up in frustration and arousal. He knows you are not looking, so he doesn’t bother to turn away as he strips down.

You turn towards the tub at the same time he’s stripped and stepping in. His cock hard and your eyes widen. You have never seen a man naked like that before and it has your face heating up. “I have - the oils.” You choke, holding them out to him as he sinks into the water.

He sees how wide your eyes are and looks down. “Forgive me, princesa.” He murmurs, reaching out slowly to take the oils. “It sometimes happens on its own.” He confesses. “You don’t need to worry that I will act like the man I just killed.”

You shake your head, “no. No. I know. I just - I’ve never seen - you are beautiful.” You murmur, knowing he wouldn’t hurt you. Whether that’s for the emperor’s sake or yours, you don’t know, but you know he hasn’t harmed you.

His eyes watch you, surprised that you are saying such things to him. At least you don’t fear him. “I am just a man.” He tells you. “Thank you.”

You shake your head, “you’re a good man. You could’ve treated me badly, let your men touch him, maybe even taken me for yourself, but you didn’t. You’re a good man, Marcus.” You murmur, shifting to kneel by the tub.

He shakes his head. “Don’t praise me too quickly, princesa.” He growls softly. “You don’t know what I have thought, imagined.” His fingers curl around the edge of the tub and he looks back at you after looking away.

You frown, tilting your head in curiosity, “tell me what you’ve thought, imagined. Perhaps it will tarnish my opinion of you but I need to know.” You say, knowing you cannot hide from the truth. It’s better to face reality when you are on a journey to marry a man you do not know.

“Touching you.” Marcus confesses. “Taking you, for my own, seizing your innocence and showing you what it is like to have a man between your thighs.” He swallows harshly. “Not to have you as a prize but to experience your fiery passions and see what you could be.”

His words immediately make your stomach twist, your cunt clenching around nothing in a feeling not entirely foreign to you. You shuffle closer, placing your hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. “I had a dream earlier. When I was riding on your horse. The rhythm of the horse and you pressed against me…I imagined you inside me, taking me without anyone knowing.” You confess and slide your hand lower, your eyes watching him for any protest as your hand trails until you are wrapping your fingers around his cock. He chokes, “you don’t-” You shush him, “let me touch you, General. Show me what to do.”

He should push your hand away, refuse you, but he feels frozen in place. His cock twitches in your hand, making the water ripple slightly and you gasp while tightening your grip on him. His hand slowly uncurls from the edge of tub and he covers your hand with his much larger one and he groans softly when he starts to slowly guide you in how to stroke him.

You are fascinated by the look on his face. He looks wrecked already and you love that you are making him feel this way. You squeeze him when his hand tightens around yours, setting the pace he wants.

“You don’t-“ Marcus closes his eyes and pants slightly. “It’s- just like that.” He tells you, knowing that you will do what you like and he’s too worked up to deny you.

You don’t listen to his protest because you want to do this. “You should know by now that I never do anything I don’t want to do, General.” You smirk and continue pumping his cock.

He knows that, he knows it very well. He lets go of your hand and lets you control his pleasure as you stroke. “Admire that.” He grunts.

You feel empowered by the way he groans, withering under your touch. This powerful general is moaning your name and you control his pleasure. It’s intoxicating and makes you wet as you control this part of your destiny. “I know. You are unlike any man I’ve ever known. So strong. So powerful. Yet you don’t abuse your position. I admire that.”

He groans softly. “Real power doesn’t require abuse.” He had learned that from Marcus Aurelias and Maximus when he was younger and he had never forgotten it.

You continue pumping him, moving your hand a little faster and his hand falls away to grip the side of the tub, his neck elongated when he throws his head back. You can’t help but lean in to kiss the skin there.

The groan he gives you is almost pained, pleasurable in the most gut wrenching way. He says your name again, trying not to rock his hips up as you touch him. “That’s it, princesa.” He praises.

You kiss his neck, loving how you can feel his pulse beneath your lips while you squeeze his cock, instinctively twisting your wrist as you pump his cock. You want him to fall apart for you.

Marcus gasps out your name softly and he feels his body tense. Knowing that he is about to cum, he locks eyes with you.

You look at him, loving the way his lip curls slightly and you pump his cock. feeling it pulse in your grip and finally, he lets out a low groan of your name. Spurts of cum hit the back of your hand and his stomach and you watch him in fascination and arousal.

He rides out his orgasm with a groan and reaches down and stops your hand. “Princesa- you have to stop.” He tells you, wondering what you thought of the first time you touched a man.

His plea makes you chuckle and you loosen your grip on his cock, letting it soften against his belly, and you reach for the cloth to wash his skin. “You look so beautiful when you fall apart.” You murmur, caressing his cheek with your other hand.

“I should not have let you touch me.” He murmurs softly. “But there is something about you that makes me reckless.”The emperor would have him killed if he ever found out, but Marcus can’t find it in himself to care right now. “Did you enjoy making me weak?”

You lower your hand and dry your other hand off on the linen, still kneeling by the tub. “I did.” You smirk at the relaxed look on his face, “here are the oils.” You hand him one, “I’m sure you want to clean up after an arduous day.” You say and you offer him a shy smile now that the lust has passed from his eyes.

Marcus frowns for a moment before he takes the oils from your hand. “Thank you.” He should touch you, to give you the same pleasure, but you don’t seem to be wanting it. “I try to be clean when I sleep.” He tells you. “I rest better.”

You nod, shifting to stand up and you grab a tunic from his trunk, letting the linen drop from your body to pull his tunic over your head, letting him see your bare back and ass. You feel his eyes on you and that makes you smirk as you turn to face him while he washes off with the oils you gave him.

He feels like it’s deliberate, you wearing his tunic again. “You like my clothes.” He notices how you show off slightly, twisting as flaunting the shorter hem with a smirk on your face. “And you wonder why I view you as mine.” He snorts.

“They are more comfortable than my clothes.” You confess, brushing down the hem, “and I like that they are yours.” You add, making your way over to his bed to sit down, watching him rinse off and he shifts to stand up, water dripping from his form and you unashamedly drag your eyes down his body. “It makes me think that I’m yours.”

He stares at you for a moment. “I could give you pleasure.” He offers, wanting to touch you. “You would stay pure and still know what it’s like to have a man touch you.” It’s a risky offer, but he wants to have some claim over you right now.

His offer makes your body warm and you arch as he reaches for linen to dry himself off after he steps out the tub. He steps towards you once the linen is wrapped around his waist and you shift to kneel on the bed, reaching for the hem of his tunic to remove it. You pull it over your head and toss it to the floor, “touch me, Marcus. I want to know what it’s like.” You order, knowing you should hate the man who kidnapped you from your home but you want him, he’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met.

His gaze is focused, intense as he admires your body. “You are beautiful.” He growls, eyes roaming from your tits to your thighs, drinking in the sight of the curls that cover your cunt. “Lay back and spread your legs.” He orders. “Close your eyes to start.”

You follow his order, laying down on the pillows of his bed. Your heart is pounding and your stomach twists with anticipation when you spread your legs, allowing him to see your wet folds. “Close your eyes.” He reminds you and you close them, shivering in anticipation.

Marcus comes over to the bed and slides his hand up your thigh and holds your waist while he leans in and presses his lips to yours gently. Kissing you softly for your first kiss and capturing your gasp and sliding his tongue into your mouth when you open up slightly.

You reach up to cup his cheek, unsure of what to do. You’ve never kissed anyone before and you find yourself too eager, knocking your nose against his. He chuckles against your lips and tilts his head, sliding his tongue back into your mouth and you moan, keeping your eyes closed.

You yield to him, giving him a sense of conquest because he knows you would not just give in to anyone. His hand slides up and cups your breast as he breaks off the kiss to move his lips down your body. “Princesa, I will make you moan in pleasure and shake apart on this bed.” He promises right before he wraps his lips around your other nipple as he squeezes your tit in his hand.

You gasp, tangling your fingers in his damp hair while he bites and sucks on your nipple. “Oh gods.” You moan, your cunt clenching around nothing and you love these sensations. It’s more than you’ve ever felt. He releases your nipple with a pop and switches to the other one, making you whimper, your legs spreading wider to accommodate him between your thighs.

Marcus kneels between your spread thighs. Kissing and flicking his tongue against your sensitive nipples and switching back and forth between them. Until your legs are pressing against his hips and your whimpers have become loud. He can smell the arousal from how wet you are becoming and he bites down on your hard nipple before pulling off of it and kissing down your stomach. “Your cunt aches, doesn’t it?” He asks, wedging his shoulders between your thighs and hooking your legs over them. “Throbs?”

You nod, lost in the haze of the pleasure he’s already given you. You open your eyes to look down at him, his dark eyes fixed on your cunt and you whimper again. “It does. I- I need - I don’t know. Your fingers. Anything.” You beg a little, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

“Nothing but my tongue inside you.” He promises, knowing he can’t risk your innocence that way. He knows he can make you cum on his tongue. “Now you can watch.” He smirks. “Watch as I service you, show you what it feels like to have your cunt eaten.”

You watch him kiss your thigh, his breath washing hot over your cunt and you can’t stop the whine that escapes your lips. “Please, Marcus.” He chuckles and grips your thigh, keeping you spread open as he leans in to slide his tongue through your folds. The sound that escapes you is almost inhuman. You’ve never felt the wet, hot glide of a tongue there and it makes you cry out.

Your scent is almost as intoxicating as your taste. Marcus groans heavily as he takes another taste with a swipe of his tongue. Settling in to bury his face in your cunt and devour you completely. It has been a long time since he has tasted a woman and you make him ravenous.

His tongue carves a path no one else has taken and your back arches as the pleasure clouds your mind. You love it. You moan his name and tangle your fingers in his hair, letting him decide how he’s going to ruin you with his tongue.

Marcus focuses on your sounds. Sliding his tongue and flicking it to pull the prettiest sounds from you and repeating the actions when you obviously enjoy it. He loves how you are giving yourself into his care and letting him show you these pleasures. Claiming a piece of you that you could never give someone else because it is his.

Your hips rock up unconsciously trying to chase his tongue but he throws his arm over your waist, keeping you still so he can push his tongue into your dripping cunt. “Oh fuck.” You curse, “Marcus. That - it feels so good.” You almost choke on your words, overwhelmed by the feelings.

He hums against your folds, his nose pressed against your clit as he works his tongue deeper inside you. Feeling the way your walls try to clench down around him and he knows you would feel exquisite around his cock, but he can’t take your innocence.

He works you higher and higher with each swipe of his tongue. His broad shoulders stretch you wide for him to have access to all of you and he sucks on your clit, making you cry out loud enough that you’re certain his men hear you.

Marcus pulls his head away and smirks at you. “Not so loud, princesa.” He coos teasingly. “The men already think I am keeping you for myself.” He dives back into your folds after you slap your hand over your mouth to muffle your sounds.

You love how he’s claiming you like this. You want the men to know you are being kept by him but you understand how that’s dangerous for you both. You feel your stomach twist with a foreign feeling, clenching and your thighs tighten as the feeling spreads until you are moaning into your hand as you fall apart for him.

Marcus continues to suck on your clit, watching you with a possessive gaze and feeling his cock harden again. He can’t take you, but he wants you to enjoy every second of pleasure that courses through your veins. Pulling away when you are whimpering, before it turns to pain, he kisses your clit once more. His mouth is soaked with your juices and he licks his lips. “Beautiful, princesa.”

You whimper, overly sensitive to his touch and you run your fingers through his hair, loving how he looks ravenous still. “I wish you could fully claim me.” You confess breathlessly, “fill me up.”

“I cannot.” He comes up and presses his lips to your softly. “Not because I do not want to.” He promises. “I would not put you in that kind of danger.”

You sigh, nodding in understanding that the emperor would want a pure woman for empress otherwise you’ll likely be killed. You caress his cheek and swing your leg over his, feeling his hardening cock against your thigh. “Do you want me to-?” You ask but he shakes his head, reaching for your wandering hand to bring it to his chest. “No. Let’s rest. We have a long journey ahead of us.” He murmurs and kisses your forehead when you curl into his chest. “Goodnight Marcus.” You whisper and he hums, “goodnight, princesa.”

****

Everyday, he pleasures you with his mouth, spending more and more time with you wrapped around him as you muffle your cries. Sometimes even risking touching your clit while you are riding to the next encampment. He talks with you outside the bed, having thoughtful conversations and learning about you. Falling for you. You are sexy and intelligent, far too good for the spoiled emperor, but it is not his decision to make.

You blink as you awaken before Marcus. A rare opportunity. You look at him as he sleeps, the sheets and furs at his waist and his arm is under you, making your heart flutter. You’ve fallen for the man tasked with bringing you to the emperor. He’s strong, brave, smart, and not to blame for your kidnapping. He’s loyal and follows orders but he’s been in your bed, pleasuring you. You see his hard cock, tenting the sheets and you whimper, still wet from your nightly routine of him eating your cunt. You move slowly, not wanting to startle him, and you shift to straddle him. He doesn’t awaken and you smirk, deciding to take action when he won’t. He clearly wants you and he’s too rigid to take what is already his. You shift the sheets down and grip his cock, hovering naked over him, you decide to take your fate into your own hands and position him at your entrance. You sink down, watching his brow furrow as he stretches you out with his cock.

Marcus groans at the pleasure of his dreams, although night spent dreaming of being buried in your cunt. Of filling you until you are round with his child and keeping you. Your weight shifts and you hiss slightly, breaking through his sleep until his eyes open. Marcus grabs your hips, gasping your name as he tries to lift you off his cock before the damage can be done but all he manages is to bury himself deeper as he lurches up. “What have you done? Princesa-“ he chokes out, unable to say anything else as the weight of your actions washes over him. You are no longer pure.

You giggle, bending over to kiss him softly, “I don’t care. I want you. I don’t give a shit if the emperor knows I’m pure or sullied. I will claim I had lovers in my kingdom. He sent you so far away to claim me with no knowledge of my purity. I want you, Marcus. I’m yours. All of me.” You promise, kissing his chin as you adjust to his cock inside of you.

He closes his eyes and sighs softly, hands sliding up your back gently, caressing your spine. “He doesn’t deserve you.” He murmurs quietly. He loves you, he has completely been ensnared by your grace and beauty, your brilliance and your strength. “I am yours, princesa. Completely.”

You grin, pecking his lips, “I love you, General.” You promise and start to move on top of him. “Show me. I don’t - this is all new to me.” You murmur, reaching for his hands to bring them to your hips, wanting him to guide you.

“Does it hurt?” He frowns slightly and you roll your eyes and clench down around him. “No, it feels incredible.” You promise breathlessly. “Good.” Marcus hums. “Riding a man is similar to riding a horse.” He flashes you a grin. “Roll your hips and keep your seat.”

You furrow your brow in concentration and work on rocking your hips like you’re riding a horse. You tense your thighs and moan when the sensation makes your spine tingle. “Oh gods.” You choke, “you feel so big inside me.” You grab his hand to place it on your belly so he can feel himself pressing against your womb.

Marcus growls in pleasure, watching you with dark eyes and tensing underneath you. “You feel perfect around my cock, princesa. So tight.” He rocks his hips up slightly and makes your tits bounce.

You moan when he rocks his hips up and you fall forward onto his chest, your hands pressed against his pecs and you rock back onto his cock. He feels incredible inside you and you love it. He feels like everything you’ve imagined since you started an intimate relationship with him. “Fuck.” You curse, feeling him twitch inside you and he grabs your hips, keeping you still so he can thrust up into you. “Ohhhh.” Your moan is garbled as you let him fuck you and it has your body tensing. You clamp down on his cock, eyes squeezed shut at how good it feels.

He can’t spill inside you. He can’t risk planting his seed in your womb. He plants his feet on the bed and holds you tight. “Cum for me.” He growls. “Cum, princesa.”

His words tip you over the edge, crying out as you collapse against his chest. Cunt spasming around his cock as you soak him.

Marcus flips you over, needing to be in control so that he can pull out of you when he’s about to cum. Now that you have seen the stars, he starts to hammer into you ruthlessly. Groaning your name as he fucks you.

You watch him, jaw clenched as he fucks into you hard and fast. You are pushed up the bed and the sheets shoved to the floor as he fucks you. You cling to him, scratching down his back as he prolongs your orgasm and you want him to cum for you. “Shit, I need - want to see you cum.”

“Have to- have to pull out.” He pants, neck straining and he grits his teeth. “Fuck.” He hisses, loving how wet and tight you are. How you fit around him like armor. He rocks his hips another half dozen times and when you nip his jaw with your teeth, he’s pulling back. Quickly pulling out of your cunt and throbbing against your belly as he paints your skin with his seed. “Fuuuuuuuck.”

You can’t deny you’re disappointed he didn’t fill you up but you know it’s too risky. Arriving in Rome full of his baby would be a death sentence and you reach between you, pumping his cock to wring him dry with a moan of his name in the aftermath of your pleasure.

Marcus rocks his hips into your grip until every drop of his cum is painting your skin. “I love you, princesa.” He murmurs softly, leaning in and kissing your lips before he shifts off of you to collect a linen to clean you up.

“I love you too, my General.” You murmur, watching him as he carefully cleans your skin. You love him. That much is clear and you don’t know what the days ahead hold for you but you know you must let him go when the time comes. For both your sakes. For now, you’ll enjoy the journey to Rome.

****

“Princesa-“ Marcus wakes with a groan as you slip into his bedchambers he has been graciously given until the wedding between you and Caracalla. The emperor had been very pleased with your arrival and had arranged feasts and games in honor of the upcoming nuptials. All arranged to best his brother and to show off the extravagance of Rome. Tonight, Marcus had drank too much heavy wine during the feast, trying to drink his sorrows away since you will be marrying the emperor in two days time. “You should not be here.” Every night since arriving, you have snuck into his bed and every night he reminds you that this is risky. Even as he is pulling you towards him, he knows he should push you away. You are already naked, having stripped before slipping into his bed.

“I know but I need you, Marcus. We don’t have a lot of time left before I am in Caracalla’s bed. You are dreading marrying the emperor. He’s childish, selfish, and clearly deranged. You do not want to marry him but you have no choice. He’s already threatened you when you pushed back on the wedding being so soon. You straddle him, leaning down to kiss his lips, “take me, Marcus. I want you to claim me. Show me that I belong to you.”

He cannot deny you, not when his own heart aches so fiercely because of your fates. “I love you.” He promises, reaching up and cupping your cheek as he wraps his other arm around you to roll you into your back. “You are mine. I have touched you in ways no other man ever has.”

You look up at him, your heart pounding in your chest, and you ache for him. You want to be in his bed every night. You want to be his. You don’t give a damn about being empress, you want to be his wife. Even without a title. You’re wet for him already, having thought about him all day, and he groans when he slides the head of his cock through your folds.

“Mine, princesa.” Marcus promises with a groan as he starts to push into you slowly. Rolling his hips as he savors the feel of breaking you open again. No matter how often you have had sex, he is obsessed with the way your body gives under the pressure of his cock against your walls.

You take him like you’re made for him and you think you are. You are destined for each other but unable to be together. Star crossed lovers. You throw your head back as he rocks into you, his lips finding your neck and you grip his shoulders, “I love you.” You gasp, wrapping your legs around him.

“Isn’t this sweet?” Dread races down Marcus’s spine as he hears a voice that makes him freeze above you. The voice of his emperor. Twisting his head, he finds Geta smirking as he strolls into the light from a corner of the room. “You love each other.” He hums mockingly, eyes alight with manic glee. “I told my brother that there was something between you, but he didn’t believe me.” Anger flashes across the man’s face before it’s replaced with nonchalance. “Now he will.” He declares before he raises his voice. “Guards!”

You cry out as Marcus pulls out of you and is immediately ripped off of you, guards grabbing him and you try to scramble from the bed but the guards grab your legs, pulling you back and you scream as you are held naked in front of Geta who walks over to you and grips your chin. Your lip curls in disgust and he chuckles, “my brother thought he was so clever, bringing a foreign princess to marry. He hoped you’d be pliable, dutiful, obedient. You wouldn’t be corrupted by the pleasures of Rome but it appears our great General has shown them to you. Taken you as his own despite his emperor’s orders. You’re nothing but a foreign whore.” Geta scoffs and you can’t help it. You spit at him and he hisses, his hand coming up to slap your cheek.

“Don’t touch her!” Marcus barks, but the men who are holding him are not his own soldiers, loyal to him. They are loyal to Geta, to Caracalla. The emperor turns towards Marcus with a raised brow and a smirk on his face. “I believe those were your orders, General.” He snorts. “You disobeyed.”

Your cheek stings but you don't let Geta see you cry, knowing this means your death. You doubt the Emperors will allow this to pass without punishment but you will not be a withering flower. You'll stand strong until the last moment.

“I seduced her.” Marcus confesses, hoping that you might be spared from execution. “Take my life and spare her.”

"No!" You cry and try to move but the guards keep you against them. "No. I - I let him seduce me. I should've kept my legs shut. He's a man. He took what was offered. Take me. Not him." You plead, knowing Rome needs him. They never needed you. Marcus shakes his head and Geta chuckles, his lips pouting, "awwww the lovers want to die for each other. No need. You'll die together. In front of Rome." He promises and looks to the guards, "take them to the cells."

Marcus starts to struggle, shouting at Geta and the men until he is hit over the head with a sword and crumples to the ground unconscious. Dragged away without any consideration as you are pulled out of the room, still naked, to be taken to the cells beneath the palace.

You are dragged down to the cells and you are pushed into one, thrown on the floor without any clothes given to you. You hear the door to the cell next to you open and your eyes widen, knowing Marcus will be there. You wait until the footsteps of the guard fade and you rush up to the door, gripping the bars. "Marcus." You call, hoping he is awake and can hear you, "Marcus."

Marcus groans, head pounding but he hears you call his name again. “Princesa.” He chokes out, stumbling to his feet and managing to make it to the door. His head is bleeding and his eyes can’t focus, but he doesn’t care about that. “Are you hurt?” He demands.

"No. No. Are you okay?" You ask, wanting to hear that he's not in pain. "I'm fine. Nothing I can't handle." He says and you rest your forehead against the bars, "how do we escape?" You ask, hoping he has a plan.

Marcus closes his eyes. “We don’t.” He admits quietly. “My men have been sent home, everyone here is loyal to the emperors.” He sighs. “I failed you, Princesa.”

You choke on a sob, the reality of your fate hitting you and you sink down against the door, resting your back against it. "I wish things were different. We never should have come to Rome. We could've gone back to my lands. You could've been my prince and we - we would get married, have children. We could've - we could've died in old age, in peace."

“Not in this life, my love.” Marcus knows that he must face death with strength, but tears slip down his cheeks for you. “In another life, perhaps.” He closes his eyes. “I will search for you.”

You nod even though he can't see you, "in another life. I'll love you even in death, my General. I'll find you in the next life." You promise, "I'll never stop searching." You sob and before you know it, you hear footsteps from the hall and your heart pounds. "Marcus!" You cry and you back up when the door is pushed open. "It's okay. What are you doing?" He growls when he's pushed back into the cell. "You will bathe and dress. You'll be brought in front of the emperors." The guards order and a tub is brought in, a handmaid bringing your clothes to dress you and do your hair.

Marcus prays that Caracalla has overruled Geta. That he will spare your life. “Do what they say.” He orders you softly. “Do what you must to survive.” He knows his own life is forfeit but if you live, he will die at peace.

You are silent as you dress, preparing to stand before the emperors, and the guards soon arrive to take you away. The door is opened, your hand maid crying which makes your stomach twist, but you keep your head high. You want to speak to Marcus before you’re dragged off so you step towards his door. He’s standing then and you reach between the bars to touch him. “I love you. I don’t regret a thing.” You promise, “I love you, Marcus.” You promise and the guards drag you away, making you cry out as Marcus says “I love you too. Always.” You keep your head high as you’re escorted through the halls until you are taken outside. You frown and that frown turns into panic when you approach a large platform. People gathered in the piazza with the emperors sat down in their thrones. “Ah, welcome.” Geta says your name as you are shoved onto the platform and your hands shake but you grab your robes. Caracalla walks over to you, gripping your chin, “you betrayed me. You let him touch you. I cannot have a whore for empress. I could never confirm my heir is mine. You’ll suffer for your affair. I must show Rome that we do not allow such insolence.” Caracalla hisses and you know that this is the moment you die. You refuse to let them see that you’re terrified and you are pushed to kneel after your hands are tied behind your back. You keep your shoulders back as the soldier pulls his sword from his side and you hear a cry. Turning your head, you see Marcus being dragged to the side of the platform and your strength dissolves. He is to be killed as well. “Ah, General. Please watch. You’ll see what we do to traitors to the empire. Stand there and watch her die. You’ll soon be joining her.” The emperors laugh and you have tears running down your cheeks as Marcus tries to get out of the grip of the five men holding him. “I love you.” You mouth just as the sword is brought down and it all goes black.

“Nooooooo!” Marcus howls in rage as your head is separated from your body and he struggles against the men, breaking free with one hand and grabbing for the swords they carry. Tears sting his eyes and all he can think about is avenging you. Killing the emperors that have ordered your death. “Bastard!” He shouts out, the people silent as they watch the commotion. “She was never yours! She never agreed to marry you! You kidnapped her from her home!” He shouts, wanting the people to know exactly why you had died. How you had been brought to Rome. The soldiers holding him had fallen back after he had grabbed the sword. “She was not yours to claim! She was mine!”

Caracalla raises his hand, telling the soldiers to come forward to surround Marcus as he swings the sword. "I sent for her. She was mine from the moment my soldiers left Rome to find her. She was my key to securing her lands. You had orders and you failed. You fucked her, claimed her as yours, without permission and the gods will punish you. Who wants their emperor to be justified?" Caracalla asks the crowd who cheers, "the people want their emperor to be happy. And you know what would make me happy? Seeing you dead beside her. Traitors in life and in death." He claps his hands and the soldiers move closer to Marcus.

Marcus knows he will die, that is his fate, especially now that you are already walking through the Elysian Fields. Instead of battling the men who have been ordered to kill him, he drops his sword. “Rome will consume you.” He predicts. “She will rise against you and you will fall.”

Caracalla scoffs and Geta rolls his eyes while the soldiers grab Marcus and drag him to the stage. He kneels down, jaw clenched in defiance, and he growls, "fuck the emperors." His last words before the sword comes down and his head rolls on the floor moments later. The emperor grins, reaching down to grab his head, blood dripping onto the floor. "May everyone know that this is what Rome does to traitors. Even a General and a Princess are not exempt from the hand of the law." Caracalla declares and the crowd is silent. General Marcus Acacius is dead. The Roman Empire is crumbling.

****

All his life, Marcus has awoken with the knowledge that he has walked these roads before. It had been present every day, even if he could not articulate it. The sense that he had smelled that scent before, or tasted that fruit is always hanging on the edge of his consciousness. The nagging sense of déjà vu that had plagued him. His grandmother had called him an old soul, one who had lived lives before and it makes sense, considering he was named after a Roman general who had betrayed his emperors for love.

You huff as you drag your suitcase up the steps to the hotel your best friend had booked for her wedding. Of course she had to get married in Rome. Her husband-to-be is from the city. She had met him during her semester abroad and now years later they are getting married. You had flown over to Italy to be her maid of honor. You take a break and wipe your brow, your dress taking up a lot of space in your case, and you inhale deeply as you drag your case up the stairs to the entrance of the hotel. "Fuck me." You pant when you walk into the glass door, your brain starved of oxygen after your climb. You hear a chuckle behind you and you groan when a large hand reaches for the door to open it. You hear him ask you something in Italian, and you frown, head hurting, and you try to remember the phrases from the book you bought with you. "I'm sorry. I don't speak Italian." You say as you turn to look at him, and your eyes widen. Your embarrassment has been witnessed by the most gorgeous man you've ever seen.

The second he sees the eyes of the pretty American, he knows that he’s met you before. In some life. It’s the instant quickening of his heart racing in his chest makes him smile. “Why would you come to Rome if you do not speak Italian?” He teases, reaching for your bag to take it for you.

He feels familiar and you wonder why, your heart pounding in your chest and your palms get sweaty as he carries your bag into the cool reception area. "Thank you. And for the record, I have been studying. Piacere di conoscerla." Your brow furrows in concentration and the man smiles at you, making you feel even more lightheaded. He grins, "pleasure to meet you." He replies in English and asks your name. You give it to him and his brow furrows, his stomach twisting. "My father is a historian. He loves Ancient Rome. He has come here many times on different trips for work." You confess, unsure why you are telling a stranger this but it feels like you've known him your entire life.

“Interesting.” Marcus licks his lips. “There was once a Princesa during the reign of Emperors Geta and Caracalla with that name.” He tells you. “Do you know the story?” He asks, wondering if you are here by chance, but he feels like you are not. “The lovers, right?” You ask, nodding and he smiles. “General Marcus Acacius fetched her from her home, stole her - from a bordering kingdom.” He had been told the story so many times as a child he can recite it by heart. “Falling for the strong and brave princesa during their journey to Rome where she was to marry Emperor Caracalla. They became lovers, star crossed, of course.” He frowns slightly, feeling an ache in his heart like he did every time this part of the story was told. “He watched as she was executed by the Emperor’s command after they were discovered but not before they had vowed to find each other in the next life.”

“How tragic and romantic. Put Romeo and Juliet to shame.” You quip and he nods, “their story was told many times during the fall of the empire. If a general wasn’t immune from punishment, then the plebeians certainly weren’t. The uprising began that day and Rome crumbled eventually.” He tells you and you nod, “I hope they found each other in another life.” You confess and tilt your head, “I still don’t know your name.” Just as the words leave your mouth, there’s footsteps down the stairs and your best friend squeals as she rushes towards you. “You’re here!” She hugs you and you hug her back, excited for her and her wedding. “And I see you have already met our best man. This is Marcus.” She says and you look at the man who helped you with your case. You murmur your name, “and Marcus. Like the story.” You offer him a soft smile and he winks at you, turning towards the groom to embrace him with a hug. “Antonio and Marcus served in the army together.” Lucille whispers as you turn to look at the men and you watch Marcus. He’s older than you, but he’s handsome. “And he’s single.” Your friend whispers and you roll your eyes, “don’t. I don’t want to be a cliché.” You whisper back and she giggles, taking your hand to drag you to the reception. She speaks in Italian to check you in and soon enough, a key is placed in your hand.

Antonio smirks as Marcus watches you walk away. “I didn’t tell you her name so it would be a surprise.” He chuckles, knowing how much Marcus enjoys telling that story of the Roman General. Marcus snorts and shakes his head. “I was watching her ass.” He tells his best friend honestly, who laughs. “She’s single.” He informs him. “Marnie made sure to tell me to pass that along.” He grins at Marcus. “I think she’s hoping that our two best friends hook up at her wedding.”

Marcus snorts, “you know I have that thing with Maria.” He says and Antonio rolls his eyes, “where you fuck her and she goes off to date men twice her age for money and she won’t commit? I love you, man, but you know that’s not serious. You want serious. You want the whole package.” Antonio knows his best friend and Marcus sighs, watching you as you walk towards the stairs with your case. “Get her case. Your rooms are next to each other. Marnie’s doing.” The groom holds his hands up and Marcus snorts but follows his direction. “Can I get your bag?” He asks and you nod, “I’m not built for this. We have elevators as big as a bathroom in the States.” You joke and Marnie beams as she looks between you. “Go settle in. We have a welcome dinner at eight and tomorrow it’s a spa day before the rehearsal dinner.” She says and you nod, hugging her before you make your way upstairs, followed by Marcus who carries your case. “What have you got in here? Bricks?” He teases and you giggle, “a girl has to be prepared for anything.” You tease and step onto the floor where your room is. You look at the numbers until you find it, placing the key card against the lock. “Thank you for carrying my case.” You say to Marcus after he places your case down in your room, his chest heaving a little and you get a little lost in his dark eyes. “You’re welcome, princesa.” He teases and your stomach lurches, your heart pounding at the nickname. “Thank you, General.” You tease, reminded of the story. His eyes widen a little and he reaches for his key card. “Turns out I’m next door so if you need anything, just knock.” He says and you nod, “thanks again.” He shuts your door and you slump down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling with a smile on your face. Maybe coming to this wedding alone wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Marcus has already unpacked his tuxedo hanging up and he sighs, feeling restless. He can hear you moving around next door and he decides to go see if you would like to sightsee with a translator. He feels drawn to you and Antonio is right, his arrangement with Maria isn’t satisfying. He needs to know if the connection he feels to you is real. He checks his hair and feels like his stomach is twisting as he knocks on your door.

You had showered and gotten changed into a sundress. The Italian sun is still hot and you are surprised by the knock on your door. You walk over to it, opening it and your heart thumps when you see Marcus standing there. “Hi.” You offer softly and he rubs the back of his neck, “hi. I, uh, I wondered if you wanted to see some of the sights. I know you’re going to be busy with wedding stuff but I have a friend who does tours and I wanted to show you Rome.” Your eyes widen at the gesture and he falters, “or not. If you’re busy.” You shake your head, “no. I’d love to. Let me just grab my purse.” You step back to grab your things and make sure you have your room key then you step into the hall with Marcus.

Marcus smiles as he guides you towards the stairs. “It has been a long time since I have walked the ruins as a tourist.” He explains. “I am an archeologist. So this is my passion and my job.”

“Wow. You know your stuff.” You grin, excited to see the sights with someone who knows so much about the ruins. You make your way downstairs and you adjust your purse on your shoulder as you exit the hotel and make your way down the stairs where you met Marcus. “No need for a gym with these steps.” You joke as you make your way down and Marcus chuckles, “we are a city of walkers but we do have quicker ways to get around.” He guides you over to his Vespa and your eyes widen, “I’ve never - this would be my first time.” You confess and Marcus opens the seat to grab two helmets. “You’ll be safe. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.” You nod and he places the helmet on your head, buckling it under your chin and you bite your lip at the feel of his hands on your skin.

Marcus feels his skin tingling when he touches you and once your helmet is in place, he smiles as he turns to climb on. “Wrap your arms around me, Princesa.” He instructs. “I would let you ride in front of me, but your pretty dress would fly up.” He’s smirking slightly, but you just nod and take a moment to settle in behind him, the weight of your arms comforting around his stomach. “I will keep you safe.” He promises.”

For some reason, his words warm you to your core and you believe him. He revs the engine and pulls away after kicking the kickstand up and you’re soon riding through the streets of Rome. Your eyes are wide at the sights and you wrap your arms around him a little tighter, letting him take you where he wants to go. You’re happy to be with him, feeling a sense of comfort like you’ve never known before.

American tourists have movies about Roman holidays so Marcus might zip through traffic a little more recklessly than he might have normally. If only to feel you squeeze him a little tighter, turning back to see your eyes wide as you take in the city he loves. Smiling like you are flying through the air. Perhaps a little romantic dreaminess in your eyes, like it’s something out of a fairy tale. He takes you around to all the famous sights. Skirting along the edges of the cars as he makes his way to the best examples of Ancient Rome, his own dig site.

You watch the city pass by until Marcus comes to a stop in an area that’s fenced off from the public. “Are we allowed to be here?” You ask, glancing around as he swings his leg over the bike and helps you over, reaching up to unbuckle your helmet. “We are allowed to be here” is all he says and you trust him as he locks the bike and takes your hand to guide you to the padlock. He pulls the key from his pants and opens it, escorting you inside the restricted area. “What is this?” You ask and he flicks on some of the overhead lamps, showcasing the dig site. “My latest project.” He says and your eyes widen, “wow.”

He watches as you look around curiously, the building had been built to protect the site and he smiles as he motions to the half excavated site. “We are right outside what would have been Geta and Caracalla’s palace.” He explains motioning to the center of the sight. “This area was their piazza, the place where they showed Rome their treachery.” He frowns slightly. “This is the spot where the general and the princesa were executed.” He hops down into the pit, to the stone platform and offers his hand to you to help you down. “Eventually, the people of Rome would have both emperors killed right here as well.”

As soon as he says the words, a sense of dread washes over you and you shiver, your head aching as a flash of a crowd looking up at you hits you. “Are you okay?” Marcus asks and you inhale deeply, nodding as you look at the site. “Yeah. Just - a lot of history to take in.” You confess and take his hand, letting him help you down to inspect the site he had excavated.

He wonders if you feel it, if the icy fingers of dread had inched down your spine. If you remembered like he had. People would think that he was crazy if he told them the truth. “We found the site a year ago.” He murmurs, his voice not carrying very far as he crouches down. “But we have uncovered so much. Look, there is a sword right here.” The first layers of the artifact have been uncovered but removing and cataloging the items had not been possible before he had closed the site for the wedding. His team would not work without him there.

You kneel down beside him, eying the sword that looks so familiar. “Incredible. Did - did you feel that? The dread?” You ask, voicing his question as the feeling hovers over you like this is an area you’ve been to before. “It’s so strange. I feel like I know this place.” You confess and glance down at the sword, “this sword feels familiar but it can’t be. It’s just my mind.”

“I feel it.” Marcus admits quietly, reaching for your hand and guiding it towards the relic. “I want to see something.” He murmurs, hoping you get the same flashback he does when he touches the sword.

Your fingertips touch the sword and you gasp, seeing an image of Marcus but he’s wearing armor, a scar on his face, and he is holding the sword, standing beside two men with blonde hair. “Oh my God.” You choke and he tilts his head, “what did you see?” He asks and you swallow, your throat dry. “You. But - but you’re wearing armor. Ancient armor. You’re standing next to two men with blonde hair.” You reveal, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Princesa.” Marcus murmurs, reaching out and cupping your cheeks as he turns towards you. “I have been looking for you for lifetimes.” He confesses softly. “Always looking, never finding you, until now.” He frowns slightly and sighs. “I was killed, right after you were, right here. Our bodies next to one another.” He sees the confusion in your eyes. “We are fated to be together again, since we were star-crossed so many years ago.”

You are confused, trying to process his words and the images become clearer. You and Marcus knew each other, loved each other, in another life. You can see the love in his eyes despite knowing each other for a few mere hours. You lean closer, “Marcus. Finally.” You murmur, pressing your forehead against his as it all becomes clearer. You have found him. Your love. “This is crazy.” You confess, gripping his wrists but you don’t love his hands, “you don’t even know me as I am now.”

“It does not matter.” Marcus hums. “I know your soul, just as you know mine.” His thumb brushes gently over your cheekbone. “I have waited so long to see you again, to kiss you once more.” All his relationships have never worked because they weren’t you, his princesa.

You can’t believe this is happening but it feels so right, like this is what you’ve been waiting for. All those relationships that fell apart because they weren’t him. You can’t help it. You surge forward to press your lips to his and you immediately feel like you’re home when his lips touch yours. It’s a feeling you’ve never experienced before.

Marcus groans into your mouth, pulling you closer and thanking the gods that he had been right. That he had trusted his instincts. “Princesa,” he growls, sliding his tongue into your mouth and deepening the kiss.

You let go of his wrists and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his body closer to yours. His tongue sliding against yours and you whimper into his mouth, flashes of the time you spent with Marcus in a past life go through your mind and make you fall in love with a man you knew all those lifetimes ago.

Marcus kisses you again and again, learning how you like to be kissed now and it fuses with the memories he has carried for his entire life. Breaking away to look into your eyes as he pants slightly. “I am sorry.” He murmurs softly. “I wish I could have protected you then.”

You shake your head, pecking his lips. “Don’t. There’s nothing you could’ve done. We were destined for death and we are here now. We are safe. We can be together. I- I live in the States and you’re here but…one of us will have to move. I do love pasta.” You confess with a smirk, “and Italian men.”

Marcus chuckles softly and lifts his chin to kiss your forehead. “How do you feel about living in an apartment that overlooks the old city?” He asks. “My place is only a few blocks from here. I’m staying in the hotel because of the wedding party and being the best man.”

“I’d say I better start learning Italian.” You grin, knowing your parents won’t understand your move but you do. There’s no way you’re going to be parted from him now. Marcus chuckles and it warms you. “We should be heading back for the welcome dinner.” He says after he checks his watch and you nod, letting him help you stand up and you glance around the place where you were killed all those years ago. He escorts you back to his Vespa and you are back in the hotel after he speeds through the small streets of the city. He holds your hand as you enter the hotel and you are soon outside your rooms, “I better get ready for the dinner.” You murmur, leaning against him and you kiss his jaw.

“You will look gorgeous, princesa.” He murmurs, turning his head and kissing your lips again. “Although I cannot say you look better than the bride, it will be bad manners.”

You giggle, “no. She will look gorgeous. God, I want to invite you into my room but we don’t have time.” You whine, sliding your hands down his linen shirt, “later. Later I want you in my bed, baby.”

Marcus hums in agreement. “Tonight.” He agrees. “No one will interrupt us. I can relearn how you taste.” He growls, leaning in and nibbling on your earlobe. “I can recall it even now, princesa.”

Anyone who could hear you would think you’re crazy but to you and Marcus, this is very real. You whimper and step back before you allow yourself to give in and forget about the reason that you’re here. You shower and dress in one of the pretty dresses you’d packed for the wedding events, grabbing your clutch, and you hear a knock on your door. You open it and see Marcus standing at your door, looking devastatingly handsome in his jacket with his shirt slightly unbuttoned. “God, this isn’t fair. Do you think they’d miss the best man and maid of honor if we went missing?” You tease, trailing your eyes along his form.

His eyes flash in amusement and even though he wants to push you back into the room and strip you out of the at dress, he extends his arm. “It’s an Italian wedding.” He jokes. “They expect it.” You beam at his offer and immediately step forward and wrap your hand around his arm. “Tell me, princesa, do you still like to ride horses?”

You nod, “I grew up riding horses. Felt instantly drawn to it and now I know why.” You squeeze his arm and he helps you downstairs to the welcome dinner full of family and friends. Marnie and Antonio see you and Marcus, their eyebrows raised as you hold hands and Marnie giggles, “I didn’t think you two would hook up that fast. But it seems my matchmaking skills have surpassed my expectations.” She teases and you grin, looking at Marcus, “it feels like I’ve known him forever.” Marcus winks at you and your friends beam until they are dragged away and Marcus takes you to the bar to get you a drink.

Marcus keeps his hand on your waist possessively as he turns towards the bartender. “What kind of drink would you like, princesa?” He asks, making you smile at the nickname. “Whatever you will have.” He nods and loves how you trust him with choosing for you. “Renato Ratti Barolo Serradenari.” He tells the bartender before he leans into your ear. “It reminds me of the wine we drank while we were traveling to Rome.”

You grin, “we drank a lot of wine during that journey and I seem to remember you drank it from me instead of a cup many times.” You smirk and he chuckles, his hand sliding a little lower, “best way to drink it.” You giggle and the bartender sets your glasses down just as a hand curls around Marcus’s arm. “I’ve been looking all over for you, lover.” She coos, leaning in towards Marcus.

“Maria.” Marcus lifts a brow as he turns towards the statuesque blonde. “I didn’t think you could come?” She had claimed that she was too busy to accompany him, and now she is here when he would want her anywhere else. “My schedule cleared.” Her bright smile is stiff, having been canceled on by her current conquest. It’s frustrating and she needs the comfort of Marcus before she starts her search for a wealthy man to marry again. “Now I’m all yours for the weekend.” She promises, dropping a kiss on the edge of his mouth before turning towards you. “Oh! Who is your little friend?” The first part of the conversation was in Italian, but now she switches to English for your benefit.

Marcus says your name, “she’s the maid of honor and my date.” He confesses, “the love of my life and I will be spending tonight with her. I’m glad you could make it Maria but tonight, I have my princesa.” He squeezes your waist and you lean into him, giving her a smile, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.” You don’t feel threatened, knowing Marcus wouldn’t continue his relationship with her now that he’s found you again.

“The love of your life?” She huffs in confusion, not expecting him to so blatantly turn down her company. “Princesa?” Her eyes narrow. “That nickname you moan every night in your sleep? This is her?”

Marcus nods, rubbing your hip, “it’s her. I have long dreamed of this beautiful creature and now she’s here. I am hers and she is mine.” He admits and your heart thumps, knowing this sounds crazy but you are a love story centuries in the making. You place your hand on his chest, “yours.” You promise and he smiles, kissing your forehead.

Maria is dumbfounded, unable to speak and she turns on her heel and walks away. He pulls you closer. “Apologies, princesa.” He murmurs softly. “I did not know she would show up, but I will talk with her and let her know that we are no more.” He gazes into your eyes lovingly. “No one else could ever capture my interest.”

You shake your head, "it's okay. We didn't even know this was possible until today. I cannot be angry with you for keeping company." You caress his chest, "and we know the truth. Everyone else is going to be confused." You remind him and he nods, knowing that the story is unbelievable. You are soon seated opposite each other at the welcome dinner and you stretch your leg out to caress his while everyone eats their dessert.

His dark eyes meet yours, smirking slightly as you trail your foot up his let and press against his crotch lightly. Despite the centuries apart, you are still bold and have no problem in taking what you want. He reaches down and squeezes your foot playfully while Antonio asks him a question that makes him look away from you.

Marnie grabs your attention, talking to you about the spa session for tomorrow and you half listen, watching Marcus speak to the groom until the bride nudges you. "What's up with your both? It's like you've known each other forever." She observes and you shrug, "it just feels right. Like I was meant for him." You see Marcus wink at you from across the table, caressing your foot. "Good. I thought he was perfect for you." You nod and smirk at Marcus, eager for him.

“Maria looked unhappy.” Antonio observes with a smirk. He’s never hidden the fact that he’s never cared for Marcus’s previous lover so he seems to be thrilled. “Just- don’t hurt her. Marnie will make me hurt you if you do.” He jokes, rolling his eyes, but Marcus snorts. “I would rather cut my own arm off.” He promises seriously. “She is precious and I will keep her heart safe.”

You feel bad but you are eager for the dinner to be over and not soon enough, it is. "Go. Go." Marnie orders when you hug her and you reach for Marcus's hand when you are finally free of maid of honor duty for the night. He smirks, guiding you through the crowd until you are walking up the stairs and you giggle when he slaps your ass.

He is eager to touch you again. To find out if the same things he had done to you so long ago still works. “You have no problem with the stairs now.” He teases, chuckling when you huff and roll your eyes.

You open your clutch, finding your keycard when you reach your door and you moan when he presses against you, his lips finding your neck and his hands on your hips. You lean back against him, tilting your head as you blindly try to unlock the door.

“Princesa, when was the last time you had a man touch you?” He doesn’t care that you’ve had other lovers, he just wants to make sure that he prepares you properly. He twitches against your ass and grinds against you. “Eaten your pussy like it is a luscious desert?”

You whimper at his words, "I had - my ex and I broke up a few weeks ago. It didn't work. I didn't know why but he wasn't you. I've been tested." You reassure him, "no one has ever made me feel like this and you haven't even touched me." You whine and grind back against him, the door finally opening with a beep.

“I’ll get tested.” He promises, sure that Maria wouldn’t give him something, but he will want to give you that reassurance. “This time I can wear a condom.” He guides you inside and spins you around to press you against the door as it closes. “Then I will spill inside you like I wanted to do so many times we were together in that life.”

You moan, "yes. So many times I wanted you to do it. Knock me up and claim me so he couldn't." You confess, your hands sliding up to push his jacket from his shoulders, your fingers immediately working on the buttons of his shirt when the jacket is on the ground.

He holds your chin with his two fingers and tips your head up to take his kiss, pouring himself into the way his mouth slots against yours. Pressing you into the door more firmly as he grabs your ass and pulls you up to allow your legs to wrap around his waist.

You wrap your legs around him and he turns, carrying you over to the bed, your heels dropping to the floor on the journey over and you moan when he lays you down. "I've missed this view." You tease while he shrugs off his shirt, exposing his chest.

“That bed in our tent, covered with furs to keep you warm.” He chuckles. “Although you preferred to wear me at night.” His hands slide under your dress to drag your panties down and peel them off your legs to toss away. “Wearing my tunics.”

You sigh in delight when his hands caress your legs after he tosses your panties over his shoulder. "You loved me in those tunics." You giggle and he nods, "I fucking did." You grin and his hands push your dress higher, "don't tease me, baby. I have waited many lifetimes for this moment."

“Not teasing.” He huffs. “Appreciating.” He reaches under your arm for the zipper to your dress. “We have all night. Nothing to stop us or come between us.” He reaches for the strap and drag them down to expose your tits to his delighted eyes. “Watching you bathe that first time made me ache. Wanted you then.”

You lift your hips so he can drag your dress off your body and you shiver in anticipation. "I would've taken you that night. I hated you for kidnapping me but also thought you were incredibly strong and handsome. I would've let you fuck me but I was pissed at you." You smirk until his hands find your tits, squeezing them to make you moan his name.

He loves that you’ve retained all your memories, or recovered them. Knowing that while you have to learn about each other now, you do know the people you used to be, the history you shared. “I was still denying myself.” He settles down between your thighs and presses his nose against your bare cunt. “No hair.” He hums, inhaling your scent with a grin. “But you still smell the same. Let me see if you taste the same.”

You can't believe how many memories are coming back to you when hours ago, you didn't know the man between your thighs existed. His tongue slides through your folds and you moan, closing your eyes as your fingers tangle in his hair.

He can almost smell the smoke from the camp fires as he licks into you. Tasting you again and twitching against the sheets of the bed. Groaning as he holds your thighs and pulls them apart even more to devour your cunt properly.

You lift your thighs a little higher, your hands cupping your tits as his tongue makes your mind go blank. "Fuck." You pant, "that's so good." You compliment him as his tongue slides through your folds like he's been there a thousand times and in a way, he has.

Marcus doesn’t hesitate to push his tongue inside you, remembering how much you had loved it and he grunts in approval when you whine in pleasure. Wanting to make you cum like this once more. His fingers dig into your thighs as he eats you ravenously.

His nose presses against your clit and you whimper, one hand coming down to run your fingers through his hair. He is pushing his tongue into you like a man starved and your thighs press against his head, wanting to keep him between your thighs.

He feels your stomach heave and he throws an arm over your waist to keep you pinned to the bed. Loving how responsive you are and desperate to cum you appear. Trying to roll your hips down to his tongue.

You haven't felt like this before and your body is so heated, overwhelmed by how he's making you feel. You moan, your chest heaving as he slides his tongue up to suck on your clit. "Oh God, yes!" You cry, your walls starting to flutter around his tongue.

Marcus growls into your folds, throbbing in need as you soak his mouth and chin. Loving how your thighs squeeze his head harshly while your back bows up.

He laps at you, working you through it, and you whimper, "fuck. You are so good. I need to see you, Marcus. Need to see you again." You plead, lowering your thighs from his face.

Marcus stretches tall and climbs off the bed so he can unbutton his pants. The suit he had worn didn’t require a belt and his shoes were toed off near the door. Leaving him to pull down his pants and boxer briefs, letting his hard cock spring free.

You groan, shifting onto your knees and after he kicks his pants aside, you shuffle closer as he stands at the foot of the bed. "Fuck. So thick." You moan and you grip his cock, leaning in to take his cock between your lips.

Marcus moans, reaching down and caressing your cheek, “still so damn eager.” He chuckles, eyes fluttering from the way your tongue presses against the sensitive head of his cock when you roll the foreskin down.

You moan at the salty taste of his cock as you take him deeper. You have memories now of doing this many times but right now, it’s your first time in this lifetime and you are eager to enjoy it.

He doesn’t rock his hips, letting you set your own pace and he admires the length of your lashes as your eyes flutter up at him. “So beautiful.” He coos, caressing your cheek again. “My princesa is beautiful in every lifetime.”

His words have you dripping and you start to rock your jaw, watching him until you move a little faster and you close your eyes in concentration. Your palms dig into the mattress as you keep yourself upright while you take his cock down your throat.

Marcus grits his teeth, enjoying the pleasure of your mouth, but he wants to be inside you. He wants to have your walls squeezing him tight as he makes you cum. “Good girl.” He hums, pulling back.

You whine when he starts to pull you off his cock, spit dripping down your chin, and he grabs your waist to shift you to lay down against the pillows. "Want to be inside you." He murmurs and caresses your leg, "let me grab a condom." He says and walks over to his bag, shuffling until he's walking back to the bed, kneeling on it as he opens the packet.

He knows that as soon as he gets his results back, he will be discarding the condom, but he needs to do this. He pinches the tip and holds himself while rolling the rubber down his length. “Dreamed about this.” He groans, leaning forward and kissing you again.

You cup his cheeks, your heartbeat in your ears as you watch him settle between your thighs. "I love you." You murmur, unable to believe you've been reunited like this. He shuffles closer and you gasp when he starts to push into you. "You okay, princesa?" He asks and you nod, "perfect. I feel perfect." You promise, wrapping your legs around him.

He groans, the way you squeeze him changing from the placement of your hips. You are hot and tight, perfect and he feels like he’s come home. “You are so wonderful, princesa.” He praises breathless as he starts to slowly pull back to surge forward again.

You let him rock into you, take control, and you caress his shoulders and back. “No scars.” You observe, “not battle hardened.” You murmur, sliding your hands down his chest.

He can’t tell if you are disappointed or pleased, but he continues to thrust, picking up the pace and smirking when you whimper. “Feel good, princesa?”

You nod, “so good. I’ve missed you so much.” You confess even though this morning you had no memory of him. Now, you can’t imagine your life without him. You try to rock up to meet his thrusts and you caress his skin, “I’m so happy you are unharmed.” You answer his unspoken question .

“Life is more complicated but easier.” He huffs, turning and scattering kisses over your shoulder. “We are free to love, to go where we wish.”

“I know. Imagine explaining the Internet.” You joke breathlessly and he chuckles against your skin, continuing to rock into you. “Fuck. And modern birth control. I got an IUD so no unexpected - I really thought that was going to happen to us back then.” You confess, “then I would’ve been killed.”

“It was not meant to be.” He presses his lips to yours again. “Maybe in this life.” He grinds into you, stealing your breath on a moan as he chuckles against your lips.

“We are together in this life.” You murmur against his lips and you moan, sliding your tongue against his as he rocks into you. It’s everything that’s been missing from your life and you love him. God, you love him. You whimper when he adjusts his hips and hits something delicious inside you.

“There?” He groans your name into your mouth and slides down to his elbows, pushing his arms under you because he needs to feel closer. It’s not enough, it might never be enough. He concentrates on that spot, wanting to see you fall over the edge and have a new memory of you.

You nod, your mouth falling open as he rocks into you and you pant, your walls fluttering around his cock. "Shit, baby. I - fuck. You're gonna make me-" You choke as you fall apart, clamping down on his cock and pulsing around him.

Marcus hisses, gritting his teeth while you soak him in your juices. Loving how you are coming apart for him. “Fuck, fuck.” He groans, trying to fuck you through it but his thrusts are harder.

You slide your hands down to his ass, squeezing, “cum for me, General. I want to see you cum.” You plead, groaning when his face screws up and he twitches inside you, spilling inside the condom. You slide your hands up his back and whimper, loving how he looks when he cums for you.

Marcus strains over you, working himself through it with a grinding circular motion of his hips until he is collapsing into you. “Fuck.” He pants. “Perfect, princesa, you are so perfect.”

You sigh, loving how he feels on top of you, your hands caressing his back as he presses you into the mattress. You feel complete, like you’re where you were always supposed to be.

****

“You may now kiss the bride.” The priest declares and you grin, looking at Marcus. His face is bright and he surges forward to press his lips to yours, spinning you to dip you as he smiles against your lips. The city of Rome as your background along with a beautiful sunset. Marnie and Antonio stand either side clapping and you kiss your husband. It may have taken many lifetimes but you and Marcus finally found each other again. No one, not even an emperor, can separate you now.

#pedro pascal #marcus acacius #marcus acacias x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x f!reader #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius imagine #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii

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aealzx · 5 months ago

Text

As Sonic slammed through the enemy’s weapons Knuckles slid to a stop next to Shadow and threw his body protectively over the black hedgehog’s smaller form, a hand resting on Shadow’s head, and face turning to snarl at the soldiers. Only when significant damage had been done did Sonic skid to a stop, standing between the soldiers and Shadow with his arms spread wide, blue lightning rippling off his form. The quiet that fell over the field wasn’t complete, but it was still numbing. “Stay down, new hedgehog. I’ll keep you safe,” Knuckles spoke quietly to Shadow when he tried to push himself up despite the form over him. He smelled of blood mixed with ash, and Knuckles could hear the slight wheeze in his painfully heavy breaths. It was a simple command, but Knuckles was uncertain if the way Shadow’s form relaxed after a moment was a good thing or not. He seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open.

____________

“Mr. Wachowski. Care to enlighten me why you’re here?” Commander Walters returned the greeting. “Well, I live here,” Tom answered with a brief smile. “Green Hills is right over there, in case you weren’t aware. We’d appreciate it if the military wasn’t firing off weapons so close to town.” “A minor incident. We have it under control, and will be leaving shortly.” Sonic snorted and opened his mouth to shoot a bitter reply, but Tom stopped him with a hand. “Great! Well then, I’ll just pick up my kids, and we’ll pretend this never happened. We can tell the town you were cleaning up a rogue Eggman drone?” Tom suggested brightly. That got Commander Walters to crack a fake smile. “Ah. Yes, that should do nicely.” “Cool! Keeping it simple. I like it,” Tom breathed, clapping his hands together and turning slightly. “Honey, is kid number four safe to move?” “Four?” Commander Walters spoke in mildly confused protest. “Uhhhhh yeah. Two right here, and then two over there with Maddie makes four,” Tom returned easily, pointing to Sonic and Tails near him, and then Knuckles and Shadow as Maddie reached them. Commander Walters cleared his throat. “I’m sorry Mr. Wachowski, there seems to be a misunderstanding. Project Shadow is property of G.U.N.. I can’t allow you to take it.” “Huh,” Tom voiced, forcing a pause. “That’s strange. I thought slavery was illegal in the United States.” “You know what I mean.” “No, I actually don’t. Care to enlighten me how kidnapping a lost child and subjecting him to experimentation and indefinite imprisonment is something the government does?” Commander Walters’ expression twitched, and Tom started nodding his head. “Yeah, we figured some things out,” Tom confirmed the unspoken, possible question. It prompted Commander Walters to change tactics, shifting his shoulders and drawing a breath for a new conversation. “We’re simply containing a dangerous weapon. It’s standard procedure.” “Excuse me? The only dangerous weapon we’ve had to deal with recently was that moon slicing cannon your people built. The one that my kids stopped, because some nutcase stole it from you. Remember that?” “Didn’t he almost kill you in the process?” “Because he thought I was you!” Tom snapped. ”And seeing what you've done to him now I can see why his first reaction to seeing you was to fight!” “He's dangerous-” “He is a child!” Tom bellowed. “And if you would treat him as one, as a person, instead of a weapon he may have come to like you instead of wanting to kill you the moment he saw you! Now are you going to take my suggestion and get the hell out of here without a fuss, or are we going to have to do this the hard way?”

____________________

“I think he passed out.” Maddie faltered for a moment, but then pushed through, somewhat reassured since they were already in the clinic. “Alright. That’s okay, bring him over here,” Maddie directed, pointing to a shallow bathing station. “We need to get him clean. Can you get his gloves and shoes off?” she gave for further instruction before turning to her three boys. “Knuckles, take your brothers to the front room and call Uncle Wade to come help watch you three.” “But I wanna help!” Sonic protested, already having been dancing around their feet staying out of the way but also trying to stay as close as he could. “I know, but this is a little more intense than I’d like you to have to deal with,” Maddie assured, running her hand over his head. “I’ll be good, I’ll listen.” “No, Sonic,” Maddie stressed. “I’m gonna have to do surgery to fix his ribs, and I don’t want any of you to see that. Okay?” Sonic’s eyes went wide, and Maddie raised her hands to steady him if needed. It was a little blunt, but she didn’t have time to keep trying to convince him. “It’ll be okay, boys. I’ll take care of it. So just be good for Wade, alright?” “I’ll watch over them, mother,” Knuckles assured, moving forward with Tails already clinging to him and putting a hand around Sonic. “Come. Let us contact our Uncle, then construct a plan to welcome Shadow home.”

__________________________

Iiiiiii have a lot of scattered incoherent thoughts about Shadow getting adopted that I cannot figure out how to string together in a straight story, so I'm just doodling and writing the lil bits that pop into my head. 8 |

Something about Shadow trying to find his inhibitor rings again, but he only gets the 2 for his legs and G.U.N. finds the other 2 first, which leads to Shadow trying to steal them back but inevitably getting worn down by them and his own chaos energy beating him up. So he gives in and goes to Green Hills to find Sonic for help because "I thought that...since you wouldn't kill me… even after all I did, all I said, I thought that maybe…. maybe… you could help me"

This all took long enough that the Wachowski fam had enough time to talk things over about everything.

This also might be the 'I may have beat Shadow up a lil too much haha whoops' headspace 'cause he ended up with this list of injuries by the time the fam got him:

2 displaced broken ribs on the right (stabilized by Maddie with pins to be removed later)

broken right arm

broken left leg

injured right lung (causes wheezing mostly)

large laceration on right torso and right thigh

I'm still not sure if I want Walters to be the one there chasing Shadow or if it should be the other military lady and Walters helps stop them and let Tom and Maddie take Shadow 8 |

anyway post is getting way long so * finger guns and leaves ya'll with this *

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luveline · 7 months ago

Note

Just re-watched the prison Reid arc and whew! Can I request post prison Reid getting to meet his new baby for the first time with a civilian reader? Like he was arrested while reader was still pregnant and she gave birth right before he got out? Maybe have a Diana cameo cause I just love her🤭

ty for requesting! fem, 1.6k

“Do you want me to take him?”

You give Diana a grateful smile. “Is that okay?”

Diana is reedy like Spencer, tall and skinny, but strong, too. She treads the carpet in her moccasins and holds out her arms for the baby, shushing him softly as you pass him over. You’ve had to look after her these last few weeks in a way you weren’t prepared for, but she’s looked after you in turn.

She’s almost completely lucid today. The good news has its hooks in her.

You look out of the window again. The baby coughs in Diana’s arms, a clearing sound after feeding. If she’s gentle with him he’ll fall asleep before Spencer gets home. You aren’t sure what to do, let him sleep or wake him. What would Spencer want?

I want to come home, he’d said, choked up over the phone, so badly. I’m so sorry.

“Are you sure you won’t call him Walter?” Diana asks. “Spencer likes that one.”

“I’m sure, Diana. He liked Jasper, so…” You bite the tip of your tongue until it aches, refusing to cry again. “So I went with Jasper. I hope he doesn’t mind.”

That morning when Emily told you he was coming home, you cried like you’ve never, ever cried. So hard that the baby woke up in his cot across the room and cried with you.

You’d cried a lot after Spencer was arrested, and worse when he was imprisoned. You cried like a baby the day you went into labour because you knew you’d have to do it alone, when Spencer promised he’d be there with you, that you wouldn’t have to do any of the scary parts alone.

It didn’t take long to stop. You’d grabbed Jasper with your cheeks soaked in tears and rubbed his back, that small stretch of warmth under your hand like a lifeline. In a way, Jasper being Spencer’s has made this easier. You’ve had a part of him. It just wasn’t enough to get over missing him. Every bit of joy —you have a baby now, your beautiful boy— has been swiftly followed with an aching sort of grief. Spencer missed his first cry, first bath, the very first time he opened his eyes. You can’t go back.

“They said three.”

Diana doesn’t seem concerned. She’s missed Spencer as much as you have, and you know her worry for him has made her more poorly than she’d otherwise be most days, but the baby helps. “I’m gonna find his bear,” she says.

You bend down, trying to see the corner of the street through the window. Then you remember the last time you left her alone in the kitchen and flinch. “Hey, Diana?” you call.

She’s checking the drawers for the bear. You’re not sure why she thinks the bear would be there, but perhaps that’s where she put it. “Can I make you a cup of tea or something?” you ask her.

“You’re spying on me.”

“Spying implies you don’t know what I’m doing.”

She pats the baby’s back. “I can see why you and Spencer get along.”

It’s a little more than getting along.

She finds Jasper’s bear atop the bread bin, sitting at the kitchen table with him, the bear sat across from him, though Jasper’s already sleeping again.

You put the stovetop kettle on to boil and realise with a start that you can make Spencer a cup of tea at the same time. Your smile is unfailing, then. He really is coming home. The kettle begins whining while you recover his favourite mug from the cabinet, untouched the entire time he was gone.

“How many sugars today?” you ask.

“Was that the door?”

“What?” You’re putting the mug down before you can compute.

“Angel?”

You feel a rush of emotion all over at the sound of his voice. You try to call back to him, but you don’t manage anything more than a catching gasp as you push out of the kitchen and find him at the door. Right there at the end of the hall.

Pale, tall. Arms already opening, half a step as you run at him. He doesn’t complain when your chest knocks against his. He doesn’t say anything at all.

“Hi,” you breathe, pressing your nose to his shoulder. Your eyes stay open —it’s like panic without the fear. He’s really here in your arms.

He squeezes you tightly. So tight you can’t breathe for a second. Then he gentles, his hands rubbing up and down your back out of sync, face falling into yours.

In the kitchen, Jasper makes a croaky crying sound, a stirring Diana calms immediately.

You attempt to pull away. Spencer will want to see Jasper, of course. He hadn’t met his own son. It was all he could talk about for weeks before he went away, and yet—

Spencer just rubs your back. After another half a minute like that, he asks, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You clear your throat.

“Yeah? No one would tell me anything specific, I was worried you might not be alright.”

“Everything went fine.” He holds you to his chest. He smells like cheap soap. “I didn’t– it was really okay. He was easy, like he knew I couldn’t handle any complications.”

“And he–?”

You recognise the undercurrent in his voice. It’s the same thing you felt when they put Jasper on your chest for the first time. “He’s perfect.”

“All ten fingers?”

You pull away. Immediately, Spencer’s taking your face into two hands, his eyes pouring into yours with an intensity that worries you. “He has all his fingers and toes,” you say quietly, “how about you? How’s your leg?”

He doesn’t seem to be able to answer. Jasper makes another noise and Diana’s chair creaks. You turn with Spencer’s hand on your side, watching as she brings Jasper to the door.

“Spencer,” Diane says, like she just saw him yesterday, “you’re late.”

“Sorry, mom.”

He always sounds younger when he talks to her.

“Will you take the baby? I was just making some tea,” she says.

Spencer nods but doesn’t move.

“I’ll take him.” You kiss Spencer on the cheek. Remember you haven’t for weeks and kiss him again. “It’s okay.”

You hold your arms out and take Jasper against your chest. Spencer takes a step forward, stops, hesitating, but when you turn to him with a comforting smile the band holding him back snaps. He crosses the room, breath pulled like he’d stopped as he cranes his head to see his baby.

“Three weeks old today,” you say softly, tipping Jasper back so Spencer can see his face. “He missed his daddy, you know.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Of course I can. I’m his mom, Spencer… And who wouldn’t miss you?”

Spencer shakes his head gently, reaching out to caress Jasper’s full cheek.

“Jasper,” Spencer says.

“He’s been a great baby so far. Doesn’t give me much trouble. He cries all night, of course… but all babies do. He goes down after a while. I’ve–” You swallow the heat of missing Spencer like a barb dragging against the inside of your throat. “Told him you’re coming home. I told him every day, I promise.”

“M’sorry,” he says, pained.

“I know, Spence.” You nudge him. “Time to hold him, honey.”

He’s more eager than you thought. It’s almost like he’s worried you won’t let him have the baby, but it’s like you told him on the phone: Spencer made a stupid mistake, and you still love him. He never should’ve been going back and forth like that, but you get why he did. Wouldn’t you want Jasper, one day, to care about you in the same way Spencer loves his mother? You forgave him the moment he apologised.

“It’s alright,” you say, slotting Jasper from your arms to his, guiding his hand behind Jasper’s delicate neck. “Just hold him. He missed you.”

Spencer sniffles. “I missed him too,” he says.

“I know.”

Diana realises eventually that Spencer being home is a big deal. It’s not her fault, not understanding, but the new baby, her relocation again, her nurse barely gone, and Spencer’s sudden homecoming, it’s probably too much to deal with. She finds you, Spencer, and Jasper on the couch in the living room and frowns at him heartily. “You won’t hug your own mother?” she asks.

“You’ll have to hug me around the baby,” he says, sorry.

She agrees to this without fuss. She caresses his cheek as he’d done for Jasper as she pulls away.

“Thank you for helping out, mom,” he says.

“It was all Y/N, Spencer. You know mothers. We’re strong.”

Spencer looks at Jasper, still sleeping, and then to you, a shade of adoring in his eyes you’ve never seen before. “I know,” he says.

You curl into his side and take a breath. For the first time in weeks, you let your body relax, finding it sorer and angrier than you’d left it the last time you had the chance to check in.

Spencer brings the side of your face to his lips to kiss your weary cheek.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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cheapshrimpysheep · 8 months ago

Text

My Heaven's Light

SUMMARY: Rollo managed to kidnap you before sending the NRC students to Fleur City's Waterways, believing he was saving you. Malleus and the others reach the tower, ring the Bell of Solace and rescue you. Malleus expresses his protective side and Rollo apologizes for kidnapping you.

CHARACTERS: Rollo Flamme VS Malleus Draconia (x Reader)

TAGS: GN Reader; Angst to Comfort; Jealousy

WARNING: Spoilers from Glorious Masquerade; Kidnapping

WORD COUNT: 4.220 Words

COMMENTS: Thinking about the fact that Rollo is the twisted version of Frollo and thinking of MC as Esmeralda, it is inevitable to imagine Rollo kidnapping MC. But not for the same reasons!

Rollo is a really complex character, but one I've wanted to write about for some time now. I plan to try writing more with him in the future.

Until then, I hope you enjoy this one. 🐲🦐🔔

By the way, do you have ANY idea how many times I've looked up synonyms for common words just to get as close as possible to Rollo's way of speaking? One thing is for sure: I am greatly expanding my English vocabulary with this.

Amidst the panic that the firelotuses were causing, both your colleagues and Professor Trein end up paying more attention to the flowers than to you.

As you move away from the flowers, you end up approaching one of the pillars. That's when you feel a hand covering your mouth and another holding your arm behind your back.

You are carried away through the shadows as you try to free yourself, but these attempts only make the hands hold you even tighter and run the risk of injuring your arm.

The person who is taking you leans over and whispers in your ear. “I beg you not do make this more complicated that it needs to be.” It's Rollo!

He takes you to a room adjacent to the hall and pushes you inside, making you fall into an armchair. Just before he closes the door to lock you inside you hear Grim's voice.

“[Y/N]? [Y/N]?! MY HENCH-HUMAN DISAPPEARED!”

No matter how loud you scream, or how much you bang on the door, the chaos outside is too loud for anyone to hear you. Eventually you realize something is going on, so you stop to listen to the conversation. Rollo had revealed himself and was talking to your NRC colleagues.

“My, my.” You hear Azul say. “That was quite a predictable villain line, you know.”

“Silence!” Rollo's voice echoed. “YOU'RE the villains here! And what's more, you flaunted your magic and mesmerized our good citizens with it... Just like you did with your prefect. You imprisoned them with you and poisoned their mind. The poor thing became numb to the absurdity after spending every day swimming in it. Mages use their magic to lead people astray and cloud the eyes of the virtuous public. It's sad state of affairs, but it's devastating when the victim is someone like [Y/N].”

“What have you done with [Y/N]?!” Malleus's powerful voice demands to know.

“For now, I am keeping them safe. But once I engulf the world in the fiery crimson of these flowers and strip every mage in Twisted Wonderland of their magic, then I will have saved them, and all those like them who suffer at your hands!”

“You have no idea of the atrocity you are insinuating, Flamme!” Not only does Malleus’s voice thunder, but the sky outside does too.

“And there he is, folks! The secret mastermind who was controlling the ‘final boss’ all along!” Idia says. “But what kind of mastermind jumps the gun and shows up this early? Dude has like, zero patience.”

“Could you not right now? You're ruining the moment.” Azul complains.

The discussion continues with Rollo revealing that his plan is already well underway. When the Bell of Solace rang for an unprecedented fourth time that night, it suffused the city with magic. The firelotuses aren't only in the school. They've spread throughout the city, and are sapping the energy from every mage living there. And after that, he opens the floor for everyone to fall into a pit.

“And those accursed mages, with Malleus Draconia foremost among them... They'll all be finished! Enjoy your time down below. Though I think you'll find it quite...draining. At long last... I shall finally mete out my justice.”

Some time later, the door opens and Rollo enters, extending his hand to you.

“Come. We must go to the Bell Tower. It is safer-”

What he didn't expect was for you to attack him with a tall candlestick. And you discover that in addition to being a promising mage, he also has excellent reflexes. He manages to dodge your attack and grab your wrists so you let go of the candlestick.

“I do not aim to harm you!” He says very seriously. “Please don't turn it into something I have to do.”

“Then what are you doing locking me here?”

“Preventing you from falling for the tricks of those magic-addled fools once again.” He comes closer, still grabbing you by the wrists. “You poor thing. Blinded by villains who wear an elusive mask of companions. But worry not, that tragic state of affairs shan't last much longer.” He brings his face even closer to yours. “Now, I will provide you with a choice. You will accompany me peacefully to the Bell Tower, where you will be safe by my side. Or you will make me forcefully assure your safety. Which one will be?”

If you choose to resist, Rollo will pin your arm behind your back again and place a handkerchief over your mouth and nose. Whatever is in that handkerchief, will render you unconscious. And you will wake up on the top floor of the Bell Tower, lying on a blanket.

You see Rollo with his back to you, looking down at the bright scarlet below. You stand up.

“For the Righteous Judge's sake, don't try to go against me again.” Rollo says, without turning to you. “Even without the use of my magic you will not be able to overpower me.” Still without taking his eyes off the outside he calms down to invite you. “Would you be so kind as to join me in gazing out over the city?”

If you choose to accompany him peacefully to the Bell Tower, Rollo will release your wrists with a smile and give you his arm for you to intertwine with yours.

“I'm glad my judgment of you is aligning with the truth.” He says calmly as he guides. “To remain so virtuous amidst the chaos of magic, you must surely be one of heaven's lights.” You see now a new smile, a peaceful one.

The climb up the tower was silent, as you needed to breathe to climb all those stairs. When you finally reach the top, Rollo extends his hand to you. If you give him yours, he will guide you like a gentleman to a point where you can both see the ominously lit city below.

After your choice:

“Ahh, the city's turned a marvelous shade of crimson... How cleansing it is. I've never felt so at peace before.”

“Why are you doing this, Rollo?”

“Once magic vanish from the world forever, no one will have to suffer with its consequences. Magic is not something to be lionized. It is an evil temptation that, behind its illusory wonders, only causes pain and suffering. If it wasn't dangerous, it wouldn't be like a toxin in your body... However... I wonder how much you actually know about it.”

You look at him as if to ask what he means by that.

“Are you even from this world [Y/N]?” He finally looks at you. “I don't know what it is, but there's something about you that's different from every non-magic user I've ever met. And the circumstances surrounding you are quite... abnormal.”

You choose not to respond.

“I see you have your secrets. I have mine owns as well." He takes his handkerchief to his face. "If you don't feel comfortable talking about your past, then allow me the right not to talk about mine either.”

He puts the handkerchief back in his pocket, and you observe the city in silence for a moment, until he speaks again.

“They will come here. I don't know which students will be strong enough to reach the tower, but Malleus Draconia will certainly be one of those who will be able to reach me. And when that happens, I will guarantee that he will be the first to fall.”

“Why all this obsession with Tsunotarou?”

“Obsession is a very strong word, I simply...” He stops to process what you just said. “I beg your pardon, but am I correct in assuming you were referring to Malleus Draconia just now?”

“Of course, he was who you were talking about just... Oh, I called him Tsunotarou didn't I? Sorry. But yes, I was talking about Malleus.”

“T-Tsunotarou?” He takes the handkerchief back to his face. “Is it some kind of mocking nickname?”

“No! I mean yes, it's a nickname, but no, it's not to mock him. It's a long story but that's what Grim and I call him.”

“Does he know about this... name?”

“Oh, yes. He even likes me calling him by that, he thinks it's funny. Or at least that's what it seams. He smiles every time he hears me say that name.” Just like you were smiling talking about him. “He calls me Child of Man.”

“You have a playful nickname for each other.” Rollo whispers with the handkerchief covering his angry (jealous) expression. “Soon enough you'll feel disgusted by it.”

“Sorry, I didn't understand.”

“No, nothing. Pay me no mind.” He takes the handkerchief away from his mouth. “Ah... I hear the firelotuses rustling... Those wretched Night Raven College mages are making their way up the tower, aren't they? Villains are always so stubborn.” Before you could complain about his words, he puts his hand on your arm and continues. “I must get you in a safer place. Those monsters won't give up without a fight.”

“Who do you think we’re calling-”

He ignores your reprimand and takes you by the arm to a small room that they will not have access to without first going through Rollo.

“I am deeply sorry for what I'm about to do, but I need to make sure you do not alert them to your location.” With his magic, he makes ropes appear to tie you up and a piece of cloth to silence you. “See how despicable magic is? An atrocity like trapping you is completed in seconds. But I will release you as soon as the danger has passed.” And he closes the door.

“Here we are.” You hear Malleus’s voice. “The very top floor of the bell tower.”

“The Bell of Solace stands out even at night.” Azul comments. “Look how it glints in the moonlight.”

“Now to ring it, wipe out the flowers, rescue [Y/N] and finish this stupid pop-up quest for good.” Idia points out.

“But to do that...” Malleus returns. “We must first pay our respects to the host of the party.”

This was Rollo's cue to reveal himself. Which he does.

“At long last, you've arrived. The greater the villains, the more they insist on stopping around. Deplorable.”

“Where are they Flamme?” Malleus demands to know.

“Safe, of course, away from you and your wicked lies.”

“Okay, I really need to ask.” Idia says. “What does our magic-less Prefect have to do with this flower plan and ending magic thing? Why kidnap them? They have no power to stop you. Unless you kidnapped them to keep them for yourself. Good taste tho. But you only met them literally today! That’s like the ultimate desperate creep move.”

“My actions involving your Prefect have nothing to do with personal motives. Innocent victims must be rescued from your evil hands! And that is exactly what I did.”

“I don't know if you would use the word ‘Innocent’ like that if you actually knew them.” Azul comments with a smirk.

“If this is true, it will be proof of your corruption!”

The flowers reach the bell and the exchange of words follows a course that ends with the three fighting Rollo after Malleus said:

“Regardless of your reasons, you will not have your way. I shall stop you for all the fallen in this city... For the wonderful person you kidnapped... For the people awaiting us at school... For Briar Valley... And for myself. You see, I harbor a particularly potent animus toward you. A feeling aggravated by the disrespectful actions you had towards who is dearest to me. I shall eradicate the firelotuses and put all to rights. With the Bell of Solace itself!”

They lose the first fight against Rollo. And it's after that that Idia reveals what they read in Rollo's diary that they found in the fireplace. About his brother. About him not being able to do anything to save him... And you hear Idia going down a not so empathetic path, to which you would react with a facepalm if your hands weren't tied.

You hear Rollo getting angry and starting to lose his composure, Azul attacking him with Deuce's signature spell, with whom he had made a deal, the astonished reaction when seeing that Rollo is still standing, and finally, you hear Rollo use his signature spell and the sound of flames bursting forth.

A new fight, even more violent, until the sound of the flames died away and...

“Rollo collapsed, and his flames went out...” Azul says. “That means Malleus won, right?”

“Dude, Malleus is out of breath.” Idia says “I can see why he wanted us clear. We could've easily been collateral damage.”

Rollo says he accepted his defeat, but only to try to attack Malleus one last time when he turned his back on him. He failed, and Malleus rang the Bell of Solace, making all the flowers wither.

“The firelotuses...” Rollo was sobbing. “My flowers, my salvation, they're all withering away... You VILLAINS. What have you done?!”

“More important than that.” Malleus approached, his figure towering over Rollo's on the ground. “What have YOU done to [Y/N]?”

“Why do you show yourself so worried? A being like you would never truly care for someone like them. Admit your true intentions! You want to see them suffer on the long term.”

You finally manage to get your feet close to the door. You hear the worried voices of Azul and Idia telling Malleus not to succumb to Rollo's provocations. And you knock on the door with your feet so they can hear you.

You hear hurried footsteps coming your way, see Malleus opening the door, and look down in horror.

“[Y/N]!” He quickly reaches down to free you, breaking the ropes with his own hands and untying the piece of cloth around your mouth. He would have preferred to use magic to ensure he didn't hurt you, but he was relatively weak in that regard. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

You say you're fine, but that doesn't stop Malleus from picking you up in his arms.

“Is [Y/N] hurt?!” Azul asked, worried.

“They say they're fine. But just in case.”

“Something tells me that Malleus just really wanted to live the scene of the hero who picks up the princess in their arms after saving her from the clutches of the villain who kidnapped her.” Idia comments, just between him and Azul. “Hey, no judgments. This is what I call sense of opportunity.”

Rollo was furious, but he would never admit how jealous he was. Not even to himself.

You watched the shows that your NRC colleagues prepared. The music was beautiful and they sang so well! Especially Malleus. After that, you all talked for a bit in a group before Malleus disappeared. Only for you to see him dance with Rollo. Seriously? All that and he's still going to dance with Rollo before he dances with you?!

You dance with the others, until Malleus appears to bow to you and invite you to dance with him. However, to his surprise, you look sullen.

“Is there something wrong?” He asks you. “Did I do something that displeased you?”

You answer yes, that after everything, the first person he danced with was Rollo. He chuckles, and you get even more sulky.

“Forgive me, but I could not resist provoking Flamme one last time. That, and warn him never to even come near you again.” He says with a smile, which makes it a little scary. “I jest. Well, partially. I did threaten him if he did anything to you again.” He pauses to see if you would cheer up a bit, but you still didn't seem completely satisfied. He smirks. “I must admit, a little jealousy can actually be charming and cute.”

Other people wanted to dance with Malleus, but he asked them all to, please, wait a little longer.

“You are creating a quite long waiting line you know? I will not dance with anyone else until I have my desired dance with my beloved.” He smiles smugly when he sees your reaction.

You give him your hand, he kisses the back of it and brings your body closer to his, placing his other hand on your waist. And you dance together.

“Please be careful.” He says as you dance. You look down at your feet, confused. “Fufu. No my dear, I wasn't referring to your dancing.” The sweet smile becomes more serious. “I was referring to Rollo Flamme. I have reason to believe that, after just one day, he has already recognized your charm. He does not convince me that he did that to you just because he believed he was saving you. But worse than that...”

His expression turns sad and you feel his hand pull you closer.

“He still have hatred towards me and wants to get read of all the mages. Under different circumstances, I would not fear his attacks. I would even invite him to try. But with you... If he realizes how much you mean to me... Despite what happened, I don't believe he has that kind of character, but if he reaches a state of despair where his hatred for me is stronger than the attachment he might feel for you...”

There’s a pause. His expression becomes more peaceful.

“I learned an expression that the citizens here have. Heaven's Light. We don't know what this place called heaven is for sure, but according to some records from the past, it would have been such a wonderful place that it was not even located on land. It was somewhere above the clouds. I believe even the stories of the Lord of the Underworld spoke of a similar place. They say that the name ‘Heaven's Light’ was given by the Kindly Bell Ringer to the woman he fell in love with, for being such a caring and kind person to him.”

He caresses your cheek with one of his hands.

“I understand him perfectly. From the story I was told, I can only believe that I too was blessed with my own Heaven's Light. And just like the Kindly Bell Ringer, I will do whatever it takes to protect it.”

You didn't even realize that Malleus has led you to a more secluded place. Only when you saw that the two were hidden by the shadows and a pillar and he began to bring his face closer to yours. “My Heaven's Light.” He whispers before kissing you.

After your dance with Malleus, he went to dance with the other people who also wanted such an honor and you went to dance with some of your other colleagues.

You were finishing dancing with Sebek when Rollo approached you. Both you and he startled when Sebek quickly placed himself between the two of you.

“What are your intentions?” Sebek inquired with hostility.

“My intentions are not vile.” Rollo replies, hiding his displeasure at the way Sebek is talking to him with his composure. “I would only like to be able to invite [Y/N] to dance.”

“I cannot allow it! My orders are to keep this human safe and away from you.”

Rollo takes his handkerchief to his face, holding back the urge to respond to his audacity and insulting words. However, you tell Sebek that it's okay and that you would like to accept Rollo's invitation. Both he and Sebek are surprised.

“B-but...” He had those sad puppy eyes, eager to fulfil his duty. “My liege told me... he entrusted me to protect you.”

And you say he can still do it. He can watch you while you dance with Rollo. And if something really happens, he can intervene.

“But what if it's too late?”

You say that Rollo wouldn't do anything like that in front of all those people. And that Sebek could tell Malleus that it was your fault for telling him not to stop you.

“But... *sigh* Why are you humans so stubborn? Fine. But I won't take my eyes off you. Even if I have to stop myself from blinking!... Be careful.”

Rollo extends his hand to you and you place yours in his to accept his invitation to dance. He guides you very gently.

“I wanted to apologize for the way I treated you.” He tells you while dancing with you. “I never meant to be rude to you. And regardless of what the students of Night Raven College tell you, at no point did I intend to harm you.” Your expression shows your suspicion. “I don't intend to apologize for doing what I concluded was the best way to save you at the time. I only apologize for the... atrocious way in which I did it. I shouldn't have forced you to come with me. But I feared what those spiteful mages might do to you in a moment of desperation.”

“They wouldn't hurt me!” You say, with certainty in your voice.

“How could you be so sure of that?”

“Because, unlike you, I know them.”

He looks you intently in the eyes, and sighs. The music comes to an end, as does your dance. You bow to each other.

“I find it pitiful seeing someone magic-devoid like you stuck in that villains' lair.” He tells you when you both straighten up. “I am inclined to make my utmost efforts to have you reside in Nobel Bell College instead, however I've already come to the sorrowful realization that it is your heart that keeps you hostage in that island. But before we part, I insist that you know that if you ever find yourself overwhelmed by those circumstances that involve magic, do let me know.” He gives you that subtle smile of his. “I will be glad to provide you with my support and assistance at any moment.”

You give him a smile back, accepting his offer.

“But, just to guarantee that you don't forget my heartfelt offering...” He reaches into his pocket, takes out his handkerchief and extends it to you. “Here it is said that handkerchiefs are powerful guardians of the memories of a loved one. It is common to offer them when we don't want to be forgotten by someone. Despite my mistakes, I would still like you to have the most pleasant memory of me possible." You accept his gift. "I confess that my biggest wish at the moment was to have one of yours too.” Without his handkerchief, he covers his mouth with his hand. “But that is just a mere whim of mine.” He takes his hand away from his face and smiles again “Not even in my wildest dreams did I think I would have so much pleasure in meeting someone from Night Raven College.” He gives you one last bow. “May the Bell of Solace allow our paths to cross again.”

He turned to walk away, but you wanted to do one last thing. You had also bought a handkerchief just like his when you were doing your tour of the city, and you wouldn't need two. You ask him to wait and he turns back to you.

“It doesn't have to be a mere whim.” You say, handing him the handkerchief you had kept with you. Perhaps the sign of a second chance.

He receives your handkerchief and looked at it with his natural smile, but his eyes were different, they had a small, almost imperceptible sparkle.

“I will keep it as one of my most cherished possessions. Thank you, [Y/N].”

“Should I assume this was some sort of revenge?” You hear Malleus's voice say suddenly as you step away from the dancing crowd.

You didn't know he was there, and so close. You look at him and he's smiling wryly.

“I didn't give him any gifts, though. Should I have bought a souvenir too? Perhaps make a bouquet of those crimson flowers he is so fond of.”

“It seems you were right, Tsunotarou.” You say with a sly smile. “A little jealousy can actually be charming and cute.”

Malleus makes that cute pout.

“I told you to be careful.” He says, not as a scolding, but as a concerned request.

You tell him that nothing bad happened, that Rollo wanted to apologize for what he did to you and for him not to blame Sebek because you were the one who accepted Rollo's invitation.

“Don't worry, I know Sebek is a loyal guard. And that you are the one with a kind heart. I told Sebek that I believed him when he told me that it was of your own free will that you were dancing with Flamme. It is in your character to give others the opportunity to explain and apologize. I know this well because it's one of the things I love most about you.” His pout comes back. “However...” He smiles smugly. “I would be more reassured if you spend the rest of the ball close to me. Just in case.”

“Just in case of what, exactly?” You ask.

“Just in case someone else becomes so captivated by you that they want to lock you up in a tower. Which reminds me that in some tales the kidnapper arrange a dragoon to guard the kidnapped.” His smile becomes even more smug and slightly threatening. “Fu fu fu. I would like to see them trying.”

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

#Twisted Wonderland #Twst #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #Twst x Reader #Twst Imagines #Malleus Draconia #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Rollo Flamme #Rollo Flamme x Reader #Glorious Masquerade #Twst Glorious Masquerade #Twisted Wonderland Glorious Masquerade #Twst Halloween

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asciendo · 2 months ago

Text

The Weight of Crown and Heart

Summary: Seungcheol is a prince — bound by duty, raised for power, but burdened by questions he was never meant to ask. You are the daughter of a tribe fighting to survive, fierce and unyielding, with a spirit that refuses to bow.

When your worlds collide, drawn together by fate and circumstance, loyalty and love stand on opposite sides of the line. But some connections are impossible to silence — no matter the cost.

🚨 Warnings: Execution threats, political manipulation, war themes, imprisonment, smut / explicit sexual content (18+)

You had to find your father. No matter how many times they told you to let it go — that it was too dangerous, that you’d only be signing your own death sentence — you couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

Your village had been holding its breath for months, caught in the tightening grip of the Empire. Rumors spread fast across the outskirts: the Emperor was making plans to clear out the borderlands, to claim the outer provinces for the expansion of his reign. Entire tribes were being displaced — some erased entirely.

Your father had refused to bow. He had always fought for the people, for your home, standing at the front lines of quiet resistance. And then, one day, on what should have been a routine mission, he vanished. No word. Nobody. Only silence.

But you knew. Deep down, you knew. The Emperor had taken him.

Your younger sister had overheard an imperial battalion scouting nearby lands, their movements cloaked as routine patrols, though everyone knew they were the sharp edge of the Empire’s plans to push further. The soldiers traveled in and out of the capital under the cover of supply runs, their carts heavy with rations and weapons.

So you made your choice.

If the Empire had your father, then the city was where you needed to be. And if getting there meant hiding beneath the canvas of one of their supply wagons, smuggling yourself straight into the lion’s den — so be it.

No one was going to stop you.

You slipped away under the cover of darkness, your heart pounding louder than your footsteps on the dirt road. Dressed in oversized clothes stolen from the village boys, you wrapped a worn scarf tightly around your face, hiding every feature that might betray who — or what — you were. With your hair tucked beneath a cap and your frame swallowed by baggy sleeves, you hoped the disguise would be enough to pass for a scrawny servant boy.

The soldiers’ camp wasn’t hard to find. The flicker of their bonfire glowed like a beacon against the night, their laughter and the clatter of tin cups echoing through the trees. You crouched low, skirting the edges of the clearing, slipping silently behind the canvas of their tents.

There — near the far end of the camp — stood one of their carts, piled with sacks of grain and barrels of supplies. You watched carefully, waiting. The soldiers were still gathered by the fire, drinking, loud and distracted. They wouldn’t be hungry again anytime soon.

Now or never.

You crept toward the cart, heart hammering, limbs tense, and slipped into the back, wedging yourself behind a barrel of dried goods. The wooden planks beneath you were cold and rough, but you didn’t dare move. You stayed there, curled tight, barely breathing as the night dragged on, willing yourself invisible.

Sleep came in brief, fitful moments — always half awake, always listening.

Seungcheol awoke to the soft rustling of wind in the trees, the distant chirp of birds greeting the sun. Their seventh day out in the field. Seven days scouting the lands his father — the Emperor — had marked for expansion. Lands that didn’t belong to the Empire. Not yet.

Oddly enough, he preferred these mornings over the suffocating marble walls of the palace. Out here, the air was clear. No titles, no politics. Just duty.

Stretching the stiffness from his shoulders, he stepped outside his tent, already spotting a few of his men gathered around the supply cart, whispering.

“What’s going on?” he called out, his tone casual but commanding.

At once, the soldiers straightened, saluting him. One of the younger men cleared his throat nervously. “Sir. Uh… we thought we heard something last night. Coming from the cart.”

“Probably just a rat, Jinho,” another soldier snorted, elbowing him. “Or maybe it was the ghost of all the deer you keep missing with your arrows.”

A round of laughter followed, but Jinho’s face stayed pale. “No, I swear! I heard something.”

Their general, a gruff older man named Baekhyun, rolled his eyes. “I’ll check, if it’ll shut you all up.” He marched over to the cart, muttering under his breath about scared children.

A moment passed. Then another.

“There’s nothing here,” Baekhyun called out lazily — but just as he turned to leave, he paused. His brow furrowed. “Wait a minute…”

A sharp crash sounded from the cart, barrels tipping over, food scattering. The soldiers jumped to attention, weapons half-drawn as Baekhyun stumbled back, startled. And then — from behind the barrels — a figure burst out.

Baggy clothes. A scarf wrapped tight around the face. Small frame, fast on their feet.

“Stop!” one of the soldiers yelled, but the figure sprinted toward the trees.

Not fast enough.

Seungcheol moved like lightning. His hand shot out, grabbing the fleeing figure by the arm and yanking them backward. They struggled wildly, throwing punches and twisting against his grip, but he held firm.

“Stay back,” Seungcheol ordered his men with a sharp gesture when they started to rush in. “I’ll handle this.”

The scuffle was brief. The stranger fought harder than he’d expected, but Seungcheol was trained for worse. He pinned them easily, forcing the figure down onto the dirt, his weight pressing them into the ground.

“Now let’s see who you are.” he muttered.

The stranger thrashed beneath him, refusing to give in. But Seungcheol was stronger. With one hand, he ripped away the scarf and tugged at the loose-fitting clothes to uncover the face beneath.

And then he froze.

Wide, defiant brown eyes glared up at him, shining even through the grime and fear. Strands of raven-black hair fell loose from the cap, fanning out across the ground like silk. Her skin, pale as porcelain, was streaked with dirt, but it only seemed to make her beauty more striking.

A girl.

Not just a girl — beautiful. Proud. Unbroken.

For a moment, Seungcheol forgot to breathe.

She stared back at him, chest heaving, lips pressed into a thin line of stubborn silence. Even now, pinned beneath him, her eyes didn’t waver.

Seungcheol loosened his grip, stunned, and slowly rose to his feet, his gaze never leaving her face.

His men stepped back, exchanging confused glances, unsure of what to make of the figure struggling beneath their commander’s grip. Baekhyun jumped down from the cart, his brows knitted together, eyeing you curiously.

Seungcheol kept his stance firm, gaze sharp. “Who are you?” he asked, voice low but steady.

You slowly pushed yourself up from the ground, brushing the dirt off your borrowed clothes. Your hands trembled, but your eyes never wavered as you stared straight at him. “Just a beggar looking for food,” you answered coolly, chin lifted.

There was a flicker of doubt across his face, and from behind him, one of the soldiers — Jinho — spoke up, voice tight with suspicion. “She could be a spy.”

“I’m no one,” you shot back, your glare hard enough to make even Seungcheol hesitate for a moment, startled by the fire behind your words.

“I doubt that,” Seungcheol muttered, narrowing his eyes.

You sneered. “For someone with a crown on their head, you’re not very bright.”

The men bristled at your insult, some already reaching for the ropes at their belts, ready to bind you and drag you off. The tension thickened, their boots shifting in the dirt as they moved to surround you.

But then Baekhyun raised a hand, halting them. “Wait.”

His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, circling around you like a vulture sizing up its prey. His gaze dropped to the necklace half-hidden beneath your tunic — a small, carved amulet resting against your chest. Before you could react, his rough hand shot out, grabbing the cord and yanking the amulet free.

“Hey—!” You lunged forward, trying to snatch it back, but Baekhyun held it just out of reach, turning the piece over in his fingers.

“She’s from the Kagan tribe,” he said darkly, eyes gleaming with recognition.

The camp fell silent. Several of the soldiers stiffened at the name.

Baekhyun’s grin widened as he studied the carving. “Daughter of the chief, no less.”

“The tribe leader?” one of the soldiers echoed, frowning. “The one my uncle’s brigade captured last season?”

At those words, your fury broke loose. You surged forward, eyes blazing, shouting, “GIVE HIM BACK!”

Baekhyun barely flinched as he shoved you down again, forcing you to the dirt with a hand on your shoulder. “So that’s what this is,” he mused, voice thick with mock sympathy. “You were trying to sneak your way into the capital to find him.”

You struggled against his grip, breath coming hard and fast. But the weight of his hand and the truth of his words pinned you down just as much as his strength. Now you knew for certain — they had your father.

The soldiers began murmuring again, debating what to do with you, some already moving to restrain you.

Seungcheol raised a hand to silence them. His gaze remained locked on you, thoughtful, the earlier anger in his eyes dimmed by something closer to curiosity. “Bring her with us.”

One of the men blinked. “Sir?”

“She’s the chief’s daughter,” Seungcheol said calmly. “If the Empire’s holding her father, she might be useful. Either as leverage… or for information.”

Baekhyun didn’t wait for further instructions. Roughly, he grabbed your wrists and bound them tightly in front of you as you fought back, twisting against the rope. “Get your hands off me!” you snapped, but your struggles only made the knot tighter.

They dragged you toward the cart where prisoners were kept, shoving you inside with little care. You stumbled, falling hard onto the wooden floor, your knees scraping against the rough planks. Slowly, you pushed yourself back up, refusing to let them see you crumble.

As the cart began to roll forward, you looked out through the small gaps between the wooden slats — and there he was.

Seungcheol stood at a distance, arms crossed over his chest. His expression wasn’t the smug victory you expected. Instead, his eyes followed you, thoughtful, uncertain… with the faintest flicker of worry softening the sharpness of his gaze.

You didn’t know how many days had passed.

The journey blurred together — the rocking of the cart, the ache in your bound wrists, the endless stretch of road beneath the wheels. They gave you food, enough to keep you standing, and water to keep you from passing out. But beyond that, they got nothing from you.

Not a word. Not a name.

Silence was the only weapon you had left.

Eventually, the cart jolted to a stop. Commands were barked, tents were raised, and a small camp began to take shape. Evening had fallen by the time they settled, the sun dipping low against the horizon, casting the land in soft gold and purple hues.

You sat alone at the edge of the camp, your hands still bound, staring out at the distant line where the hills met the sky. Planning. Watching. Waiting. Wondering how much longer you could hold out — and how the hell you were going to get out of this.

The sound of footsteps crunching against the dirt pulled you from your thoughts.

You didn’t turn right away. You didn’t need to. You already knew who it was.

Seungcheol.

Slow, deliberate steps. No armor clinking, no heavy boots — just the quiet approach of someone who knew exactly how much presence they carried.

“I thought you’d be smarter than this,” he said casually, stopping a few feet away. “Sneaking into a soldier’s cart in the middle of the night? That’s not bravery. That’s desperation.”

You gave him nothing but silence, your gaze fixed on the horizon.

“Still refusing to speak?” he added, his voice dipping lower as he crouched down, trying to catch your eyes. “I’m impressed. Most would’ve begged by now.”

You turned your head slowly, meeting his gaze, eyes sharp as steel. “I’m not most,” you answered, your voice hoarse but steady.

A small, amused smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though his eyes remained cautious. He studied you for a moment, tilting his head, as if trying to puzzle out what kind of creature they had trapped.

“You’re loyal,” he said, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I’ll give you that. But loyalty can be dangerous if it makes you foolish.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You know what’s dangerous? Men who think they’re doing the world a favor by stealing fathers from their children.”

For the first time, his expression flickered — a brief shadow crossing his features.

“You’re wasting your time,” you continued, voice colder now. “Whatever you’re trying to get from me, you won’t.”

Seungcheol straightened, standing tall above you again. The smile was gone, replaced by something harder to read. “I’m not here to interrogate you.”

“Then why are you here?” you snapped.

There was a pause. His gaze softened, almost like he hadn’t expected the question — or the fire behind it.

“Because I wanted to see the girl bold enough to insult me to my face,” he said simply.

You glared up at him, defiant, but your chest rose and fell a little faster, betraying the way your body tensed beneath his stare.

He looked at you for a long moment, then quietly added, “Rest while you can. You’re going to need it.”

And with that, Seungcheol turned and walked away, leaving you sitting in the glow of the dying sun — your mind racing, your heart burning hotter than ever.

The next morning, the air around the camp buzzed with activity. Maps were unrolled over makeshift tables, soldiers standing around discussing the day’s plan — marking the lands they would claim, the borders they would push.

Seungcheol stood at the center, arms crossed, listening intently as Baekhyun traced his finger along the map’s edges. “The rivers here cut off most of the valley,” Baekhyun explained. “The remaining tribes scattered along this area should be easy enough to drive out.”

“They’re stubborn, though,” another soldier chimed in. “Won’t leave without a fight.”

“They’re nothing more than animals clinging to dirt,” Baekhyun snorted. “They’ll fall in line or they’ll fall beneath a sword. Either way—”

You scoffed, loud enough to cut through the conversation like a blade.

The men’s heads snapped toward you, narrowing their eyes. You sat against the post where they’d tied you earlier, arms crossed loosely over your bound wrists, watching them like they were the fools at the end of a joke.

“Well, well,” Baekhyun sneered, stepping forward with a crooked smile. “Do we finally get to hear the princess speak?”

They had been calling you that for days now — princess — a mocking title because you refused to beg, refused to cower, refused to speak a word to any of them.

You lifted your chin, staring at them calmly. “It’s just funny,” you said, voice sharp and clear, “how little you actually know about the war you’re fighting.”

The soldiers exchanged glances, some scoffing, others rolling their eyes. Seungcheol’s gaze, however, stayed on you, unreadable.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, brow raised.

You leaned forward, your glare steady, voice laced with disgust. “You sit here drawing lines across a map, calling it expansion — talking about the tribes like they’re nothing but savages standing in your way. But what you’re really doing is burning homes. Tearing families apart. You’re not fighting beasts. You’re slaughtering innocent people. You’re killing children.”

The murmur of the men rose instantly, their hands clenching at their sides, faces twisting with irritation.

“Watch your tongue,” one of them snapped.

But you didn’t flinch. “Tell me — where was the last tribe you passed on your way here? You say they’re given a chance to ‘join’ your empire, but there’s no one left standing to surrender.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened. “You’ve got it all wrong. The Empire doesn’t murder civilians. We give them the choice to assimilate — to live under the Emperor’s rule. We only expand where we’re allowed to.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Do you honestly believe that?” you shot back, eyes narrowing. “Look around you. The land behind you is empty. No villages. No people. No one left to choose. Only graves where homes used to be.”

The camp fell silent, your words hanging heavy between the two of you.

You pushed yourself up as much as the ropes would allow, your voice cracking with fury now. “My father wasn’t raising an army of rebels — he was gathering the other chiefs, trying to defend our people. Trying to protect us from monsters like you.”

Before you could speak another word, one of the younger soldiers snapped. His hand whipped across your face, striking your cheek hard enough to send your head snapping to the side.

“Watch your filthy mouth when you speak of the Emperor!” the soldier barked.

You tasted blood in your mouth but didn’t look away. Slowly, you turned your head back toward him, eyes burning with hate.

“Enough!” Seungcheol’s voice cracked through the air like thunder.

The soldier froze, stiffening as Seungcheol stalked toward him, anger radiating off his frame.

“Who gave you the order to lay a hand on her?” Seungcheol growled.

“S-sir, she insulted—”

“I heard her.” Seungcheol’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “But she’s still my prisoner — not yours to punish.”

The soldier lowered his gaze, swallowing hard, nodding quickly. “Yes, Commander.”

Seungcheol turned back to you, his expression unreadable again — a strange mix of frustration and something else beneath it. His eyes lingered for a moment on the red mark blooming across your cheek, your lip bloodied but your glare still fierce, unbroken.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and barked at the others, “Get back to work. The perimeter won’t plan itself.”

But even as the men scattered, their voices hushed and tense, you could feel Seungcheol’s gaze lingering on you — longer than it should have. His expression was hard to read, but in his eyes was the slightest crack, the faintest doubt. As if, for the first time, he wasn’t entirely sure which side he was truly on.

The camp grew quiet as the sky faded into deep blue, the crackle of the fire the only sound filling the silence. You sat alone, back against the wooden frame of the prisoner’s cart, your arms sore from the bindings, the sting on your cheek a dull throb.

Night fell heavier, and though exhaustion weighed on your limbs, sleep was slow to come. Your mind spun with thoughts of your father, of your people, of the lies that these men told themselves to sleep at night.

Just as your eyes began to flutter shut, you heard the soft crunch of footsteps approaching. You sat up, instantly alert.

It was him.

Seungcheol stood there, half-shadowed by the moonlight, arms at his sides, watching you for a moment before he spoke.

“I came to apologize,” he said quietly. “For what my soldier did to you. I didn’t give him the right to lay a hand on a woman.”

You scoffed, the bitterness rising in your throat. “So noble of you,” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Truly. A hero.”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched, but his tone stayed calm. “No matter what you think of us… we’re not those kinds of men.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning your head back against the cart. “Right. Murderers with manners. What a comfort.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowing slightly. “But your lies have to stop.”

Your gaze snapped back to him. “Lies?” you echoed, incredulous.

“You speak as if you know the Empire,” he said, stepping closer. “But you have no idea what you’re talking about—”

“No,” you cut him off sharply, sitting forward, your voice growing louder, angrier. “You’re the one who has no idea. Are you really so blind? Or do you just choose not to see it?”

The firelight flickered across his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw as he held your gaze.

“Where have you ever seen these tribes ‘assimilated’ so peacefully into your empire?” you challenged. “Tell me, where?”

Seungcheol straightened, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve seen it myself. Tribes brought to the capital. Their leaders shaking my father’s hand. Swearing loyalty to the Emperor. Living safely under the Empire’s protection.”

You gave a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “Is that what they told you? You really believe that?”

His eyes narrowed. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

“You saw beggars in the city,” you snapped. “Men dressed up and paid to play the part of chiefs. Puppets wearing feathers and beads like costumes — paraded around for show.”

He laughed now, sharp and disbelieving. “You sound delusional.”

He turned, about to walk away, but your voice stopped him cold.

“Have you ever seen one of them with this?”

Seungcheol turned back just as you lifted your bound wrists, tugging the sleeve down past your bruised skin. There, inked into the inside of your wrist, was the mark — a small, intricate symbol, the tattoo of your tribe. A sign that could never be faked, given to every child at birth.

“We’re marked as infants,” you said, your voice steady but laced with quiet pride. “Every tribe bears its own symbol. Every single one.”

Seungcheol’s gaze dropped to the tattoo. His mind flashed back — the hands of the so-called “tribesmen” he had met in the city, clean, bare of any marks.

No tattoos.

His face froze, but you caught the flicker of uncertainty behind his eyes. He quickly straightened, forcing nonchalance, but his silence betrayed him.

“You haven’t seen one, have you?” you pressed, leaning forward, your eyes locking onto his.

Still, he said nothing.

Instead, after a long pause, his next words came softer — unexpected. “What’s your name?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

“I realized,” he continued, tilting his head slightly, “we’ve come this far… and I still don’t know your name.”

You hesitated, lips pressed tight, weighing whether to give him even that small piece of yourself.

He watched you for a moment longer, then gave a small sigh and turned to leave.

“…Y/N.”

You spoke quietly, but it was enough to stop him mid-step.

Seungcheol paused, back still to you. A slow smile crept onto his face — faint, but real. Without turning around, he gave a slight nod, then continued walking back into the darkness of the camp.

And for the first time since they’d captured you, you felt the balance between captor and prisoner begin to shift — even if neither of you understood yet which way it would fall.

The next location wasn’t far, so the men decided to march rather than ride. From the moment you set foot on the new site, unease prickled down your spine like a warning.

This place was wrong.

As the brigade began to unpack and make camp, your eyes scanned the clearing, reading the land like the back of your hand. Seungcheol noticed. His gaze followed you as you quietly studied the edges of the trees and the looming shadow of a rocky cliff nearby.

Later, they let you out from the prisoner’s cart — still bound but given the courtesy of washing your face at the stream. You crouched at the water’s edge, splashing the cool water onto your skin, the unease still weighing heavy on your chest.

You felt him before you heard him. “What is it?” Seungcheol asked, standing a few feet behind you, arms crossed.

You wiped your face, sighing as you stood. “This is a bad place to stop.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

You pointed toward the side of the cliff where a wide, dark hole yawned open at the base of the rock. “That’s a wolf’s den,” you said simply. “They’re not here right now… but they will be. And when they come home, we’ll all be nothing but meat on their teeth.”

The soldiers behind you laughed, some exchanging smug glances.

“Then we’ll kill them,” one of them scoffed, resting a hand on his blade.

You turned, glaring sharply. “Of course. You’ll take their home too? Not surprised.”

Baekhyun let out a sharp laugh. “All this fuss over some animals. You’re wasting our time, girl.”

But then, a low, guttural growl rumbled through the clearing.

From the shadows of the trees emerged a large wolf, its silver-gray coat bristling as it padded toward the camp, golden eyes fixed sharply on the intruders. The men scrambled, grabbing weapons, stepping into their attack positions.

Your heart clenched.

No. You wouldn’t let them take another home. Not tonight.

Before they could act, you stepped forward, slowly, carefully, eyes locked on the wolf. The soldiers shouted warnings, raising their swords higher, but then—

“Hold,” Seungcheol commanded, raising his hand to stop them, his eyes watching you intently.

You kept walking, calm, steady. The wolf’s teeth bared, its growl deepening, but you didn’t flinch.

Instead, you knelt before it.

Your bound hands reached out, slow and gentle, until your palm rested against the wolf’s head. You leaned your forehead down, pressing it lightly against the animal’s, your lips murmuring soft words only the creature could hear.

Baekhyun’s jaw tightened as he watched. “The Kagan people,” he muttered, “are known for their bond with the wild. Their priests say the earth and beasts speak to them.”

The men stayed frozen, tense, as the wolf gave a final snarl toward the group… then turned, padding silently back into the den, disappearing into the dark.

You stood, looking back at them, eyes hard. “You think you own the land beneath your feet… that the rivers and forests are here for you to take. But the trees are alive, the rivers remember, and the beasts have voices you refuse to hear.”

The men fell silent. Not one dared speak.

You continued, your voice calm but cutting: “You call this place yours, but you don’t even know its name. You hunt without gratitude, destroy without reason. And still, you call us the savages.”

The fire crackled softly. No one laughed this time.

Not even Seungcheol.

You turned away, stepping back toward the cart where they kept you prisoner, climbing in without a fight. Lying down, you closed your eyes, letting the quiet of the land settle around you.

But across the camp, Seungcheol stood frozen, watching you with something far from mockery — something closer to wonder. He had never met anyone like you. And for the first time, curiosity gnawed at him more than duty.

That night, when the moon hung high and pale, the door of your cart creaked open.

You stirred, blinking against the dark.

“What is it with you and waking me up?” you muttered.

Seungcheol’s soft chuckle broke the silence. “Come. Walk with me.”

You frowned, uncertain. “What?”

“Walk with me,” he repeated, stepping back, waiting.

Slowly, you sat up, hesitating. When you reached the edge of the cart, he leaned forward — and you flinched instinctively, expecting the harsh grip of rope. But instead, his hands moved gently, undoing the binds around your wrists.

You stared at him, confused. He gave no explanation. He simply turned and walked toward the treeline, expecting you to follow.

Reluctantly, you did.

As your steps caught up to him beneath the canopy of the forest, you narrowed your eyes. “Why?” you asked. “Why walk with me?”

Seungcheol gave a shrug, his hands loose at his sides. “Maybe I just want to understand the girl who tames wolves.”

You huffed softly but kept walking beside him.

After a few moments, his voice lowered. “How did you do that? With the wolf.”

You glanced at him, weighing whether to answer. “It’s something my people are born into. We’re taught to respect the spirits of the land — the animals, the trees, the water. We listen, and they listen back.”

Seungcheol slowed, eyes thoughtful, then turned toward you, curiosity burning behind them. “So tell me,” he said quietly, “what else don’t I know?”

This time, it was you who fell silent, staring at him in the soft glow of the moonlight. The light kissed his features, outlining the strong line of his jaw, softening the sharpness in his eyes.

There was something different about him here, away from the eyes of his men. Less prince. More… human.

“Tell me,” he urged again, his voice softer now.

You met his gaze, your voice lowering into something like a chant, like a lesson: “You think the earth belongs to you — all the lands, the rivers, the skies. But every rock, every tree, every creature has a spirit, a life, a name. They are not yours to take.”

His brow furrowed, the words sinking into him deeper than he cared to admit.

“You may build your cities and call it power,” you continued, stepping closer, your eyes never leaving his, “but you will never truly understand this land unless you open your eyes…and your heart.”

The air between you stilled. Only the rustling of the leaves and the distant call of night birds filled the space where neither of you spoke.

Seungcheol’s lips parted, as if to say something — but no words came.

You turned away first, stepping back toward the edge of the camp.

And behind you, Seungcheol remained frozen, feeling for the first time as if the ground beneath his feet didn’t quite belong to him after all.

The next morning, the camp was slow to rise, the men still wary after the events of the previous day. But Seungcheol’s mind had been racing long before the sun came up.

By midday, he called Baekhyun into one of the larger tents, the map from yesterday still spread across the table between them. Baekhyun entered, standing at ease, though he caught the tension in Seungcheol’s posture immediately.

“You wanted to speak with me, my prince?” Baekhyun asked.

Seungcheol nodded, leaning against the edge of the table, arms crossed. His gaze was distant, jaw tight.

“I spoke with the girl last night.”

Baekhyun’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he waited.

“She showed me something,” Seungcheol continued, voice low. “A tattoo — here.” He gestured to the inside of his wrist. “She said every child in her tribe is marked as an infant. That every tribe has their own symbol.”

Baekhyun gave a skeptical grunt. “And you believe her?”

Seungcheol’s brows knit together. “I’ve… always questioned certain things. The way the land stays empty long after we’ve moved through it. How the people we claim have ‘joined’ us so willingly… yet their faces never quite match the stories.”

His voice trailed off, eyes fixed on the folds of the map, but it was clear his thoughts were miles away.

Baekhyun watched him carefully. “How do you know she’s telling the truth? How do you know this isn’t just another game — a way to twist your sympathy?”

Seungcheol’s eyes stayed on the map, his fingers tightening into a fist against the wood.

“I don’t,” he admitted quietly. “But… something about what she said, the way she said it… it felt different. I keep remembering the hands of those men we shook at the ceremonies. No marks. No tattoos.”

Baekhyun folded his arms, leaning against one of the tent’s support beams. His expression hardened.

“I just don’t want your mind clouded by your… interest in her.”

Seungcheol’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “Interest? I’m not—”

“My prince,” Baekhyun cut him off gently, raising one brow. “I’ve known you since you were a boy. I’ve fought beside you, watched you grow. I’ve never seen you this… engaged with anyone. Especially not your betrothed.”

Seungcheol let out a dry, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Ah, yes. The delicate flower from the Jinhwa Empire. Met her twice. Both times, she couldn’t stop complaining about the heat, the dust, the ‘barbaric conditions’ of my father’s lands.”

He leaned back against the table, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ll keep refusing, as I always do.”

Baekhyun chuckled. “And I can’t imagine your father taking that well.”

Seungcheol’s smile faded, replaced by a thoughtful frown. His eyes dropped back to the map, his fingers tracing the borderlines absentmindedly.

“But tell me, Baekhyun,” he said slowly, “have you ever questioned it? What we’re doing?”

The question hung between them, heavier than the air inside the tent.

Baekhyun exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Lately… yes.”

That admission alone seemed to surprise even Baekhyun as he said it out loud.

“I’ve noticed strange things back in the capital,” Baekhyun continued, voice quieter now. “A line of tribesmen brought into the square for a ceremony — but they couldn’t even speak their native tongue when asked. Merchants in the market selling goods they claimed were ‘from the conquered lands’… but I overheard one of them admitting the pieces were crafted right there in the city.”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched, the muscle ticking beneath his skin.

“There’s also the patrol reports,” Baekhyun added, his tone grim. “Whole villages marked as ‘vacant,’ no resistance. But the scouts who return look pale — shaken. And they never speak of what they’ve seen.”

Seungcheol’s hand pressed harder into the table, the wood groaning beneath his grip.

“I told myself I was imagining things,” Baekhyun admitted. “That I was seeing it out of context. But if what you’re saying is true… if this tattoo is real…”

His voice trailed off, but the implication was clear.

Seungcheol straightened, letting out a slow, heavy breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing briefly as the weight of doubt settled heavier on his shoulders.

“We continue on,” he said after a pause. “We follow the Emperor’s orders… but we keep our eyes open. If there’s truth to what she’s saying, we’ll find it.”

Baekhyun gave a small nod, though the unease between them remained.

The path to the next site was supposed to be a straight route — but the way was blocked.

A rock formation, collapsed and jagged, sealed off the narrow pass they had been following. The brigade halted, men dismounting, debating their options.

“We’ll have to take the Serpent’s Pass,” one of the soldiers muttered grimly.

Baekhyun’s head turned sharply. “That’s forbidden. No one’s cleared that trail. The Emperor’s brigades haven’t passed through yet — no one knows if it’s safe.”

“We don’t have a choice,” another replied. “If we’re to finish mapping the perimeter, we need to cut through. Otherwise, we lose days.”

Reluctantly, they agreed. Supplies were packed tighter, and the caravan shifted course. The men grumbled, unease hanging thick in the air as they pressed on toward the unknown.

You remained inside the prisoner’s cart, the rough wood digging into your back with every jolt of the wheels. Another day passed. Then another. The trees grew denser, the air heavier as they crossed deeper into the wilderness.

“It should be just beyond this ridge,” Baekhyun called ahead as they crested a hill.

But then he fell silent.

Seungcheol, riding beside him, squinted into the distance — and his breath caught.

Below them, where there should have been a bustling village, was ruin.

Smoke still curled from the blackened remains of homes, the charred skeletons of huts collapsing into ash. Scattered across the ground were bodies — men, women, children — lifeless and left where they had fallen.

The brigade froze.

No one spoke. No one moved.

Your head snapped up at the change in tone. You pushed yourself closer to the cart’s edge, trying to see past the wooden slats.

“What is it?” you asked sharply. The guard next to you kept his eyes ahead, ignoring you.

“Let me out,” you hissed.

When there was no response, your voice rose, anger trembling beneath the surface. “Let. Me. Out.”

Baekhyun, still staring down at the horror below, gave a stiff nod. The guard reluctantly undid the latch and let you step down.

Your boots hit the dirt, and your breath caught as the full scene came into view.

It was the Molrek Tribe. You hadn’t known them personally, but your father spoke of them often — their leader had been one of his closest allies.

You walked slowly through the wreckage, eyes wide, heart breaking with every step.

Then, near the remains of what once might have been a home, your gaze dropped to the ground.

A small, charred toy lay half-buried in the ash — a handmade doll, its fabric scorched, one button eye missing.

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.

Behind you, Seungcheol stood frozen, his stoic mask shattered. His eyes moved from your shaking form to the toy in your hands, and then to the bodies scattered across the village. His fists clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles turned white.

Every doubt he’d carried, every uneasy question that had plagued him — answered.

The truth was in front of him now. His father was a murderer. And they had been the Emperor’s willing instruments.

Baekhyun stood nearby, shaking his head slowly as if refusing to believe what his eyes were showing him. The rest of the men remained still, faces pale, exchanging uncertain glances, each of them struggling to make sense of the nightmare laid before them.

For the next hour, they wandered through the village. Some searched quietly for survivors they would never find. Others sat down on the ground, heads in their hands, weighed down by the crushing guilt of complicity.

Finally, as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the wreckage, Seungcheol stepped forward, breaking the silence.

His voice was hoarse at first, but steady. “I was blind,” he began, his eyes scanning the faces of his men, landing briefly on you before looking away. “I believed what we were told — that we were bringing peace. That we were bringing order.”

He paused, swallowing hard, his jaw clenched.

“But this…” His voice cracked. “This is not order. This is not peace. This is murder.”

The men shifted uncomfortably, heads bowed. Some nodded slowly.

“I was a fool not to see it sooner,” Seungcheol continued, voice growing stronger. “But I see it now. And now that we know the truth, we have a choice to make. We cannot stand here, knowing this… and do nothing.”

There was a murmur among the soldiers. One of them spoke, hesitating. “But… how? How can we stop it? This is the Emperor’s will.”

Baekhyun stepped forward, his face grim. “Then we stand against it. One way or another, we find a way to stop this. To stop him.”

Another soldier’s voice cut through the crowd. “But… he’s your father, my prince. Could you really raise your hand against him?”

Seungcheol’s gaze hardened, his shoulders squared. “I can no longer look past my father’s sins just because they are his. Right is right. Wrong is wrong. Even if the blood in my veins is the same as his — I will not be a part of this slaughter.”

The men were silent, but slowly, heads began to nod. Not all, but enough.

There, in the ruins of the Molrek Tribe, something changed in them. The first crack in their loyalty to the crown.

Seungcheol’s eyes drifted back to you. You stood still, watching, your arms bound, your face stained with tears and ash, but your posture unbowed.

Without breaking eye contact, he walked toward you — slowly, deliberately, the weight of every step heavy with purpose.

In front of all his men, he stopped before you.

He reached out, his fingers brushing the rope at your wrists.

And in one clean motion, he untied your binds.

The rope fell away, your arms free for the first time since they captured you.

You stared at him, breath caught in your throat. His eyes stayed on yours, softer now — but filled with something deeper. Guilt. Resolve. And respect.

The men watched, stunned, saying nothing.

Seungcheol’s voice dropped to a low murmur, meant only for you. “I’m sorry.”

And for the first time, the prince who had chained you, called you prisoner, now looked at you as an equal.

You were no longer locked inside the prisoner’s cart.

Now, you rode alongside the men — still at a distance, but no longer as their captive. They remained wary, exchanging unsure glances when they thought you weren’t looking, but the disgust that once filled their eyes had faded. Wariness, uncertainty… but also respect.

When the brigade set up camp a few miles away from the ruined village, Seungcheol gave the order to have a tent prepared for you. Your own space. A gesture of dignity. One you hadn’t expected.

You accepted it quietly. Grateful, but not comfortable.

You ate your meal quickly, away from the others, and retreated to the tent as soon as you could. The baggy clothes they had given you still hung awkwardly on your frame — freshly washed, but they felt heavy, like they belonged to someone else. You longed for your own garments, for the small familiarity of something that felt like you.

But right now, nothing did.

The images of the Molrek village clung to you like smoke. The blackened homes, the bodies scattered like discarded objects, the small toy in your hands. You hadn’t known the tribe personally, but they were people your father once called allies.

You couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t sleep. So you slipped out quietly, climbing to the edge of a nearby cliff — a tiny rise just outside of camp, where the ground dropped into a dark valley below. You sat down on the ledge, arms wrapped loosely around your knees, staring up at the moon. High. Untouched. Distant.

It felt cruel how the sky remained so calm while the earth burned.

“You were right.”

The voice behind you was soft, careful.

You didn’t turn. You didn’t have to.

Seungcheol approached and sat down beside you, leaving space between your bodies but close enough that you could feel the weight of his presence.

“It’s not like I wanted to be,” you answered quietly, eyes still on the stars.

He let out a long breath, resting his elbows on his knees. His shoulders sagged, the heavy armor of command stripped away.

“I’ve been asking myself all day,” he said. “How I didn’t see it. How I didn’t know.”

His voice cracked, just a little.

“I believed what they told me. That the tribes were given a choice. That they came willingly, that they were grateful.” His hands clenched loosely together. “I was so sure of it.”

You turned your head toward him, eyes narrowed, voice calm but cutting. “You never wondered why the lands stayed so empty after each ‘peaceful negotiation?’ Why the so-called tribesmen paraded into the capital never spoke their own tongue? Never wore the marks of their people?”

His jaw tightened. “I told myself there were reasons. I convinced myself they had changed. Adapted.” He swallowed hard. “I was a fool.”

You looked back up at the sky. “People see what they want to see. What they’re told to see.”

He leaned back slightly, staring at the dirt beneath his boots. “I can’t erase what’s been done,” he said quietly. “But I can stop what’s coming.”

There was no doubt in his voice now.

“I’m going to stop it,” Seungcheol repeated, firmer. “But I can’t do it alone.” He turned to face you fully, eyes steady, searching yours. “I need your help.”

You studied him carefully, your expression unreadable. “And how exactly do you expect me to help you?”

“You know these lands better than we ever will,” he said. “You know the tribes. The leaders. Where they are, how they move, who might still survive. They’ll never listen to me — but they might listen to you.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “Your men won’t follow me,” you said. “Even now. I’m still the enemy to them.”

But Seungcheol shook his head, his gaze unwavering. “They will. Once they see who you are… what you are. They will.”

You frowned. “And what exactly do you think I am?”

His eyes softened as he answered. “Someone they can’t ignore. A leader. A voice that speaks for the people we silenced.”

You blinked, your chest tightening at the sincerity in his voice.

“I’ll help,” you said quietly after a long pause. “But not for you.”

“I know,” he replied.

“For my people.”

Seungcheol nodded once, accepting your terms.

“And one day,” you added, voice lower, eyes narrowing, “you’ll have to face your father. You’ll have to decide how far you’re willing to go.”

His jaw clenched again, but he didn’t look away. “I know.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It hung between you like a fragile understanding — the first thread of trust, spun out beneath the watchful eyes of the stars.

The next few days passed with the weight of purpose hanging over the camp.

After long nights of discussion, they had finally settled on a plan.

Baekhyun and Seungcheol agreed that the only way to stop the Emperor’s campaign was to expose the truth — not just to the people, but to the other provinces still loyal to the crown. They would gather evidence of the burned villages, the murdered tribes, and the so-called “assimilated” leaders who were, in truth, prisoners. And at the heart of their mission was one crucial step: infiltrate the capital and free your father — along with the other chiefs the Empire had taken.

It would be dangerous. Treasonous. But it was the only way.

As the plan took shape, so did the slow, tentative bond between you and the men of the brigade.

You began to assimilate into their ranks, their guarded glances softening as they watched the way you worked beside them. The way you carried yourself, strong but fair. There was no sudden trust, no easy forgiveness — but respect began to grow.

You shared long conversations with Baekhyun by the fire, debating strategy, exchanging stories about the land and the people they’d both known. Jinho, the youngest among the soldiers, warmed up to you quickly. His youthful curiosity and earnestness made him easier to trust, and soon he was asking you about the customs of your tribe, your language, your games.

One afternoon, you found yourself teaching Jinho one of the games from your childhood — a test of reflex and focus, your hands hovering close, tapping and dodging as each of you tried to catch the other off guard. The game required brief touches, laughter spilling between you every time Jinho missed his chance.

“Again,” Jinho grinned, determined, squaring his stance.

You laughed, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, ready to begin — but as you glanced up, your smile faltered.

Seungcheol was standing a few paces away, arms crossed, staring directly at the two of you. His jaw tight, eyes narrowed, expression unreadable — but unmistakably displeased.

You blinked, unsure why that look made your stomach twist, and shrugged it off.

Later, as you and Jinho hauled a barrel of supplies toward the cooking area, chatting easily, you didn’t notice the figure stepping into your path until it was too late.

Seungcheol.

He stood in front of you, blocking the way, eyes pinned on Jinho.

“My prince,” Jinho stammered quickly, lowering the barrel and bowing his head.

“I’ll take that,” Seungcheol said, extending his arms toward the barrel.

“Oh, it’s all right, my prince, I can—”

Seungcheol’s face hardened, eyes darkening just enough to silence the younger soldier. Without another word, Jinho handed the barrel over, bowing again before stepping back.

Seungcheol turned on his heel and began walking beside you toward the supplies, carrying the weight with ease.

You arched a brow, half-smiling. “You suddenly feel the urge to do heavy lifting now?”

“What?” he replied, almost too quickly. “I always help.”

You scoffed, folding your arms. “Do you, though?”

He said nothing, but the faintest flicker of a smirk betrayed him.

From across the camp, Baekhyun watched the exchange, shaking his head slightly with an amused grin. He knew his prince too well.

That night, as you often did, you found yourself sitting beneath the stars, legs pulled close to your chest, eyes fixed on the moon. It had become your quiet place — the one spot where the noise of the world, the burden of your mission, couldn’t reach you.

But you weren’t alone for long.

Footsteps approached softly through the grass, and without looking, you already knew.

Seungcheol settled down beside you, his arms resting on his knees, gaze lifted to the sky.

“I’m sure you’re excited to finally head back,” you said, breaking the silence.

Seungcheol let out a soft scoff. “Not really.”

You glanced at him, surprised. “No? I figured you’d have a Lady waiting for you at the gates. Silk dress, pinned hair, perfect smile…”

You caught the way his jaw tensed at your teasing, the flicker of something unreadable in his expression.

“Oh,” you leaned in slightly, eyebrow raised. “Going through a rough patch?”

Seungcheol exhaled, shaking his head. “It’s not that.”

His voice was quieter now, thoughtful.

“I’m betrothed,” he admitted after a pause. “To a princess from the Jinhwa Empire. A match my father arranged.”

“Ah,” you said softly, leaning back again. “So I was right. There is someone.”

Seungcheol’s lips curled into a faint smile, but there was no humor in it.

“She’s… fine. Beautiful, poised. Says all the right things.” He shook his head. “But she looks at my people like they’re beneath her. She looks at the land like it’s something she’s owed.” His gaze hardened, focused on the horizon. “I’m not interested.”

You raised a brow, voice light. “So… there’s someone else you want, then.”

Seungcheol’s eyes flicked to you, sharper now. “Why is that so funny?”

Your smile faltered, feeling the tension rise between you. His gaze didn’t waver. There was a weight to the way he looked at you — something unspoken lingering between the words.

You swallowed, the air between you suddenly heavier.

“I should go,” you whispered, breaking eye contact as you stood, turning quickly back toward your tent.

Behind you, Seungcheol didn’t move, watching your retreat, the words he hadn’t said still hanging between you like smoke.

The next day, the brigade passed through a small town on the edge of the province — a rare pocket of life untouched by the Empire’s destruction.

It wasn’t much: a scattering of homes, a marketplace, a square where music played and people gathered for the night’s festivities. But after weeks of tension and heavy planning, Baekhyun and Seungcheol agreed the men deserved one evening to breathe, to feel like themselves again before the real fight began.

“We let them enjoy the night,” Baekhyun said. “It might be the last chance they get for a while.”

The soldiers quickly changed into civilian clothes — simpler tunics, loose trousers, belts, and sashes. They laughed more easily, their shoulders no longer so stiff with caution.

But you… you stood out.

Still wrapped in the same baggy clothes you had stolen from your neighbor back home — sleeves too long, fabric shapeless, hanging off your frame like rags. You caught the side glances from the townspeople as they began to gather. Suspicion. Discomfort.

“You can’t wear that,” Baekhyun said, stepping up beside you with a half-smile. “No one here’s going to trust you looking like you’re about to rob their livestock.”

You gave him a dry look but said nothing.

“Here,” he added, pressing a few coins into your hand. “There’s a tailor’s shop down the street. Go on — get yourself out of those rags. You deserve to look like yourself again.”

You hesitated but nodded, excusing yourself as the men headed toward the square.

The tailor’s shop was small, tucked between two merchant stalls, but inside were rows of garments — robes, tunics, sashes, each stitched with the colors and patterns of different tribes across the lands.

Your fingers brushed across the fabrics, pausing here and there — until your hand landed on one that made your heart ache with quiet recognition.

Then your hand paused on one particular set.

A deep blue cropped top, sleeveless but high at the neckline, fitted close to the body with silver embroidery lining the edges like river waves. Paired with it was a matching skirt that sat comfortably at your hips, flowing down to just below the knees with slits at the sides for ease of movement, layered softly with a lightweight sheer fabric over the base. A dark sash wrapped securely around the waist, tying everything together. The clothes were practical but graceful — built for motion, for freedom, for you.

It felt like home.

You slipped it on and let your long hair fall loose down your back, finally freed from the scarf and cap where it had been hidden for so long. The weight of it felt unfamiliar at first, but it framed your face, softening the hardness the past weeks had carved into your features.

The music was louder now, drums beating rhythm into the square, strings and flutes weaving in between. The men had gathered near a stage where performers danced, villagers clapping and singing along.

As you approached, the soldiers noticed first. One of them let out a low whistle.

“Would you look at that,” Jinho grinned, nudging the man beside him. “She finally doesn’t look like a little boy.”

The group laughed, but their smiles were kind, not cruel. You smiled faintly, rolling your eyes.

But then your gaze caught on Seungcheol.

He stood near the edge of the group, arms crossed, his eyes locked on you — and he wasn’t laughing.

He couldn’t.

Beautiful. That was the only word that came to his mind.

You had always been striking — fierce, proud, unbreakable — but this was different. Your posture, the way your hair framed your face, the ease with which you moved, as though the clothes had unlocked something in you. You looked radiant. Confident. Free.

Baekhyun, standing beside him, leaned in and gave him a pointed nudge, breaking his stare.

“Careful, my prince,” he smirked. “You’re going to make a scene.”

Seungcheol blinked, tearing his gaze away, forcing a breath out through his nose.

The music swelled, drums speeding up as the villagers began to dance, spinning in circles, hands clapping, feet stomping to the beat. Some of the soldiers joined in, laughing as they stumbled through unfamiliar steps.

You felt the rhythm pull at you — the way the music used to back home at celebrations. For a moment, you let yourself forget the weight of your mission. The pain. The loss. And you stepped into the dance.

The soldiers cheered you on as you moved gracefully into the circle, your feet light, hands flowing with ease, the patterns of your tribe’s dances still in your body like muscle memory. You spun, dipping and swaying, and they watched, amazed. Elegant. Untouchable.

But Seungcheol couldn’t look away.

Every step, every turn — he only saw you.

You laughed, enjoying the freedom of the moment, turning as the music carried you — and then suddenly, there he was.

Seungcheol stood before you, closer than you expected, his eyes softer now, gaze steady.

He raised his hand toward you.

For a moment, you hesitated, your eyes flicking between his outstretched hand and his face.

But then, slowly, you placed your hand in his.

The men around you cheered, but their voices blurred into the background as the two of you began to move. At first awkwardly, unsure — but soon, the music guided your steps. You matched his rhythm, spinning beneath his hand as he led, his movements gentle but confident.

You found yourself smiling, laughing even, as he stumbled once and recovered with a grin.

“Not bad, for a prince,” you teased softly.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m full of surprises.”

The music shifted, slowing into something softer. The circle of dancers thinned, and still, Seungcheol didn’t let go.

Instead, his hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer.

Your breath caught.

The air between you felt too thick, too charged. His other hand held yours lightly, but his fingers tightened just enough to keep you near.

You could feel his breath against your cheek as he leaned in, his gaze dropping to your lips.

Your heart raced. The distance between you shrank until it was almost nothing.

But just before his lips could meet yours, reality snapped you back.

You pulled away, stepping back sharply, your hand slipping from his.

“I have to go,” you whispered, avoiding his eyes.

Without waiting for a response, you turned and walked quickly toward the edge of the square, heading back toward camp — your heart pounding loud enough to drown out the music behind you.

Seungcheol stood frozen in the square, eyes fixed on the direction where you had disappeared into the night. His chest rose and fell heavily, the weight of almost pressing down on him like a stone. He ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath.

But he couldn’t leave it like that.

His feet moved before his mind could catch up, carrying him through the quiet streets, past the flicker of lanterns and the distant hum of music. And there you were.

Exactly where he knew you’d be.

Sitting alone on the small rise just outside the camp, legs pulled close to your chest, head tilted toward the sky. The moonlight painted your face in soft silver, your eyes lost somewhere among the stars.

Seungcheol approached slowly, carefully, and sat down beside you — close, but not too close. He waited, saying nothing.

You didn’t look at him.

“What do you want from me, Seungcheol?” you asked softly, your eyes still on the sky.

He let out a sigh, his hands resting between his knees. “I think it’s pretty obvious.”

You shook your head, your voice steadier than you felt. “We can’t.”

His gaze snapped to you. “Why not?”

You turned to him now, eyes sharp, pained. “How could this ever work? You’re the prince of the Empire. I’m the daughter of the very people your father wants wiped from the earth. Our bloodlines are at war.”

“I’m not my father,” he said quickly, leaning forward. “I’m not him.”

“But you carry his name,” you bit back. “You carry the crown. And no matter what you feel right now, you’ll always be his son.”

Seungcheol shook his head, frustrated. “I don’t care about the crown. I don’t care about anything I ever knew anymore.” He reached out, grabbing your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “All of it — my title, my place at court, the lies they fed me since I was a boy — I’d throw it all away if it meant standing with you.”

You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat, but still you hesitated. “And what happens when this is over? When the fighting starts? When you’re forced to choose between your people and mine?”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched. His thumb brushed lightly against the back of your hand.

“I don’t have all the answers,” he admitted. “I don’t know how this ends. I don’t know what will come of any of this.”

He leaned in closer now, voice low, rough with emotion. “I’m not sure of anything in this life — not my father, not the Empire, not even the beliefs I was raised on. I know I have so much more to learn. So much more to understand.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes locked on yours.

“But despite not being sure of anything else in this world… the only thing I am sure of — is you.”

You froze.

His words hit you like an arrow to the chest, tearing down every wall you had built between the two of you.

“I mean it,” he whispered.

And before you could respond, he leaned in and crushed his lips against yours.

The kiss was hard, desperate, filled with every word left unsaid between you. His hand tangled into your hair, pulling you closer, and for a moment, you forgot the war, the blood, the fire between your people — there was only the heat of his mouth, the taste of his breath mixing with yours.

When he finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads pressed together, eyes closed.

“Come with me,” he murmured.

The walk back to your tent was wordless, your fingers laced tightly with his. Every step felt heavier with anticipation, every glance stolen between you like you were crossing some forbidden line.

Inside, the tent was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the moon seeping through the fabric walls.

He closed the flap behind you, his eyes never leaving yours.

There was no more hesitation.

Seungcheol’s hands found your waist first, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you again — slower this time, deeper, his lips moving with purpose. You let your hands slide up his chest, fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to you.

You felt his breath hitch when your hands slipped beneath the fabric, fingers grazing the hard muscle of his stomach. His hands roamed up your back, tracing the curve of your spine as he guided you gently down onto the bedroll, never breaking the kiss.

When he pulled away just enough to look at you, his eyes were dark, filled with want.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, voice rough.

You shook your head. “Don’t.”

That was all he needed.

He leaned down, his lips tracing along your jaw, down the curve of your neck, leaving soft, burning kisses in his wake. His hands moved to untie the sash at your waist, slipping the fabric loose with care. You arched into his touch, gasping softly as his hands explored the newly exposed skin at your waist, your ribs, the underside of your breast.

Your fingers trembled as you pushed his shirt up and over his head, and for the first time, you saw him like this — bare, vulnerable, eyes soft but hungry as they searched your face for permission.

When your lips found his again, he groaned softly against your mouth, pressing his body fully against yours. The warmth of his skin on yours sent a shiver down your spine, and your hands slid down his back, feeling the tension in his muscles as he held himself steady above you.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered against your ear.

“You,” you breathed, tilting your hips up toward him.

His lips trailed down your chest, leaving a path of heat across your skin, his hands working to ease your top away, baring you completely beneath him. His mouth closed gently around your nipple, sucking softly, teasing with his tongue, while his hand caressed the other — drawing soft, needy sounds from your lips.

Seungcheol kissed lower, down your stomach, until his hands gripped the waistband of your skirt, sliding it down slowly, inch by inch, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin of your hips and thighs as he went.

You were breathless, eyes half-lidded as you watched him move, watched the hunger in his gaze as he drank in every inch of you.

When he settled between your thighs, his eyes met yours again, searching.

“Let me taste you,” he murmured.

You nodded, your body already trembling.

Seungcheol lowered his mouth to you, his tongue gliding softly at first, then deeper, more insistent as he found the spot that made your hips jerk beneath him. His hands pinned your thighs gently but firmly, holding you in place as he worked you open with his mouth, slow and thorough, pulling soft gasps and moans from your lips as your fingers tangled tightly into his hair.

“Seungcheol—” you gasped, your voice breaking as the pleasure built inside you like a rising tide.

He didn’t stop until you were shaking, your release crashing over you, his tongue softening as he helped you ride it out, humming softly against your skin.

When he finally rose again, his lips glistened, his eyes dark with desire.

You pulled him back down, your mouth finding his hungrily, tasting yourself on his lips.

His trousers were already loose, and you reached down between your bodies, freeing him from them. He hissed softly as your hand wrapped around him, stroking slowly, teasing, watching the way his eyes fluttered shut for a moment beneath your touch.

“I need you,” you whispered.

Seungcheol’s forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged as he lined himself up, his hand on your hip. “I’ll go slow,” he promised.

You nodded.

When he pushed into you, your eyes squeezed shut, your body stretching to take him, the slow, steady slide of him filling you inch by inch until he was fully seated inside you.

He stayed still for a moment, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your lips softly.

“Are you all right?” he whispered.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Move.”

And he did — slow, gentle thrusts at first, rocking his hips against yours, drawing soft moans from both of you as your bodies found their rhythm together. Your hands clutched at his back, his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing him closer.

His lips never left your skin — kissing your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone as he moved within you, his pace building as your breaths grew faster.

“Say my name,” he murmured, his voice rough against your ear.

“Seungcheol…” you gasped, your hips rising to meet his every thrust.

When your second climax hit, you cried out softly, your body arching against his as the wave of pleasure rolled through you. He followed soon after, burying himself deep, groaning your name as he came, his body shuddering with the force of it.

After, he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, his lips pressing softly against your temple as your breathing slowed.

For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no war. No crown. No chains.

Just the two of you. And the fragile hope of something real.

Seungcheol’s breath was still uneven, his heartbeat loud against your back as he wrapped his arms securely around you, pulling you close, your bare skin pressed to his. The heat between your bodies was slow to fade, but neither of you moved.

For the first time in weeks — maybe in his entire life — he felt still.

He rested his chin lightly on your shoulder, his fingers tracing lazy circles along the curve of your waist. Your breathing had begun to steady, your body soft and warm against his, and as he pressed a soft kiss to the nape of your neck, Seungcheol closed his eyes.

What are we doing?

The thought echoed somewhere in the back of his mind, but for once, he didn’t fight it. He let himself hold you tighter, his palm splayed over your stomach, grounding himself in the simple truth of your body beneath his touch.

You were here. Real. Alive.

Not a symbol. Not an enemy. Just you.

He pressed his lips gently to your shoulder again, eyes fluttering shut.

I was raised for war, but no one ever told me how easy it would be to find peace like this.

Your soft sigh pulled him from his thoughts as you shifted, settling deeper into the curve of his chest, your hand resting lightly over his.

In the quiet of the tent, with the faint chirping of crickets outside and the distant crackle of the dying campfire, Seungcheol let himself wonder, just for a moment, what it might feel like if this was all there was. No war. No crown. No betrayal waiting at the gates. Just this.

Just you.

“I meant it,” he whispered softly, unsure if you were awake enough to hear him. “You’re the only thing I’m sure of.”

The soft, early light of dawn crept through the seams of the tent, casting gentle beams across your tangled limbs. The coolness of the morning air kissed your bare shoulders, and you stirred faintly, blinking against the pale gold glow.

Seungcheol was already awake.

He lay on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching you quietly, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. One hand brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering against your cheek.

When your eyes finally met his, he offered the faintest smile.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice low and husky from sleep.

You shifted slightly beneath the thin blanket draped across your hips, suddenly aware of how exposed you were beneath it. But when his hand reached for yours, threading his fingers gently between yours, you relaxed.

Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Then, quietly, you broke the silence. “We shouldn’t have—”

Seungcheol’s expression shifted, his brow furrowing, but before you could finish, he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I’m not sorry,” he said simply.

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by how certain he sounded.

He sat up, running a hand through his tousled hair, the blanket slipping lower on his waist. “I know things are complicated,” he added, glancing down at you. “I know there’s so much we haven’t figured out. But I’m not going to regret this. Not even for a second.”

You sat up slowly, wrapping the blanket tighter around yourself as you held his gaze.

“You’re still the prince,” you said softly. “Your father’s son.”

Seungcheol’s eyes darkened, but he nodded. “I know.” His fingers reached out, brushing along your bare shoulder. “But last night wasn’t about my father. Or the Empire. It was just… us.”

You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest, unsure of how to answer the tenderness in his voice.

Then, as if sensing the weight between you, Seungcheol smiled faintly, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. “You’re allowed to want this,” he whispered. “Even if it scares you.”

The flap of the tent rustled faintly with the morning breeze, the faint sounds of the camp waking up drifting in.

Seungcheol stood, pulling on his shirt and adjusting his trousers, but his eyes never left yours. Before stepping out, he paused at the entrance, looking back at you, his gaze soft.

“Rest a little longer,” he said gently. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”

And with that, he slipped outside, leaving you alone in the quiet warmth of the morning — heart racing, mind spinning, the imprint of his touch still burning on your skin.

By the time you dressed and stepped out of your tent, the camp was already stirring with the sounds of morning — the clatter of pots, soft chatter between the men, the occasional bark of orders as the brigade prepared to move on.

You spotted Seungcheol near the supply carts, speaking quietly with Baekhyun. His back was to you, one hand resting on his hip, the other gesturing toward the map spread out before them.

For a moment, you considered slipping away unnoticed, keeping distance between the two of you — unsure of what last night meant outside the safe walls of your tent.

But then Seungcheol turned.

His eyes found you immediately, as if drawn by some invisible thread. And for a second — just a second — the look he gave you was soft, unguarded, the prince stripped away, leaving only the man who had held you like you were something precious.

You felt it in your chest, the way your breath caught, your body remembering the weight of him against you, the heat of his mouth on your skin.

But as quickly as it came, he shifted back into command — posture straight, eyes steady, nodding once before turning back to his discussion.

You swallowed hard and forced yourself to move toward the others.

The tension between you only grew as the day went on.

Seungcheol kept his distance — not enough to seem deliberate, but enough that you felt it. His gaze would flick to you when he thought you weren’t looking, and every time your eyes met, the air felt too heavy between you, thick with all the things left unsaid.

During briefings, his voice stayed calm, collected — but his eyes always softened when they met yours. When you spoke, explaining the paths you knew through the provinces, he listened more intently than anyone, his jaw tight, fingers tapping absently against his thigh like he needed to keep himself from reaching for you.

And you felt it too — the weight of knowing, the memory of last night pressing into the space between you both.

You tried to focus on the mission, on the plans, but every time he stood too close, your skin prickled with awareness.

The others began to notice.

Baekhyun was the first to catch on.

You saw it in the way his eyes followed the subtle glances between you and Seungcheol. The faint smirk that played at the corner of his mouth whenever Seungcheol’s gaze lingered on you too long. The way Baekhyun’s eyebrow arched, knowingly, whenever he caught you shifting uncomfortably under the prince’s attention.

At one point, as you were helping Jinho secure the straps on one of the carts, Baekhyun passed by, leaning down just enough to murmur so only you could hear:

“Careful. The prince looks like he’s one heartbeat away from losing all his self-control.”

Your eyes snapped to him, narrowing, but he only winked and walked off.

By evening, the tension had thickened unbearably.

The men gathered for dinner, scattered near the fire, conversation easy between them. You sat beside Baekhyun and Jinho, listening halfheartedly as they joked about the clumsy dance steps from the night before.

But your eyes betrayed you, drifting again to where Seungcheol stood near the edge of the group, arms crossed, watching you.

When your gaze met his, he didn’t look away this time.

There was heat in his eyes. Want. But there was restraint too — barely held back, burning just beneath the surface.

You turned away quickly, your throat dry, pressing your lips together as if that could quiet the way your heart raced.

Baekhyun, sitting beside you, gave a soft chuckle, leaning in. “You two keep looking at each other like that,” he said quietly, “and the whole camp’s going to know.”

You shot him a glare. “They don’t already?”

Baekhyun shrugged with a grin. “Some of the boys are a little slow, but they’re not that slow.”

Jinho, oblivious, kept talking about his terrible footwork, while Baekhyun leaned back, arms behind his head, eyes still flicking between you and Seungcheol with barely hidden amusement.

But you felt it — the air between you and the prince like the pull of a tide, inevitable, inescapable.

It was only a matter of time before the waves would crash again.

Night fell over the camp, quiet settling in as the fires burned low and the soldiers began to drift off to sleep one by one. The soft crackle of embers outside your tent was the only sound as you lay on your side, staring at the flap of the entrance, your thoughts spinning.

You could still feel the weight of Seungcheol’s gaze from across the fire earlier — the way his eyes never quite left you, the heat in them impossible to ignore. Your heart hadn’t stopped racing since.

You told yourself to sleep. You needed to keep your head clear. But the ache of last night’s memory clung to you like the scent of smoke on your skin.

Then, just as your eyes began to drift closed, the tent flap shifted.

You shot up instantly, your body tensing.

Seungcheol stepped inside — slow, sure, his eyes locked on you in the dim light.

“Are you insane?” you whispered sharply, pulling your blanket tighter around yourself, glancing toward the entrance like someone might have seen him.

His expression didn’t waver. He stood tall, hands loose at his sides, gaze steady.

“They’re going to know,” you hissed. “If someone sees you—”

“I don’t care,” he cut you off softly, his voice low but firm. He took another step closer. “Let them know.”

You swallowed, your breath catching. “You should care,” you shot back, but your voice trembled. “You’re the prince. Your men—”

“My men,” he repeated, interrupting again, “already follow me because they believe in me. And if they’re going to keep following me, they’ll have to trust my choices.” His eyes softened slightly, but there was still that fierce determination beneath his words. “Including this. Including you.”

You stared at him, your fingers clutching the edge of the blanket tighter. “This could ruin everything.”

Seungcheol crouched down beside you then, leaning closer, lowering his voice even more. “I don’t care about the rules anymore. Not when it comes to you.”

Your chest tightened, your mind screaming at you to push him away, but your body already leaning toward him.

“You make me reckless,” he murmured, eyes searching yours. “But I’ve never felt so sure about anything.”

You shook your head faintly, your voice softer now. “Seungcheol, I can’t be the reason you lose your men… your crown…”

“I told you,” he said, reaching up to gently brush your hair away from your face, “I’m not sure I even want the crown anymore.”

Your heart pounded as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your lips.

“I don’t care if they know,” he repeated. “I don’t care if they see.”

His hand cupped your cheek, thumb tracing the edge of your jaw, and the weight of his gaze pinned you in place.

“What I care about is you.”

You closed your eyes for half a second, willing yourself to be stronger, to resist the pull of him — but when his lips brushed softly against yours, your resolve shattered.

You kissed him back, your hands finding his shoulders, gripping tight as he pulled you closer. His body pressed against yours, the heat between you building again, undeniable.

But even as the kiss deepened, even as your fingers slid beneath the edge of his shirt, your mind raced with the danger of it all. The risk.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, breathless against his lips: “What if they hear us?”

Seungcheol smiled faintly, his forehead pressing to yours. “Then they’ll finally know what they’ve been guessing all along.”

And before you could protest again, he kissed you harder — hungry, certain, as if he were willing to burn down the world for just one more moment like this with you.

The next few days passed in a strange, quiet shift of balance.

Seungcheol didn’t hide the way his eyes found you now. He didn’t hesitate to stand beside you during briefings, didn’t pull away if his hand brushed against yours when you passed him a map or when your arms grazed during morning preparations.

If anything, he seemed even more at ease — less guarded, more himself.

It was subtle, but noticeable.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t shake the nervous flutter in your chest whenever you caught the glances from the other men. You kept your head down, busying yourself with tasks, always hyperaware of the space between you and Seungcheol, wondering if it was obvious.

It was.

But to your surprise… the men didn’t seem nearly as bothered as you’d feared.

If anything, they looked like they’d been waiting for it.

One afternoon, as you helped Jinho secure supplies onto one of the wagons, you felt his eyes on you — the grin already on his face before you could even meet his gaze.

“So…” he began, dragging out the word, “you and the prince, huh?”

You froze, halfway through tying the rope, your eyes widening slightly as you shot him a glare. “Jinho—”

“What? Everyone knows,” he laughed, waving his hand. “We’ve all known for a while.”

You blushed, turning back to the rope, pulling it tighter than necessary. “I… we didn’t exactly mean for—”

Jinho raised a hand, cutting you off with a smile. “It’s fine. Really. None of us are upset about it.” He leaned against the wagon casually, arms crossed. “Honestly? We’re happy for you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the softness in his tone.

“I mean,” Jinho added with a sheepish smile, “I think we all knew he wasn’t going to marry that princess from Jinhwa. The way he looks at you? Yeah… we saw this coming.”

Your shoulders sagged slightly, some of the tension releasing from your chest as you gave a small smile. “Thank you, Jinho.”

He grinned, nudging your arm playfully. “Just don’t let Baekhyun catch you sneaking into his tent or he’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself.

That night, after the camp had quieted and the fires burned low, you sat inside your tent, staring at the small crack of moonlight peeking through the flap. You were still replaying Jinho’s words, unsure whether to feel relieved or even more exposed.

Then the flap rustled softly.

You didn’t need to look up.

Seungcheol slipped inside, ducking his head slightly beneath the entrance, his lips already curling into that smug, knowing smile.

“See?” he said softly as he knelt down beside you. “I told you.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms loosely over your chest. “Told me what?”

“That they wouldn’t care.” His eyes softened, gaze steady on yours. “That they’d be happy for you.”

You let out a soft exhale, shaking your head as you leaned back on your hands. “I hate when you’re right.”

Seungcheol chuckled, leaning closer, his hand finding your knee as he brushed his thumb gently along your skin. “Get used to it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you.

“And,” he added, voice quieter now as his fingers traced small circles against your knee, “for the record… they’re not just happy for you.” He leaned in, lips hovering close to your ear. “They’re happy for me, too.”

Your breath caught again — the warmth of him, the way his words melted so easily into your skin.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.

You turned your head, your lips brushing softly against his, the space between you closing once more.

And as his hand slid up to your cheek, pulling you into another kiss, you felt the last of the worry begin to ease away — replaced by the quiet certainty of what was slowly, but surely, becoming yours.

The days that followed moved quickly, the weight of what was coming pressing down on the entire brigade.

The plan was simple, but dangerous.

Sneak into the capital under the cover of darkness. Free your father and the other captured tribal leaders. Reveal the truth of the Empire’s brutality to the people — expose the slaughtered villages, the lies of “peaceful assimilation.”

Baekhyun and Seungcheol went over the maps again and again, marking the weak points in the city’s defenses. They found the prison beneath the city walls where your father was being held — along with the other chiefs.

There would be no second chance.

The night of the mission, you dressed in dark clothes, your blade strapped at your hip, your heart pounding so hard you were afraid the guards might hear it.

You moved through the streets like shadows, slipping past the patrols, hearts in your throats.

When the gates of the prison creaked open under Jinho’s careful hands, you led the way through the corridors, the torches casting long shadows on the damp stone walls.

You found him deep in the cells — weak, bruised, but alive. His hair had grown longer, streaks of gray at his temples, but the fire in his eyes was not gone.

“Father…” Your voice cracked as you whispered it.

His head snapped up, disoriented at first, but then his eyes widened as they met yours.

“Y/N?” His voice trembled.

You dropped your sword, rushing toward him, falling to your knees as your hands grabbed the bars, fingers shaking.

“Y/N, is it— Is it really—” He couldn’t finish. Tears streamed down your face as you nodded, your hands reaching through the bars to cup his weathered face.

“We’re getting you out,” you whispered. “I swear it.”

Seungcheol was already at the lock, breaking it open as your father’s arms wrapped around you tightly for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

“My brave girl,” he choked, burying his face into your shoulder as you wept into his chest.

Baekhyun and the men worked fast, freeing the other leaders. Word was spreading outside the prison. People began gathering, murmurs growing louder as the evidence of the Empire’s deception spread through the streets.

But the victory was short-lived.

As you stepped out into the square with your father and the freed chiefs, the sound of armored boots echoed through the streets.

The Emperor stood waiting, flanked by his soldiers, their blades drawn, torches blazing behind them. His expression was cold, but his eyes burned with fury.

“You dare,” he spat, glaring at the group, then at Seungcheol. “You dare betray me for this?”

The soldiers surrounded you, weapons raised.

“Seize the chiefs,” the Emperor ordered, his voice booming.

The guards surged forward, grabbing your father, forcing him to his knees. His face stayed proud, unyielding.

“Execute the leader,” the Emperor barked.

“No!” You screamed, throwing yourself between your father and the executioner’s sword, your arms spread wide, your body shielding him.

“Stand down, girl,” the Emperor growled.

Seungcheol’s voice cracked through the air, desperate, furious: “No!”

The Emperor’s gaze snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “You—” His lip curled. “You love her.”

The words hung in the air like a blade between you.

Seungcheol’s chest rose and fell hard, his fists clenched. His eyes didn’t leave yours.

The Emperor’s face twisted with disgust, his voice laced with disbelief. “My own son… defiled by some tribal girl.” His voice hardened. “Then let her die beside him. Execute both of them.”

“Wait!” Seungcheol shouted, stepping forward. His voice rang out across the square, sharp and desperate. “I’ll marry her.”

The crowd froze. Even the soldiers hesitated.

The Emperor’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I’ll marry the princess of Jinhwa,” Seungcheol said louder, his voice steady despite the ache behind it. “You want the alliance. You want to save face after this mess. Let them all go — her father, the chiefs, the tribes. The expansion is already ruined, but this marriage will strengthen your ties to Jinhwa.”

The square fell into a stunned silence.

Your heart shattered.

You could barely breathe, your eyes locked on his, your lips parted as the weight of his words hit you like a blade to the chest.

The Emperor stayed quiet for a long moment, eyes calculating. Then, finally, he nodded once.

“Fine. They may go.” His voice was calm again. Cruel. Triumphant. “But the deal stands.”

The soldiers lowered their swords. Baekhyun immediately started moving the chiefs away, motioning for the men to fall back.

But you didn’t move.

You pushed against the hands trying to guide you away, your voice cracking as you screamed, “No—! Let me go! Seungcheol—!”

Baekhyun grabbed your arm, holding you back tightly as you struggled against him, your tears blinding you.

“Seungcheol!” you cried out again, fighting to reach him, your body twisting against the grip of the men pulling you away.

He stood frozen where he was, eyes on you — full of love, full of sorrow, but not moving.

Baekhyun’s arms tightened around you, his face grim as he whispered harshly into your ear: “I’m sorry. He told me — whatever happens, get you out of here. Don’t let him see you die here.”

Your body was still fighting, thrashing against Baekhyun’s grip, but your strength was failing beneath the weight of heartbreak.

“Seungcheol!” you sobbed one last time, your voice raw, breaking.

He didn’t move. But as you were dragged further away, your eyes caught the moment his knees buckled beneath him, his body collapsing to the ground, his head bowed, his hands clenched into the dirt.

And as Baekhyun pulled you out of the square, away from the flames, away from him — you felt the last piece of your heart crumble.

Five Years Later…

The seasons had passed, and though the scars of war still marked the land, life had found a way to bloom again.

Your village stood strong, nestled between the hills where the rivers ran clear. Built by the hands of your tribe, your father, and the men who had once followed Seungcheol into battle — men who chose peace, who chose you.

There was still fighting to be done. Other tribes remained scattered, some still hunted, others in hiding. But here, in this place, you had carved out a home. A refuge. A small piece of freedom.

You spent the morning working at the back of your home, weaving baskets, your hands steady though your mind wandered — always thinking of the next step, the next fight, the people who still needed saving.

Then, faint at first, you heard it.

Cheers. Voices rising with excitement. The sound of feet running, men calling out to each other.

You stood, wiping your hands on your skirt, frowning. Curious.

You stepped out into the path, your brow knit, and saw the gathering — the men surrounding someone near the village entrance. Their voices were loud, joyful, filled with something like disbelief.

Baekhyun was there, and you caught the sight of him embracing someone tightly, his face breaking into a rare, wide smile.

Then Baekhyun turned — and the others slowly stepped aside.

Your heart stopped.

There he was.

Seungcheol.

Older now. His hair a bit longer, tied loosely at the back. Broader somehow, heavier at the shoulders. But his face — his eyes — those were the same. Still burning with that quiet, steady fire you had fallen in love with.

You dropped the basket in your hands, the contents spilling to the ground.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

So he did.

Seungcheol crossed the space between you in long strides, never breaking eye contact, and when he reached you, his arms wrapped around you so tightly you thought you might break from the pressure of it. But you didn’t let go either. Your fingers clutched at the fabric of his clothes, holding him close, the weight of five long years crashing into your chest all at once.

The men gave you space, drifting away, leaving you both in the quiet.

He followed you into your house, the door closing softly behind you. And for a moment, the only sound was the rush of your breath and the faint tremble of his hands still holding yours.

“I wanted to write,” he began, voice rough. “God, I wanted to write to you a thousand times. But I was afraid — afraid they would find the letters, intercept them, trace them back to you.”

You swallowed, nodding faintly, your eyes never leaving his.

“The day of my wedding,” Seungcheol continued, his voice breaking slightly, “it was the worst day of my life.”

You squeezed his hand tighter.

“They never touched me, Y/N. I couldn’t. I couldn’t be with her. I never even looked at her the way I looked at you.” He let out a shaking breath. “When she got pregnant, I knew. It wasn’t mine. It couldn’t be.”

Your eyes widened, but you stayed silent, letting him speak.

“The child was not mine. The marriage was dissolved. She was sent back to Jinhwa. My father was furious… but he needed the alliance too much to start another war.” He shook his head, frustration flashing across his face. “I had to wait. Wait until his focus was elsewhere, until he left on a long campaign, months away from the capital.”

His eyes softened, locking onto yours again.

“And now… now I’m here.”

Your lips parted, the flood of words waiting at the back of your throat — but before you could say anything, a soft voice broke the silence.

“Mama!”

You froze.

Seungcheol’s head turned, eyes wide with confusion.

A little boy, no older than five, came running into the house, his small arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he buried his face against you.

Seungcheol’s gaze dropped, stunned silent — and when the boy turned to face him, Seungcheol’s breath caught in his chest.

The child’s eyes, his nose, the shape of his face… there was no mistaking it.

The boy was his.

Tears welled in your eyes as you dropped to your knees, holding your son close, your voice trembling.

“I wanted to write to you, too,” you whispered. “But I couldn’t risk it. Not with him. Not when I didn’t know what your father might do if he found out.”

Seungcheol’s lips trembled, his eyes fixed on the boy, blinking rapidly as he tried to hold back the tears already threatening to fall.

“How…?” His voice cracked. “How could you have gone through this alone?”

“I wasn’t alone,” you said softly, brushing your fingers through your son’s hair. “All your men have cared for him. Baekhyun… he’s watched over him like he was his own blood.”

Seungcheol’s eyes darted back to you, overwhelmed, barely able to process the flood of emotion twisting through him.

“Does he…?” His voice lowered into a whisper, almost afraid to ask. “Does he know me?”

You gave a gentle smile through your tears.

“Jeonghan,” you called softly, lifting your son’s chin, “who is your father?”

The little boy beamed, his eyes bright. “His name is Seungcheol! And he is a brave and just man!”

Seungcheol’s lips parted, the tears finally breaking free and spilling down his cheeks.

You smiled gently through your own tears, your voice thick as you said: “Jeonghan… that’s him.”

The boy turned, his eyes wide with curiosity as he stepped closer. Slowly, without hesitation, he reached up and placed his small hand against Seungcheol’s cheek.

“Dada,” Jeonghan said softly, smiling. “You’re finally home.”

Seungcheol’s face crumpled. A soft, broken sob escaped him as he dropped to his knees, gathering the boy into his arms, clutching him tightly, holding him as if afraid he might disappear.

Jeonghan’s arms wrapped around his neck, giggling happily, unaware of the depth of the moment — but you saw the way Seungcheol’s shoulders shook with every breath, the way he held your son like a man trying to hold onto hope for the first time in years.

Through the tears, Seungcheol looked up at you — eyes shining, full of love, full of grief, full of the years lost between you.

But there was no anger in them. Only relief. Only love.

Only home.

#seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol #scoups x reader #historical au #royalty au #forbidden love au #enemy to lovers #seventeen #seventee fic #seventeen au #reader insert #fanfiction #kpop fanfiction #seungcheol fanfic

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yandere-daydreams · 1 year ago

Text

Title: Without Parole.

Pairing: Yandere!Neuvillette x Reader x Yandere!Wriothesley (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.8k.

TW: Implied Non/Con, Prolonged Imprisonment, Wrongful Imprisonment, Unhealthy Relationships, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Blood, Possessive Behavior, and Gratuitous Old Man Yaoi.

“You reek of mortal blood.”

Neuvillette watched through half-lidded eyes as Wriothesley glanced over his shoulder, a careless grin already tugging at the corner of his lips. He paused, letting the shirt he’d only just started to button hang limp over his chest, and turned to face Neuvillette properly – albeit, never removing himself from the edge of the mattress. “I wonder why,” he murmured, keeping his voice low, playful. “It’s not like I’ve been carrying six liters of the stuff around or anything.”

Neuvillette softened, as he always seemed to when gifted with Wriothesley’s full attention, but didn’t relent. “It’s not yours. You’ve never been so—” He couldn’t stop himself, grimacing. “—sweet.”

Such a simple description didn’t do justice to the extent of the wrongness currently laid over Wriothesley’s pointed, metallic scent. It was almost sickeningly saccharine; overripe fruit and overused perfume and sugar boiled to the point of caramelization. It was a haze more than anything, the type of numbing agent used to dull the senses and hide something more vile, more cutting. Neuvillette didn’t care for it, but then again, Neuvillette didn’t care for most things that placed himself between him and Wriothesley.

“…I don’t like it,” he admitted, nearly under his breath. He let his eyes fall shut and, as if in response, felt Wriothesley’s hand cupped his cheek, the calloused pad of his thumb tracing over his jaw. “Someone’s been putting their hands on you. If it’s one of your guards, I’ll have them transferred to—”

“Careful, love.” At least Wriothesley was delicate with his interruption. “You’re starting to sound a little jealous.”

Neuvillette stiffened, more out of reflex than anything. Despite his best attempts at self-restraint, possessiveness was simply in a dragon’s nature. No part of him wanted to treat Wriothesley like a precious object to be locked away without sympathy or softness, and even if he had any desire to be so domineering, it would’ve been impossible; he had his duties to Fontaine, and Wriothesley had his to the fortress that lied under its seas. Taking him away from his station would be irresponsible, if not cruel. Wriothesley was not a man who could live under the heel of another.

And yet, while the humanity within him knew Wriothesley could only ever be a lover (a distant one, at that), his draconic nature howled for something soft and pliable and able to be captured and kept, something he could dig his fangs into and never release. For a mate, as primal and primitive as the idea seemed.

He forced himself to relax, to exhale, to open his eyes and pull himself into a more respectable position. One hand found Wriothesley’s where it was laid over his cheek while the other found a thigh – his pointed nails burrowing into well-scared skin. Kissing Wriothesley came naturally, as unfamiliar as he’d once been with such human gestures of affection, and his lover posed no resistance, even as the defined points of Neuvillette’s teeth dragged across his bottom lip and the iron tinge of fresh blood joined the taste of Wriothesley’s mouth. Neuvillette couldn’t stop himself, letting out a raspy groan, pushing himself against Wriothesley with all the tenderness and all the misery of a wild animal, desperate not to tear apart what it loved most.

And, for the most part, Wriothesley was kind enough to pretend he felt the same.

He met you a month later, tucked within the iron walls of Wriothesley’s underworld.

You were already in his office, sitting at an ancient player piano he would’ve sworn hadn’t been there the last time he’d visited the fortress. He’d mistaken it for one of Wriothesley’s records, at first – your playing paced and melodic, hesitant in a way that could be regarded as pleasant if your listener happened to be rather patient. You only paused as he crested the staircase leading to Wriothesley’s loft, snapping towards Neuvillette with an expression only comparable to that of a small, frightened animal. You recognized him quickly enough, relaxing somewhat when you did, but not before he recognized you.

Or, rather, the sweetness you absolutely reeked of.

It was more overpowering than it had been, when he’d only been taking in the residuals of it left on Wriothesley. Rotting fruit abruptly seemed like an inaccurate comparison, too simple, too blatantly vitriolic. If your scent could be linked to anything, it would’ve had to be caramel – sugary and fresh and cloying in its inescapability. It took more self-control than it should’ve not to bare his teeth, not to let his anger rise to the point of visibility. It grew easier to control himself as your eyes fell back to the keys in front of you, as you shrunk into yourself – his presence not so great of a relief as to completely undo your meekness. “Monsieur Ludex,” you muttered, nearly under your breath. He had attempted not to think of Wriothesley’s hypothetical lover, but if he had, he might’ve pictured someone more brazen. “I… I’m not sure where His Grace is, at the moment. I know he’ll be returning eventually, but if you’re in a rush, you might be able to find him in—.”

“I can wait.”

It wasn’t a question, but you nodded regardless, never looking away from your instrument. It wasn’t until he fell into the seat slotted against the opposing wall that your hands found the keys and you spared him a quick, almost skittish glance over your shoulder. He caught your gaze and held it, and although he’d never confess it aloud, his more primal aspects relished in the way you seemed to wither under the weight of his gaze. “Please, don’t let my company disturb you.”

You didn’t need much more incentive than that. Admittedly, your playing was far from insufferable; not quite as polished as the musicians of the Opera Epiclese, but far from that of an amateur. It would’ve been impossible to guess how long he listened to you for; one song seeped into another without pause, forming a medley that you’d either memorized long ago or, more fantastically, made up as you went along. You seemed used to your instrument, too. Wriothesley must’ve had you play for him often.

It was also, admittedly, difficult to reconcile the image of you in front of him with that of the conniving, sugar-sweet seductor he had pictured upon first noticing the new tinge to Wriothesley’s scent. The bland, standard-issue clothing of a prisoner hung loose on your form, clearly a size too large by the most generous of measurements, and no aspect of your posture nor your expression communicated that you found any amount of comfort within the walls of Wriothesley’s office. When he thought to look, he could make out discoloration encircling your wrists, painted over your knuckles, but minor injuries were common in the fortress. It would’ve been unwise to make assumptions based only on a handful of bruises.

Your medley only faltered upon Wriothesley’s arrival – unpredictably abrupt and endearingly violent, you and Neuvillette given only a moment to acknowledge that the door to his office had opened before he showed himself. His attention fell to you, first, as did his affection. You bit back a grimace as he pulled you into a crushing embrace, his mouth brushing over your temple, then falling to the corner of your jaw, as if he intended there to be something more intimate than a fleeting kiss. Before he could make contact, though, his gaze darted to Neuvillette. There was an unpolished grin, a teasing glint in his eyes, and then he was drawing back from you, muttering something as he pulled away. Neuvillette forced himself not to want to hear it.

And yet, he watched intently as Wriothesley separated from you and came to him, instead. A single knee was propped against the worn velveteen cushions of the loveseat, two bandaged hands clasped over the bronze gilding of the backrest – Wriothesley once again choosing to put himself in the position of the cager, rather than the caged. Neuvillette allowed himself to be guided into a shallow kiss, but when Wriothesley pulled away, he didn’t chase after him. It was pathetic as far as shows of discontent went, but Wriothesley let out an airy, knowing chuckle regardless. “Do I owe this visit to business or pleasure, monsieur?”

“Business.”

Wriothesley’s grin quirked into a defined pout, but he didn’t protest. Neuvillette feigned disinterest as he collapsed into the chair behind his desk, and you fell back into your song as if you’d never missed a note. The conversation ranged from middlingly polite to stiflingly bureaucratic; Neuvillette careful not to broach any topic more personal than the number of prisoners the fortress should expect in the following six months. It was only as their discussion neared its end that you seemed to shift, your music drifting in and out of audibility as you pushed yourself to your feet and, after gathering the sheet music you hadn’t bothered to touch, started towards the staircase leading—

“(Y/n).”

Whatever Wriothesley might’ve been saying was immediately forgotten with a snap of his fingers, a vague beckoning gesture. You stiffened, but complied, leaving your burden on the corner of his desk as you shambled to your warden’s side. Your routine seemed practiced, albeit still rough around the edges. An arm lashed out as soon as you were close enough, catching you by the waist and dragging you into his lap, keeping you there with a forearm bared over your midriff.

It’s almost impressive, just how blank you manage to keep your impression – the pinnacle of passivity. Wriothesley was not so aloof.

“Monsieur Neuvillette’s been asking about you,” he started, his hand finding your wrist. You tried to pull away – an automatic response, Neuvillette guessed – but Wriothesley’s hold was tight, unyielding. “I’m sure you can find it within yourself to thank him for all the time he’s spent thinking about you, now, can’t you, dear?”

Your eyes flicker to the ground. “…thank you, sir.”

“And for keeping you company while I was away. I know how much you hate being alone.”

Your fist balled around the hem of Wriothesley’s coat. Neither of you seemed to notice. “Thank you, sir.”

“See what I have to deal with? I promise, they’re normally more well-behaved. It just takes them a few minutes to come out of their shell.” Wriothesley’s head bowed low as he guided your hand to his mouth. You didn’t resist, this time, only flinching into yourself as his pointed canines burrowed into the tender apex of your wrist. You held onto that shut-eyed, furrowed expression as the flat of Wriothesley’s tongue ran over the twin pair of puncture wounds and then, with no particular ceremony, held your wrist out for Neuvillette’s careful evaluation. “For your trouble, monsieur.”

Wriothesley’s intention was clear, as was Neuvillette’s refusal – signaled with little more than a quick shake of his head, a steeper arch to his frown.

He had no need to taste you. Not when his senses were so sharp compared to Wriothesley’s, so refined.

Not when he could already feel his twin cocks hardening against his thigh.

“No gratitude is needed.” He stood abruptly, eager to be on his feet. For whatever reason, Wriothesley’s office suddenly seemed several times smaller than it had, before. He could feel saliva pooling underneath his tongue, his vision growing sharp and predatory, and he fled with no further commentary; only nodding curtly to the fortress guards as he escaped from Wriothesley’s office altogether and started for the elevator, the only way back to the surface and all of its wonderous open air. It was an abuse of power, of position. Failing that, he could be tried for inappropriate conduct, or public indecency – something defined and sterile that Neuvillette could put a name to and assign an appropriate sentence. He needed to—

“Monsieur Ludex!”

He felt a smaller hand catch his sleeve and bit back the temptation to claw, to snap, to bite. Instead, he turned slowly, eyes flickering downward to find you standing behind him, glancing from side to side as you held the frill of his sleeve in a pale-knuckled grip. He could see a flush dusted over your cheeks, making out the slight, shallow panting you were attempting in vain to suppress. You must’ve been chasing after him for quite some time.

“It was—” You paused, swallowed, bowed your head. You cupped his hand between both of yours, clenching your eyes shut entirely. “It was an honor to meet you.”

He waited for you to release him, which after a stilted beat, you did hastily. “Likewise.”

You said nothing else, only nodding stiffly as he turned away from you. It wasn’t until he boarded the fortress’ elevator that he noticed the scrap of paper tucked into his glove; clearly torn from the corner of some yellowed sheet of music, if the measured bars and dotted notes were any indication. Two words had been messily scrawled across the yellowed parchment, almost endearing in their predictability. Despite himself, Neuvillette found himself smiling as he read over them.

‘Help me.’

It wasn’t difficult to find your file. It wasn’t kept in his office, but a smaller wing of the Palais Mermonia, one meant for trails that never made it to the Opera Epiclese. He opted to retrieve the file in the dead of night, so as not to disturb his dedicated staff, and review its contents in the privacy of his personal chambers.

No detail was particularly interesting, but he read over each page with a meticulous sort of care, careful not to let any word or figure go without loving appreciation. You were born to a small farming village north of the city, orphaned at the age of ten and released into your brother’s custody at twelve, after he served a minor stint in the very fortress you were currently resigned to. At eighteen, you enrolled into one of Fontaine’s premier preforming art academies on scholarship and withdrew at twenty due to familial difficulties, resigning from your position among the Opera Epiclese’s in-house orchestra in the same year. Your crime was equally unremarkable; petty theft, only a single count to which you plead guilty. Neuvillette wasn’t surprised. Theft was not an uncommon crime, especially for those unused to the overwhelming splendor of Fontaine’s courts, although it rarely resulted in a criminal change. He would have to look into the details of your case later on.

No, it wasn’t the crime itself that surprised him, but the sentencing information scrawled underneath it – the assigned length of your sentence, followed immediately by time served. The former was four weeks, the recommended length for first-time, non-violent offenses.

The latter, updated as of three days prior, was seventeen months.

Neuvillette rarely found the time for sleep, and when he did rest, he rarely dreamt. That night, he plagues with visions of Wriothesley kissing his neck, honey and caramel dripping from his lips and drowning them both.

The next morning, he penned a letter to Wriothesley – not as one lover to another, but the Ludex of Fontaine to the Duke of Meropide. The contents were blunt, polite, consisting of little more than a request as to the documentation behind your extended sentence. The letter he received back, delivered by one of Wriothesley’s couriers, contained no written response, but a tattered scrap of pure ivory silk, stained with scarlet blood and still damp with a transparent, viscous, saccharine substance.

He spent the remainder of the day with the cloth pressed against the lower half of his mouth, his fist moving over his cocks as he pictured you bound in silver at the bottom of the sea.

The arrangements were made as quickly as could be expected. Neuvillette took care to lend your plight his personal attention, muttering your name aloud for the first and only time when he had Wriothesley pinned to his desk, both cocks hilted entirely inside of his lover. His lover and yours, he supposed. He found that the thought no longer revolted him the way it once had.

Wriothesley, for his part, was agreeable. Where his enthusiasm failed, his dedication to maintaining peace within his fortress saw the matter through. Paperwork was drawn up and signed, guards were given their orders, and soon enough, he was standing at the entrance to the Fortress of Meropide, watching on as you blearily stumbled out of the rustic elevator – one of Wriothesley’s more trusted officers to either of your sides. He waved them off quickly. This was a joyous occasion, but a private one. He wanted no more witnesses than there absolutely had to be.

You were a doe-eyed thing; standing in daylight for the first time in more than a year. He’d chosen for an accommodating time of day, opted to schedule your release for the soften hours of a post-sunset twilight, but it seemed any amount of natural light would’ve been enough to render you senseless. It took a long moment for you to find your footing on solid land, another to remember to blink, and yet another for you to notice him. Instantly, he knew any amount of preparation he might’ve done was useless – his scheduling, especially.

Your smile was enough to rival the sun at its brightest.

“Monsieur Ludex!” Still unsteady, you wandered towards him, taking both of his hands into your own. You were tactile, despite your meekness. It wasn’t often Neuvillette was touched so casually. “I—I really can’t thank you enough, and I’m—I’m sorry for the hassle, but the warden, he wouldn’t let me go, and I didn’t know if you had any jurisdiction over the fortress, but Wriothesley wrote to you so often, and—”

“I ought to be the one apologizing.” He kept his tone gentle, even, only a touch warmer than the stunted greetings he’d exchanged with you weeks ago. Despite this, you melted as if addressed by your oldest, closest friend; your shoulders dropping and your eyes glimmering with all the radiance of a rising tide. “The inflation of your sentence was a grave and unforgivable foresight. If you wished to leave Fontaine altogether, I would understand.”

“I… I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” You released his hands, clasping them in front of your waist. Reluctantly, he allowed you to. “Honestly, sir, I’d really just like to go home.”

He couldn’t help but mirror your smile back, albeit not quite as shining. “If that’s so, then the necessary accommodations have already been made.”

With your arm tucked in his, you allowed him to escort you to a waiting carriage (secured as to avoid forcing to travel by sea so quickly after escaping your imprisonment underneath it). The first leg of your journey passed in comfortable silence, your attention rarely leaving the glass-paned window. As you passed through the countryside outside of the Court of Fontaine, you glanced toward him and beamed. “My village isn’t far from here. I don’t suppose you’ve contacted my brother?”

His response was a curt nod, a contemplative hum. “We’ll be arriving shortly.”

As you passed through the city’s gates, your smile dimmed some, taking on a strained undertone. “Is there anything in the city we have to do? I’m afraid I never got the chance to ask the other prisoners about release protocols.”

Once again, his response was brief. “You shouldn’t worry yourself with unnecessary specifics.”

As your carriage came to an ambling stop in front the Palais Mermonia, your smile fell away entirely. “Monsieur Ludex,” you tried once more, your voice now shaking so delectably, it nearly rivaled the sweetness of your scent. “I… I’m afraid I don’t understand what’s going on.”

This time, he made no attempt to answer you sincerely. “Please, call me Neuvillette.” And then, as he stepped out of the carriage and signaled for you to do the same, “Come with me.”

You shrunk into your seat, but even the most skittish creatures knew when to attempt submission rather than escape. Given another second’s worth of patience, you followed him up the palace’s steps and through its vacant halls, its usual attendants sent home in anticipation of your arrival. No part of him expected you to run, but there was a small, paranoid faction of his mind that had anticipated an attempt to distance yourself from him – a passing glance towards possible exits, a widening gap between you and him as you proceeded. Your eyes remained fixed on the floor in front of you, though, and you were never more than an arm’s length from his side. However Wriothesley had treated you, it had apparently not been with much leniency.

Finally, you reached his personal chambers. You paused for the first time as he ushered you through a pair of tall, wooden doors, but the hint of a scowl had you scurrying inside before he could think to flash his teeth. Still, you only made it a step or so into the room before coming to a halt yet again. Neuvillette didn’t have to imagine why. He was unable to dampen his grin as he followed your gaze to the far wall, or rather, to the four-poster bed slotted against it. He’d done the utmost to ensure your comfort, but rationally, he knew it wasn’t the Liyuan silk sheet or the down-stuffed comforter that had you so transfixed, nor the antique grand piano that stood some paces to the left.

No, as far he could tell, your eyes were solely locked onto the sleek, velvet-lined collar sitting on the center of the mattress, connected to the headboard by a thin, silver chain. He couldn’t be surprised that you were in such a state of shock.

Wriothesley had always preferred bronze.

“I suggest you get on the bed,” he started, a hand already moving towards the stiff collar of his suit. “You may undress if you wish, but I won’t force you to. Your cooperation is appreciated, but unnecessary.”

For a moment, you stayed where you were; motionless and quiet, trembling ever so slightly. For a moment, you didn’t do anything at all.

Then, with a quick nod and a sniffle of a sob, you moved towards the bed, as unhappy as you were obedient. It should’ve broken his heart to see you in such a state of distress, but for now, he could tolerate your misery, your scorn. It was only proper that a lover should be kept happy, but a mate’s discomfort could be tolerated.

And Neuvillette already knew you would make a wonderful mate.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #yandere neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #yandere wriothesley #wriothesley x reader

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himbodruid · 4 months ago

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Claim

Sylus x Reader

Steamy oneshot, but not nsfw

Sylus ‘happened’ to be in the area for a ‘job’ when you had a company dinner? Yeah right. But what will he do when he sees your coworker getting too close?

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°⭑ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩⭑

Sylus was incredibly skilled at catching you off guard. It didn’t matter the situation, he always managed to do what you least expected.

So, it shouldn’t have been such a surprise to receive a text from him while you were out for dinner with your teammates. You’d made an honest effort to avoid looking at your phone to not be rude, but it became a safety barrier when a drunk coworker crowded you and put his arm around your shoulder.

You seem to be having fun, Kitten ;)

Your head whipped up, scanning the pub for him after reading his text. It was a Friday night, so it was packed with patrons and making your task difficult at best.

“What’s up, boo?” Someone across the table asked you, noticing your head on a swivel. You turned your attention back to the table to see Simone, flushed from drink, watching you with a curious gaze.

“Oh, uh. My friend texted that he was at this pub, so I was seeing if I could find him,” you said, taking the shot that Simone pushed into your hand. You threw it back, and you spotted him when you set the glass down. How you even missed him, you didn’t know.

Because there he was, lounging languidly at the center of the bar, watching you with an amused glint in his eye. You swore you could see his eyes glowing in the dim lighting of the pub. He raised his glass to you before taking a sip, that crimson gaze never leaving you.

“Sonofabitch,” you grumble, more loudly than you intended.

“Did you find him? Bring him over!” Cheers erupted at the table when you stood abruptly.

“I’ll just..go ask,” you say awkwardly before hurrying away. You could feel every pair of eyes from your coworkers following you, curious to see what friend your reclusive-ass could have outside of work.

“Are you out of your mind?” You hiss when you approach him. His warm chuckle reached your ear and all it did was make you steam more.

“Hello to you too, Kitten,” he said casually, as if he wasn’t surrounded by people who would see him imprisoned if they knew who he really was.

“Why are you here?” You moved close to him, clenching your fists to prevent yourself from hauling him out of the pub.

He took another sip of his drink, keeping his eyes locked on you. Then he leaned back against the bar, setting the glass down. “I was in the area for a job and happened across your fun little group.”

“Uh-huh, yeah, sure,” you say, rubbing your face in exasperation. You peek over your shoulder to find the entire table invested in your conversation with Sylus, despite being out of hearing range. Your heart lurched. Definitely too late to hide him and shuffle him out the door, but Sylus seemed unphased. In fact, he took your hand and pulled you closer, so that you stood between his knees.

“Your friends seem interested,” Sylus chuckled. “Should we give them a show?”

Before you could even think or react, his hand cupped the back of your head and pulled you into him. His mouth slanted over yours, crashing against yours in a kiss that was immediately filled with passion. All of your thoughts halted as you became consumed by him. You didn’t even hear the drunken cheers that erupted from your table to the disgruntlement of other patrons. So engrossed in him, you didn’t catch the territorial glare he sent the guy who had his arm around your shoulder.

“That’s not fair,” you say, swaying into him when he pulled away. Your hand found his thigh and you rested your weight there to stabilize yourself, much to the amusement of your coworkers. “Don’t kiss me when I’m angry at you! That’s cheating!”

“Well stop being angry, and introduce me to your friends,” he chuckled, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles.

“Are you insane?” You hiss. “That table is full of hunters who would love to see you behind bars!”

Sylus’s gaze darted back to the table, the amused glint returning to his eyes. “I don’t think any of them are in sound enough mind to make any kind of arrest right now.”

He wasn’t wrong but.. “Th-that’s not the point!”

“Introduce me, or we can continue this conversation somewhere more…private.” The gravel in his voice hinted that there would be no conversation, and your breath hitched. As tempting as the offer was, the office would already swarm with rumours just from this encounter. You couldn’t imagine what would happen should you leave with him right at that moment.

He chuckled at your hesitation, tugging you along behind him as he made the decision for you and went to the table. You followed obediently, unsure what else to do while your heart threatened to explode from anxiety. But then you remembered that karaoke night from ages ago once Simone and Tara shouted his cover name. Skye. That’s right, you’d completely forgotten.

Space was made for him at the table, and he sat leaning against your chair, with his arm thrown across the back of it. Every now and then, you could feel his fingers brush your shoulder or your hair. He was staking an obvious claim, and your face flushed every time Tara or Simone bounced their eyebrows suggestively at you. All while making not-so-subtle gestures between the two of you. No amount of denial could convince them, or yourself, that Sylus was putting on an act just to be a little shit.

But you would have your revenge. You just needed to wait patiently.

Two could play this game.

#lads sylus #sylus fic #sylus x you #l&ds sylus #sylus x reader #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #lads fic #lads x reader #l&ds fic #love and deepspace fic #sylus oneshot

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reiderwriter · 1 year ago

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🫂 Transference 🫂

Pairing: Spencer Reid x virgin!Fem Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge 2024

Summary: He saves your life, and he keeps saving it every day, but Spencer won't let you love him until you finally beg him to. Is transference really that much of an issue?

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Mentions of Case details - reader is the unsub victim, mentions of rape and attempted rape, gunshot, death, kidnapping, imprisonment, parental neglect, abandonment, loss of virginity (positive), semi-public sex, bathroom sex, fingering, penetrative sex (p in v), missionary, praise kink (good girl), moaning kink (?), safe sex, slight cum play/ oral, aftercare.

A/N: I wrote a virgin reader fic for kinktober that people loved a lot (thank you all!), and I had a lot of requests for something similar, so please - enjoy!

Masterlist || Bingo Board

You'd met him at the library, as if the world wanted you to forever associate the comfort you found in between the pages of a worn book with the man that tried to end your life. At first, you'd thought it a coincidence, then he'd flashed a smile at you, and you'd believed it to be fate, drawn in by the charm he wore as a disguise.

Your first date was sweet, flowers and dinner. Your second date was sweeter, and they kept on that way. Sugar dropped into your ears until you were floating on cloud nine, right as he turned his charm off.

“Really?” He started one day, his tone accusing from the get-go.

“What?”

“You're really going to eye fuck that man in front of me?” His voice was loud enough to catch notice in the small café you'd joined him in for the morning, and all the life drained out of your face.

“I'm not- what?”

“No, forget it,” he chuffed, taking another sip of his drink and turning away from you.

You noticed it more and more from then on, how he would accuse you of small things like looking at other men, like you had the choice to ignore them when they were shop clerks, bus drivers and just fucking people living their lives.

Your friends were even weirded out when you joked with them about it, telling them all about your silly boyfriend who ripped a poster off your wall because it had some actor or singer or something on it. It wasn't even that important to you, but as you laughed, you were greeted with silence, with sideways glances and concerning questions.

It was all starting to crumble, and there was nothing you could do to stop it but cling on.

The next thing was his pushiness. You'd been up front with him at the beginning of the relationship that you were a virgin, something that he was more than happy about.

He'd said it was because he was a man of God, and he understood your commitment, which confused you as you weren't a virgin for religious reasons. But you brushed it off as everything else about him was so… gentlemanly?

Until he started pushing his hands up your thighs when he kissed you. He tried multiple times to push his fingers into your underwear as you tried to pull back, each time apologizing immediately when you displayed more panicked displeasure.

“I'm sorry, something must have… The devil got to me for a second there, Y/N, but I won't let him win.” He kissed the top of your head, and he walked you to your door before giving you another chaste kiss and leaving.

They found the first body the next morning.

She was young, maybe 16 or 17. Beaten, raped, mutilated, and asphyxiated. They said he'd kept raping her body long after she'd taken her last breath. It took them two weeks to notify her parents because of the way he'd left her.

You'd watched the news report the same week with your boyfriend, shocked and horrified at the news and cuddling closer to him for comfort.

Each step you came closer to him, each time you allowed him to touch you, he took it as a sign of his ownership, his claim on you. Not a single other person could get in between him and his prize. Each time you rejected him, he killed another girl.

By body five, they'd called in the BAU.

“Did you hear they're bringing in the FBI to solve that Cathy Renaud case? It's all over the news. Apparently, the team is super special.”

You'd brought up the words while cooking him breakfast. He didn't live with you, but any good girlfriend would feed their man, so he woke you up every day on his way to work to let you prepare him something.

His whole attention was on his phone, though, as he nodded through your conversation, grunting and moaning at each word.

It was only when you brought him his plate of pancakes that you realized that he was just as interested in the subject as you were. Because he was staring at the photos of the girl he mutilated the night before.

You didn't want to think about everything that happened after that. After the plate fell to the floor and cracked, splintering into your foot and causing you your first injury in a long line.

You didn't want to think about the things he showed you, the way he touched you, or at least tried to. You heaved and wretched and emptied your stomach every single time you thought about the restraints on your wrists, how he'd tried to rape you but couldn't bring himself to do it because you weren't young enough anymore. You weren't dead enough.

Instead, every time you thought back to that week, you found yourself back at the end. You replayed the bullet lodging into his brain as a comfort, which told you more than you needed to know about your mental state. It was Spencer Reid who'd shot him. He'd been quick enough to realize that the man would never have been talked down, and he'd fired the shot as a mercy to you. He may have killed your boyfriend, putting him down like he was a sick animal, but you were the one put out of your misery.

He didn't stop to watch the body hit the floor before falling to your side, the other agents clearing the room and checking the corpse. He'd helped you to your feet, drawn an arm around your waist and pushed your head into his chest so you didn't have to see the carnage on the way out, didn't have to deal with the camera flashes as the press scrambled for pictures of the monster's willing victim.

“One step at a time, this isn't your fault. Just stick with me,” he said, moving you from the house to a waiting van as you clasped his vest desperately, needing the lifeline he'd thrown you.

“Ma'am, ma'am. I'm a paramedic, I won't hurt you, I just need to take your vitals, make sure you're okay.”

The voice was vague and in the distance, and you were so sure it wasn't directed at you that you simply let yourself wrap around the man who'd saved you when you got to the ambulance. Nothing else was around but his chest, his hand on your back, your legs wrapped around him as they finally gave out.

“Ma'am… Please, you're injured-”

“Y/N,” he spoke finally, and you grabbed him tighter, nails digging into the skin at his neck.

“You're Y/N, right? We've been looking for you for a long time. I'm not going anywhere, I won't let anyone hurt you.”

The words were enough to reassure you, pulling back slightly as the paramedics began working on you, but not enough for you to embrace their touch. You clambered away from the paramedic the moment you saw he was a man, close in build and coloring to the corpse in the building behind you.

You screamed, you cried, you pounded at the doors as Spencer held to you him, letting the paramedics sedate you, rocking you to sleep on the step of the emergency vehicle.

He was by your bedside every time you woke up, too. It was funny seeing him there when you still didn't know his name. Your parents hadn't visited, too ashamed to be associated with the entire thing to even check in on you.

He had himself assigned your emergency contact after six days of your parents not showing up. In all that time, he'd sat patiently by your side as you wailed and raged and went numb, and the cycle repeated itself in perpetuity.

He was there, too, with a bag of clothes and a fresh start waiting for you when you were ready to be discharged.

His team had since moved on to another criminal of the week, putting the lives lost behind them as they traipsed through more cases and corpses and killers. He was still there, though. Somehow.

You were old enough to be able to discharge yourself from a hospital, old enough to not need a guardian to take care of you. Spencer stayed anyway, and you didn't bother asking why.

“I don't want to leave the hospital,” you said, climbing back into the bed you'd forced yourself into for the last week. The same bed where the nurse had ran your rape kit even after you'd told her he'd never touched you like that, after you'd explained and denied and shouted to high hell that no-one had touched you like that and she sure as hell wasn't going to be the first.

Spencer had put a stop to the traumatic experience when he'd returned with your coffee, always picking up something for you when he went out.

The nurse had gripped and moaned and murmured an apology, and you knew you'd not been an easy patient, but you couldn't bring yourself to feel bad about it.

That didn't mean you wanted to leave yet, though.

“I can't leave, I have nowhere to live.”

“Y/N, you can't stay here forever.”

“Spencer, I can't go home. My apartment is a crime scene, I almost died there, and there are reporters posted there 247 waiting for me to come back. They think I'm evil, they-”

“They think you're a victim,” he said calmly but firmly, cutting you off before you could spiral again. “Which you are. And you'll be a victim forever if you don't get out of that hospital bed and start moving on.”

He dumped a bag on your bed, a bag you recognised as one of your own overnight bags from your apartment. He looked at you again, the question in his silence.

Are you going to keep being his victim?

You huffed as you got out of your bed, throwing off the covers and standing in front of him. He didn't budge.

“Well?” You asked, looking at him as he stood still, not moving even an inch.

“Well, what?” He replied, eyebrows knitting.

Instead of replying, you rolled your eyes and reached behind you to the ties in your hospital gown, opening it until you could pull it off your body before pulling out the clothes he'd left in the bag.

You didn't glance at him again until you were fully naked, readying your underwear so you could pull it on. When you turned back to him, his gaze knocked the wind out of you.

You'd stopped feeling like a woman the minute he'd carried out of that room. You were a child, a fragile doll, a specimen to be studied. For some of the nurses, you were an infection they could catch.

Spencer Reid, against his better judgment, was looking at you like you were a woman. Like you were the object of his every desire.

“S-Spencer…” you said suddenly feeling the shame and embarrassment of being naked suddenly in front of another person. You pulled the sweatshirt he'd packed you over your torso, covering all of your intimate areas as you stammered out your apology.

“I- shit, I'm sorry-”

“I'll wait - I’ll wait outside. If you need anything you can… you can do whatever.” He said, dragging his eyes off of your body and letting them fall anywhere that you weren't. His eyes darted from the floor to the wall, to the air next to your head and finally to the door where he took himself out.

You dressed in a hurry and followed him.

“Spencer? Spencer, I'm ready,” you said, running down the hall to him and grabbing his arm, holding it for support and comfort, but mostly just to be close.

Since waking up from that first sedation of many in those first few days, you hadn't been more than a few hours without having him hold you.

His team had sent many warning looks watching you wrapped around him like a scared child, hiding behind him like a small, shaking dog. You hadn't seen a problem in it, truly clinging to him like a lifeline.

After whatever the hell had just happened in your hospital room, though? Now you felt each solid ridge of him. You hadn't felt like a woman, sure but you equally hadn't acknowledged Spencer as a man until then. A very attractive man.

The stubble on his jaw only made it sharper. His gentle, curving eyes, cut at the corners by the start of laugh lines, his mouth straight and… and kissable. For the first time in months, definitely for the first time since you'd met your monster, maybe even for the first time ever, desire heated the depths of your stomach.

Your breath hitched, and you held him tighter as he led you out of the ward and ushered you into your new life.

“We're not going to your apartment. Your landlord released you from the lease for…obvious reasons after some persuading. Your parents-”

“My parents?” You asked in disgusting, halting in the hall. For the first time since you'd left the room, he had to turn and look you in the eyes. He'd done his best to dampen the desire, but some part of you still recognised it, even as your logical brain fought to be heard.

“Your parents agreed to fund three months in a new apartment. After which time, you will have a job and some stability, so you'll be able to pay for it yourself.”

You tried to argue and tried to talk back, but your tongue was thick.

A new apartment. Living alone, being alone, for any amount of time, felt daunting.

But Spencer took one more step towards the door and then another, and you had no choice but to walk with him, hand slipping down and grasping his like it was your lifeline.

The drive to whatever new apartment your parents had leased for you was silent, and the storms in your head grew until they'd taken up so much space they erupted forth, darkening the actual skies. A crash of thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance just as he pulled into the building. Luckily for you, there was underground parking, so you didn't even need to contemplate letting the lightning hit you.

There was one space left, and Spencer pulled his car in, flipping the engine off and getting out without another word.

He led you up the stairs, then he led you to your floor, then he led you to your door and handed you the keys.

You felt cold as you opened the doors, knowing you were about to confront items of boxes that had watched you be burned, cut, slapped, beaten.

There were no boxes behind the door. Everything had, to your shock, been unboxed and staged already.

You recognised magnets on the fridge, stuffed animals on the bed when you made your way to your bedroom. Your toiletries were neatly tidied into your medicine cabinet, hell, even your bookshelves had your own dog-eared copies of books well past their prime.

You had every comfort and joy without having to push yourself through the pain of thinking about where these items had last been kept.

There were new things too. The couch was definitely second-hand, but it wasn't the one you'd brought at Goodwill the week after your college graduation. That one was stained red, no doubt, somewhere in a tip. There was bedding and sheets and blankets and plates and forks and knives - a whole household of items that someone had chosen.

You turned back to Spencer and cried. You buried your face in his chest and wrapped yourself around him again as he held you.

And then, realizing he'd been the one to orchestrate this, if not the one who had arranged everything himself, you pushed up on the balls of your feet, and you kissed him.

For the few seconds it lasted, it was brilliance. The pressure on your lips after a second had your heart singing as he kissed you back, your hands balling into his shirt as you stepped closer and closer, needing to be wrapped around him, buried in safety and warmth.

He pulled back and stepped out of your reach too quickly, the back of his hand reaching up to his mouth as if checking that it was still there, that he'd actually just been kissing you back.

“Y/N, you don't…we can't do that.”

“Do what?” You said, creeping forward, needing to feel him beside you again.

“You're not… you don't feel about me the way you think you feel about me,” he said, pushing your hair behind your ear as you wrapped your arms around his waist again.

“How do I feel?”

“Grateful. Y/N, this is gratitude. I saved you, and so you think you are in love with me. It's called transference, and you will deeply, deeply regret this one day.”

The urgency in his tone had you flinching, even if he was trying to talk to you as softly as possible. For a moment, you'd done as he'd asked and forgotten you were a victim. It was apparently something he himself would not forget anytime soon.

You stood around awkwardly for another minute or two.

“What…what now?” You asked, avoiding the kiss and whatever lay in that direction.

“I'll walk you through the emergency contact numbers. The apartment building is pretty old, so there's a wall phone in the kitchen, but there are some modern amenities, too. The laundry room is on the first floor, next to the porters office. I'm in apartment 23 on the second floor, and-”

“What?” Your entire body buzzed, hearing him speak, and you almost forgot to breathe, rushing to stand straight again.

“I… I live on the floor below,” he said, almost cautiously now that you'd thrown yourself at him. “I thought you might enjoy the company.”

He gave you a weak smile and you wanted to kiss him all over again, to press your lips again and again into the soft flesh of his skin, his lips, his nose, his cheeks, his neck, his chest.

You wanted him to hold you. You stood by the sofa and let your grip on a cushion tighten to stop from throwing yourself at him again. One rejection was enough for the day.

Not that you stopped in the weeks to come.

Spencer had himself relegated to office work for the first month as you rode out the waves of your grief, sticking by his side for comfort.

Your friends came and went, but they wore the stench of ‘I told you so’ and ‘I saw that coming,’ and you suffocated on it after so long.

Every day after he returned home, you arrived at him door and threw yourself into his open arms, sitting with him for hours. Most days, you read together, ignoring that the man flipped pages three times as fast as you did. Some nights, you watched shows or movies, making your way through three companions worth of “New Who” in a week.

Each time you came, he took care of your food, ordering or cooking simple pasta dishes for you.

He told you about the time his coworker had taught him how to make the perfect pasta, berating him for putting oil in his pasta water, and damn near drawing his weapon while he made sure he salted it.

You laughed together and ate together, and you forgot together.

Your life was back to normal when you got your first job interview. It's nothing spectacular, but it was enough that it would pay the bills to the apartment whose lease is a ticking bomb counting down to 0. It was a normal office, where you would be doing normal work that you had absolutely done before.

The interview was normal, the female employee that meets you first reassuring you that the company is safe, their employees vetted and supported.

And the company makes feminine hygiene products anyway, so they don't attract too many men, or at least none like the monster you'd known.

All in all, the interview went well.

It went well all the way until you reached the bus stop. You felt eyes on you, watching your movements, but you couldn't see anyone else focusing on you particularly.

You felt the stares on the bus, and the stares when you got off the bus two stops early. You felt the stares walking around the block three times to throw whatever was following you around off your track. You felt the stares as you sat outside Spencer's apartment until 6:45pm, when he came home and found you there. Your interview had been at 1pm.

“Y/N, what's wrong?” He said, immediately holding you and guiding you into the apartment.

Your anxiety and fear had settled into self-loathing and disappointment. You let him hold you quietly, rejecting food and conversation.

You sat quietly with him on his sofa as he held a book in one hand, stroking your hair with another as you laid on his chest.

The emotions of the day were overwhelming, consuming the part of your brain that had started being happy again for the first time. You grew angry at the sadness for seeping back in, and in an act of rebellion, you pushed back up and kissed Spencer once more.

His brain was slower to react this time, even if his body wasn't.

You straddled his hips as your lips joined his, melting together in a hot embrace. He dropped his book quickly, hand resting on your hip as the one that had been stroking your hair angled your jaw up so he could set the pace.

All your emotions were swept away in a wave of desire as you slowly rubbed against him, butt shifting as you clumsily followed your arousal past your worldly knowledge.

You couldn't even think about what was next because your tongue was clashing with Spencer's, and your brain was short circuiting.

The second you let out your first whimper of pleasure, he pushed you away and stood up, crossing the room to put distance between you, just as he had a month beforr.

“Y/N, you had a bad day, but this isn't… This isn't how you should make yourself feel better.”

“Spencer-”

“I told you about transference before, Y/N, you need to listen to me. I'm not… I'm not the one for you.” His voice shook as he ran his hands through his hair in stress, body tense in a way that informed you he was holding himself back.

“Transference. Transference…” You sat upright on his couch and let all the logic rush back into your brain at once.

“Y/N?” He asked, voice shaking as he watched you zone out of the conversation, almost afraid that he'd damaged you again.

“Is there… Is there something wrong with transference?” You asked, voice impossibly calm as you still stared straight forward.

He moved towards you again and knelt at the floor in front of you, clutching your hands in his.

“Y/N, you don't really want me like that, you don't, you can't-”

“Love you?” You asked, your voice finally breaking, eyes finally meeting his.

It was as if you knocked the wind out of him. He sat there completely dumbstruck.

“It might not be love, okay, I'll admit that. But you're… you're strong and smart, and you take care of me. And you're attractive, and you make me happy, which is something I didn't think I'd ever be again-”

“Y/N, something happened to you today, and you threw yourself at me. You threw yourself at me when you moved into your apartment. You felt stressed, and you reacted, Y/N. You don't love me.”

You sat calmly listening to his words again, your body still aching for his touch, your heart still pounding in your chest.

“Okay. Okay. So if I do…this when I'm not feeling vulnerable, then what? Then you'll believe me?”

“Y/N…” he sighed in defeat, hand again raking through his hair.

You grabbed your things and stood up off the couch, bending to press another kiss to his lips before you parted.

He was shocked silent, but that didn't stop him from chasing your lips as you rose, rising to his knees and then his feet as you walked away from him.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Spencer. Get some sleep,” you said, letting yourself out or the apartment and carrying yourself, heavy and dejected, upstairs.

If Spencer was anticipating seeing you again the next morning, he wasn't anticipating seeing you in his office.

“Spencer,” you called out as you walked into the bullpen, clipping your visitors badge into place again, making sure it wasn't crooked.

Immediately, he stood from his desk and rose to meet you, ignoring the looks from his coworkers as his hands landed on your arms, immediately checking on you.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” He whispered, checking for tears, or injuries, or something to show him your motive for seeking him out.

You just smiled at him, brushing a hair behind your ear when you saw him hesitate making that same gesture.

“I was summoned. They need my statement to corroborate your weapon discharge paperwork, and Agent Hotchner called earlier.”

His hands dropped as he breathed a steady sigh of relief, trying to make his reaction smaller than he knew it was. He was afraid something had happened to you again, and he was so caught up in his relief, that he didn't notice you moving closer until your lips were on his cheek and you were waving him off as you ascended the stairs to Hotch's office with your escort.

“Spencer,” Morgan's voice called from behind him, and he turned hesitantly.

“What was that?”

He felt the eyes on him, and he pushed all thoughts of you to the side in place of total rationality.

“I explained transference to her but… she doesn't seem to - she doesn't care.”

“Spencer the last time I saw that girl, she was practically the walking dead. She just smiled.” Morgan said, shaking his head. But Spencer was watching you, and not his friend, and really, he wasn't even listening.

“Spencer? Spencer?” Morgan said again, rising to get in the man's face some more until he finally looked at him again.

“She thinks she's in love with me.”

“How do you know she isn't?”

You kept working on him, little by little, day by day, until Spencer's field work started again.

A little part of you was sad that he wouldn't always be around every day anymore. But you'd got that job and got over yourself as you started going out more. You made friends at your office, and you went out and laughed and joked with old college roommates. You felt like a human being again, and to no one's surprise, you still wanted Spencer Reid.

He left every Monday on a case, and by the time Wednesday rolled around, you missed him. Going out to drinks with some coworkers after clocking off certainly didn't sate your appetite for him.

“Spencer,” you said, breathily into the phone when he picked up, throwing yourself onto your bed.

“Y/N, what happened? Is everything alright? Do you need me to come back?”

“No, Spencer, I just-” you hiccupped and giggled before continuing. “I just missed you so much.”

The silence on the line was suddenly so funny to you, and you giggled again. Feeling hot, you stripped down to your underwear and started talking again.

“I miss cuddling up to you and crawling all over you. You're really soft, you know?” You sighed, hands trailing up and down your stomach lightly.

“Y/N,” he said in a warning tone.

“I miss your face. I'm switching to video call,” you announced and fumbled with your phone.

“No, Y/N, wait-” he said, but pulling the phone away from his ears, he realized his protests were too late to matter as he took in your half-naked form.

Though your face took up the majority of the view on the camera, he could see the soft trim of your lace bra poking into the camera, and the generous push of cleavage your angle facilitated to boot.

Checking around him for people looking, he tucked himself into a corner and scowled back at you.

“Y/N, this isn't a game. Turn the call off and go to bed.”

“But I miss you,” you whined.

“Y/N,” he hissed, eyes falling to your hands where you'd begun massaging your heavy breasts.

“When are you coming home?” You asked, whining again like a petulant child as the alcohol flushed through your system, bringing all of your desires to the forefront.

“Soon,” he said, not trusting himself to say more than a word.

“Good. Because I miss you. Spencer, I- I think I want to have sex with you.”

His eyes shut as he tried to remain calm even as your words rang in his ears from 1000 miles away.

“We'll talk soon, Y/N. Good night,” he closed, finally hanging up and covering his face in his hands. He made his way quickly to his motel room, threw his phone down on his bed, and ignored as best he could his throbbing cock in his pants and the three pictures you'd sent him since he hung up.

He didn't resist for long.

Three nights later, you found yourself at a bar, living life to the fullest. You'd taken back to society like a swan to water, and you weren't letting the stern words of Spencer Reid keep you down. Knocking back another shot, you smiled and cheered with your friends until you felt the eyes on you again. It was different this time, though, hotter, and closer. You turned to look at the door and saw Spencer Reid and the other people who'd saved your life walking to a booth. It was Spencer's eyes on you.

You definitely did not believe in a higher power - how could you, after all - but you did believe that this was fate.

You blew him a kiss as he watched you walk back to your table with another cocktail in hand, letting a man who'd been trying to flirt with you earlier follow you to your friends.

When you went for your next drink, you found him at your side in a heartbeat.

“I'm not checking up on you,” he said, even though he was. “I'm ordering a drink.”

“Two drinks,” you said, shooting him a flirty smile as you pressed yourself against him again, chest to chest.

“You're ordering two drinks, Spencer,” you whispered into his ears as his head dropped down to within an inch of your own. The air felt changed, but you refused to move to close the gap. You'd put in the work the last few times. You needed Spencer to be the one to take the chance this time.

He ordered your drinks, and still you didn't move apart, huddled together as if you were whispering conspiracies to one another.

When your drink was firmly in your hand, he grabbed your wrist and led you to a dark corner of the bar. You sipped your drink quickly, managing two swigs before he took it and placed both drinks down - right beside Penelope Garcia - and dragged you out into the hall.

The bathrooms were empty when he pushed you inside, and your heart throbbed as his hands pushed you into a stall, lifted your legs to wrap around him, and then his lips finally crashed into yours.

Transference or whatever else it was supposed to be, you didn't give one shit in that moment as his tongue coaxed your lips apart.

His hands didn't stay in place for long as he dragged them up and down your body, exploring every part he'd memorized from the pictures. Every curve or inch he'd previously held tenderly, gently, he now raked over with the hunger of arousal, pushing your short skirt up until it was past your hips and his fingers could sink into you instead.

You were soaked before he even had one digit inside you, his thumb rubbing roughly against your clit as you turned to jelly in his hands.

You'd masturbated before, sure, you were a grown woman. But the feeling of someone else's hands, someone else's hest, the knowledge that someone else desired you so badly that they'd drag you into a bar bathroom just to sate their lust? That was new, and it was exciting.

His lips covered yours as your legs shook, silencing every moan, every whimper with his tongue. It was wild, messy, your tongues clashing wildly and messily as your hips rocked violently, trying to reach that high, but also trying to make this last past his fingers.

It wasn't to be though as you shuddered around his three digits, your orgasm ripping through you silently, leaving you wide-eyed and wide mouthed.

“We're done,” he said, gently kissing your cheek as be stood you up, letting you stretch out the soreness in your muscles.

“For now?”

“Forever, Y/N. This was a mistake.”

Your heart hit the ground, and he stomped on it, but the anger filling your gut pushed up and out before he could completely bow out.

“No,” you ground out through gritted teeth.

“Y/N, you aren't in love with me. You feel grateful that I saved you, you feel attracted to me because I'm older and you think I can protect you, and a little part of it is that you've always been attracted to men who are dangerous. You're not in love with me, so-”

“You sound like him.”

Shocked, he paused, and his grip on your hips tightened until his nails were biting into your skin.

“What?”

“You're telling me how to feel, you're telling me what to do. You sound like him.”

“Y/N, that is unfair-”

“Unfair is denying that I'd know how I'm fucking feeling to let you wallow in self sacrifice, Spencer. Unfair is playing the martyr when we can both see that you want this as fucking badly as I do.”

You didn't give him a second longer to react, but grabbed him by the wrist and, making sure your skirt was once again in place, pulled him back out of the bathroom and into the club.

Stopping by Penelope, you put his drink in his hand and grabbed yours, downing it quickly. He followed your actions, taking a sip until you were done and slamming your drink back on the table.

Then you kept him moving, pushing doors open, hailing a cab, and climbing in with him hot on your heels.

You kept your grip on him tight until you'd marched him to his apartment. Releasing him, you flattened your back against his door, letting him slowly unlock the door as you spoke to him again finally.

“Do it, Spencer. Be my first.”

It was like he was a different man walking over that threshold. His hand were on your face, his tongue again fighting yours as you stumbled back into the apartment, crashing into the wall, then the coffee table, and then the couch.

You cursed in anger hitting his closed bedroom door and pushed him away to open it yourself, but his arms wrapped around you from the back and he sucked bruises against your neck as his hands grabbed your breasts and squeezed them.

His cock was rigid in his pants, and your body ached for the unknown, the soon to come pleasure that he was to deliver.

He pushed you down onto the bed quickly, and you rolled yourself over, pulling your own dress off as quickly as possible.

“That's my job,” he moaned, meeting your lips again as his hands fell to your underwear once again.

“You have a long to-do list, Spencer, I'm just helping,” you smirked as he kissed you again, your hands shakily working down each button of his shirt as you acted to tear it off of him.

“We have all night,” he replied, fingers once again rubbing at your bundle of nerves, hips pushing up and into his hands.

“No, Spencer. No, we don't. I need you now.”

His mouth covered yours again as you finally, finally got his shirt off, letting him throw it to the floor as you started working on his belt. Your legs spread as he inched closer, sitting between your thighs comfortably as he waited with bated breath for you to finally touch his cock.

You knew what dicks looked like, you knew what they were supposed to feel like, but you never realised you'd want to touch one so fucking badly until his sprung from his pants.

He took your hand and spit in it before you wrapped your fingers around him and felt the heat of his cock pulsing against you.

He was big, long more than girthy, and you wondered how thousands of years of women had managed to survive coupling if this was the weapon meant to numb them into horny submission.

One stroke, and you were a mess, his fingers hooking into you as you flicked your wrist up and down.

You watched his precum rise and swiped it up in one finger, tasting it as he groaned and started thrusting up, fucking your hand as he scissored his fingers inside of you.

He stretched you out, readying you for his thick cock, and you gladly sat there, letting him use you and ready you all at once.

When you were ready, he wrapped his arms around you again, lifting you onto the bed properly and laying you down softly in the sheets. Kneeling to roll on the condom he'd grabbed from his bedside table, you watched in curiosity as you tried to memorize every movement, every second of him sinking into you.

The tears in your eyes were emotion just as much as pain, your heart hammering in your ears as he whispered praise into your ear, dropping confessions like bombs.

“You're taking me so well, Y/N, that's good…” he moaned, pushing in one inch.

“That's it, Y/N, just a little more. I love you, you can do it,” he said, sinking in two more.

“You feel so good, Y/N, made just for me,” he said as he finally hit your limit.

You knew the stretch wasn't the end, and he rested there for a second, letting you get used to him before you lost patience with him.

“Spencer just, just push through,” you grit out, and he did, snapping his hips up just that.inch or two more and sending that spark of pain through you.

In an instant, his lips were on yours, his fingers on your clit, flooding your nerves with pleasure as all you could think of was the pain.

But when the pain faded, there was still him, and his cock neatly sheathed inside of you.

His hips moved languidly at first, his entire body weight pushing down on you, lazily twisting and writhing as of this were just one of your cuddles on the couch.

You whimpered, and he moved faster, and you learnt quickly that your noises and sighs to him were what his praise was to you - motivation.

You moaned, and he picked up his pace, moving faster as you whimpered a lustful ‘yes’ into his ear.

“Good girl, good girl, Y/N, that's it. Good girl,” he repeated, unable to say more as you whimpered and cried under him, speech lost as he split you in half with his dick.

You grew louder, and his cock buried itself deeper, your moans dragged on longer and he picked up speed.

He whispered that you were his perfect little slut, and you jolted in his arms, cumming on his cock and screaming his name.

He kept pumping into you, careful to make sure the condom stayed in place as he finally bottomed out and let pleasure roll through him again.

Coming down from his high, your tongue pushed into his mouth, and you rolled him over, sitting yp on his dick as he watched.

You rose off his cock, letting him stare in wonder as your own arousal dripped off of your skin, his cock coated in arousal, and spit from his fingers and, yes, a little bit of blood.

You crawled back and peeled off the condom, tying It quickly and discarding it before you tasted his cum quickly.

It was just a soft lick, but it had him declaring his love for you again, and you decided that there were very few things you wouldn't do to hear those words.

As delightful as your lips felt, though, he quickly bundled you up and forced you to the bathroom, turning on the taps in the bath and placing you on the toilet before leaving.

Even now, after everything, he was still taking care of you. Maybe especially now.

You finished, and he came back. More stolen kisses and moans and a bath that turned into more later, and you found yourself bundled into his spare clothes and wrapped in his arms on his couch again.

He clicked play on another episode of Doctor Who (you'd finally reached Donna, and he was excitedly introducing you to the new character), and you finally looked up at him again.

“I love you,” you said again, loudly this time, with no fear.

Though his training told him the response he should give, Spencer just looked down at you again and gave in to his heart.

“I love you, too.”

You fell asleep quickly after that, head resting over his heart, the sound of the steady beats lulling you to sleep.

#cmkinkbingo2024 #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #reiderslibrary #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fandom #cm writing challenge #spencer reid cm #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #dr spencer reid

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optimisticmosquito · 10 months ago

Text

heavenly demon SY au, with a teaspoon of familial cumplane and a pinch of shenliushen.

Some decade before the tianxi era TLJ has a one night stand with a male demon who gets pregnant. Surprise! it's airplane who wanted a taste of that doomed heavenly pillar. He's older than MBJ in this au and hasn't had the chance to meet young MBJ yet. MBJ has enough on his plate without some random older demon howering around him. SQH is many things a creep he is not, thank you very much.

So instead he gets pregnant by TLJ, has a cry session, wonders if he's going to birth the protagonist, cries some more over all the death flags he has raised for himself, and then just accepts his fate. TLJ doesn't care much about this little surprise, it was just a one night stand after all. However, his advisors have been nagging him about getting hitched and producing heirs, so he sees his chance to finally getting rid of one problem by throwing the other one at it. Very clever indeed!

SQH becomes TLJs first concubine. SQH does not become empress, but until TLJ marries further, he's as good as one. So SQH (with babybump proudly on display) starts fixing up TLJs court, all administrative tasks, and generally making it run smoother than it has for generations. TLJ is happy as can be, finally he can leave his empire for months on end to follow his true calling, reading and watching every human romance story that has ever been produced!

SQH gives birth to a healthy baby boy. But before he can think of naming him LBH, the System interrupts and has him name it SY instead (weird cause neither him nor TLJ is named Shen). SQH figures this is either another transmigrator or the system has plans involving this child. Which, dude, hands off his spawn! Not cool.

SY grows up as the apparent heir to the entire demon realm. Which is awesome! He can pretty much do anything he wants whenever he wants. But also, what about LBH? He isn't meant to be the demon emperor, that's his future didis job! Fuck, he is going to have to fight LBH for the throne isn't he? He's so dead.

It doesn't help that his mother (second father? He's not going to think too long on the logistics behind his birth) is strange even for demonic standards. For a demon he is increadibly skittish, always avoiding conflict like the plague. And he constantly walks around muttering to himself, stoping the moment anyone comes within hearing distance. Although, SY has to admit he's a pretty good parent all things considered. He always makes sure SY has everything he needs and puts away at least one day a week just for the two of them.

SY does find out who SQH is when he one day hears him mumble about the plot and LBH. SY interrogates him and finds out he's another transmigrator. That explains a lot! SQH is happy to learn his child is another transmigrator and not a puppet for the system to push its agenda. So happy in fact he spills he's actually the author of this world, which sends SY through the five stages of grief before circling back to anger. What do you mean that lousy hack author is his mother!?!? Someone end his misery, this should count as child abuse!

He has half of the mind to run away and never be seen again but SQH begs him to stay. He's only in this position bc SY exists and if SY runs away he might get kicked out or pressured into having another child. SY despite it all still on some level sees SQH as his parent and reluctantly agrees to stay and continue on his path as heir. He hasn't met TLJ that often and he knows TLJ wouldn't do anything to stop the rest of his court if they decided to kick SQH out.

So life continues until news arrive about TLJ being burried under a mountain. SQH tells SY that SXY is LBHs mother and probably imprisoned in HHP at that moment. They decide the best course of action would be to kidnap SXY and bring her to the demon realm. SQH should have enough control over the empire even with TLJ gone. Especially with SYs help as the de facto heir and a heavenly demon in his own right.

SY for his part is also fully on board with this plan. He can help raise the protagonist and give him the childhood he deserves? Count him in! It would also help to be on good terms with LBH if he ever decides to take over the demon realm. SY would gladly help him take the throne!

However, before they can set any plan in motion the system assigns them a mission to keep the demon realm from falling into chaos. Moments later the court splinters as factions start fighting each other over power, and the empire dives into unrest and civil war. At the end SY comes out on top and is crowned as the new emperor.

They are too late to do anything as the coldest day of the year has already passed. When they try and send people out to find the newborn LBH they are met by HHP cultivators searching for SXY and end up in multiple skirmishes. In the end SY pulls the demons back over the border when the sects, thinking SY is out to revenge his father, starts threatening with another war.

SY is beyond himself, now how will he escape the protagonists wrath!? SQH deals with the setback the only way he knows, by burying himself in the administrative work. The following years SY spends stabilizing the realm with SQHs help (it's mostly SQH), and starts travelling around to see what the world has to offer. He soon gets a reputation of taking after his father.

SQH all the while continues to run the realm by himself again (nothing new there) and meets the future king of the Northern desert, Mobei-jun. Mobei-jun of course immediately takes interest in the MILF of the demon realm. Half the time he acts like a frightened rodent, the other half he rules the demons with an iron fist, what demon wouldn't be besotted! (SY is well aware most of the realm seems to have the hots for his mother. He tries not to think about it.)

MBJ starts trying to court SQH in typical demonic fashion. H e tries to fight SQH, sends gifts in the form of treasures and kills, and gives over power of the northern desert to SQH. SQH is used to this type of treatment. Most demons seems to want to hit him for some reason? He just writes off the gifts as taxes. And isn't it only natural for demons to push all the work on those that are weaker. MBJ has his work cut out for him.

Meanwhile SY starts travelling the human realm in search of his lost little brother. He's hoping to at least find him before LBH joins CQM. He should be able to at least stop that much of the abuse LBH is meant to experience. And he does find him! At the steps of CQM 10 years after his disappearance. Shit.

SY doesn't dare get too close yet. His disguise isn't good enough to test the scrutiny of cultivators, so going up to LBH right now would be suicide. He decides to come back later, after getting an artifact that would let him hide every trace of his demonic presence. He has no plan on ending up like TLJ. Poor Binghe will just have to survive the tea scene and the first weeek on QJP. SY will make it up to you later! Promise!

SY only shortly returns to the palace to see MBJ is still trying his best to woo mother airplane (without success!). He goes back to the sect and walks directly up to QJP to find LBH, and is instead directed to the bamboo hut. There he's questioned about his intentions, and decides to speak the truth (well most of it). His little brother went missing years ago and now SY believes him to be on this very peak! He has returned to bring LBH back home.

SJ of course hates LBH for the similarities he has to himself, but who would have guessed he also was abandoned by his older brother? Fate is truly laughing him in the face! This won't make SJ hate LBH less, but he has no plan on just giving him over to this stranger who took too long to return for his didi (just like qi-ge). So SJ claims he isn't willing to give up a disciple just like that. Hoping SY will show his true colors and abandon the little beast once and for all. When SY instead doubles down on wanting to take LBH with him, SJ decide to test how far this determination will take him (prove you are not like qi-ge).

Which leaves SY to stay on QJP as a guest while being continuously tested by SJ. And with time they slowly befriend each other and spend time just to share a cup of tea and talk literature (if SJ slowly starts trusting SY with things he's never told anyone else then that's his business).

At some point SY successfully catches a moment with LBH where he introduces himself as LBHs elder brother from their father's side. He offers to take LBH with him and leave that moment, but after LBH has digesting these new revelations (he has a brother!), declines. His adoptive mother wanted him to be a righteous cultivator, so a cultivator he'll become!

SY, already unable to deny this little bun anything, just has to accept he'll have to spend some time on QJP. Maybe he'll be able to persuade LBH to join him once SJ decides he has passed all tests. It's not too bad, SY has complete access to the library and oh boy is there a lot of things he never learned about the human realm before.

At the same time he meets the rarely seen bai zhan peak lord. LQG immediately thinks something is fishy with this QJP guest, but he's not sure what exactly (his war god senses are tingling). So to SJs great annoyance he starts showing up more often, trying to figure SY out. He even invites SY on a few monster hunts to see if he slips up, but to no avail (there are a few close calls). The more time they spend together the more he finds he enjoys talking about beasts with SY (he'll take it to the grave how his stomach flutters when SY teases him). SY even succeeds in getting LQG to teach LBH some swordforms once in a while.

When SYs identity as the demon emperor is finally revealed, it's a surprise to all three of them.

(Once SY is finally able to return to the demon realm for a visit it's to MBJ introducing himself as SYs new stepdad)

#svsss #shen yuan #heavenly demon shen yuan #shang qinghua #cumplane #shen jiu #liu qingge #shenliushen #luo binghe #mobei jun #moshang

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redflagshipwriter · 7 months ago

Text

Ghost Driver 5

Masterpost

Chapter Five

Danny did not succeed in coaxing Robin out of his car at the cemetery. “I have a juice box,” he lied, shaking his hand inside his pocket enticingly. “You can have it if you go home.”

“I wanna stay.” Robin pressed himself against the opposite car door. His wristwatch was flashing again.

‘If I go to the other side really fast and open the door, he might fall out.’

“Let’s go already.” Jason sounded done with both of them. He had a hand on his forehead. “If we are going anywhere. There’s no point in anything.”

“That’s a bit much,” Danny muttered to himself. He heaved a great sigh at how ridiculous these Gotham people were. This place was silly.

“It’s not pointless.” Robin plastered himself to the back of Jason’s chair, bizarre in his sincerity. He peered around the headrest. “Why do you think that?”

“Dad didn’t pick me,” Jason said nonsensically, and extremely morose.

It tugged at Danny’s heartstrings. “Want my dad?” He offered. He sat back down in his seat so he could lean over and rub at the back of Jason’s neck. Jason rolled his head over towards him.

Jason sniffled.

“Your dad would pick you.” Robin leaned forward.

Jason lolled forward and put his face in both his hands.

Robin didn’t get a clue. “He loves you,” Robin pushed. He patted the back of the car seat. “Your Dad cares so much, du-“

“Back off,” Danny hissed. He gave the kid a glare. “Can’t you see you’re not helping?”

“Of course I thought that then,” Jason warbled. “I wanted my Dad to save me.”

“This is getting dark.” Danny scratched his neck nervously. They needed to change the subject. He put on an artificially bright voice. “How about we go do paperwork and a prisoner transfer!”

Jason didn’t answer. Danny turned around to see Robin.

After a long pause, Robin gave him a thumbs-up.

“Great.” Relieved, he patted Jason’s leg and then checked his seatbelt was good. “Aight, let’s go.”

“What exactly is going on?” Robin prodded.

“Uhhh…” Danny stalled for a moment as he finally contextualized how far off task he had gone. “Well, I followed a police escort to a weird militaristic asylum today.”

“Why?” Robin interrupted.

Danny gave him the stink eye in the rear view window. “Because I thought it might have been Jason who-“

He cut himself off with a cough.

Shit. He couldn’t share Jason’s personal information with the detective freakazoids. If they figured out he was the Red Hat, they’d never stop bothering him.

“You thought he would get a four police car escort?” Robin asked. He lifted an eyebrow in a way that made him look extremely punchable.

“Hell yes,” Danny said loyally. “I believe in him. He’s capable of anything.”

“Aww.” Jason genuinely sounded touched.

Robin twitched.

“Anyway, I met this freakazoid there, total creepo, found out he keeps breaking out and I punted him to the Infinite Realms but I guess I was a bit sketchy about it? So now I need to move him to a legal holding facility and get paperwork that proves the transfer to show Mr. Police guy, because he says he can’t allow kidnapping and I think that’s fair even if it’s a bummer,” Danny rambled. “In my defense, most of the time sending people to the infinite realms for being buttheads is the most appropriate course of action. When you have a hammer you see a lot of nails or whatever. Wheeee.” He accelerated to get over a police barricade.

Jason closed his eyes again. “I think imma be sick,” he said philosophically.

“You should probably rely less on false imprisonment,” Robin said in a mild tone.

Jason immediately repeated that in a mocking tone, complete with a flapping hand to imitate a mouth. “Was I really this annoying?” He mumbled. “Jeeze. Say like, golly. Gosh. Willickers.”

Robin looked extremely offended. He was deathly silent the rest of the car ride.

‘Spoke too soon,’ Danny thought, about a minute away from his destination.

“What are you doing?”

Danny ignored his shriek and hit Robin with his head to keep the little weasel from grabbing the wheel. “I know where I’m going,” he grunted, and busted through the construction barricade.

Robin braced. Danny flicked on a turn signal. Jason sort of grimaced and closed his eyes.

No one outside the car noticed or reacted to them, because of course he had gone intangible and invisible. He wasn’t a total dingus.

“It’s a long detour,” Danny justified. The car rattled angrily over potholes. He swerved to avoid an open manhole. “And we’re out.” He flicked back into visibility and eased the car to a stop outside the police station. “Just a second.”

“…What are you-“

He slammed the door on Robin and jogged up the stairs.

A young man coming down the stairs stopped and stared at him. “Hey,” he said, nodding.

Danny nodded back. Jeeze, what a handsome guy. “Hey yourself,” he said genially. “Scuze me-“

“Sorry, can I stop you for a moment?” He flashed a very white smile. “What are you here for? Maybe I can help you.”

Danny looked down to confirm that the stranger really had put a hand on his shoulder. He removed it sheepishly. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “I was gonna go ask a cop to come with me.” He rolled his shoulders.

“…I’m a cop,” said the guy.

Danny looked at him. He looked at his car. In the backseat, Robin tried to sink down out of sight. “Wanna come with me and my new friends to get some paperwork from a ghost cop?”

Handsome guy’s whole face twitched. “I sure would. Is that Robin?” He started jogging. “That sure looks like Robin!” He said, in a voice that might have been disapproving.

The door locks clicked on for some reason.

“No worries, I can fix that.” Danny plunged his hand through the window to manually depress the locks and then opened the backseat door with a flourish. “Got a cop, guys!”

Jay groaned and gave a thumbs up. He was still covering his eyes with the underside of his forearm.

The cop was standing still to stare at Jay. His face was unreadable.

“He’s got the front seat, so you’re back here with the bird, sorry.” Danny bullied the cop into his car and then flung himself carelessly back into the drivers’ seat. “Seatbelts on?”

Two clicks came from the back seat.

“I know the rules, Danny.”

“Awesome.” He gave them all a thumbs up. “Okay, uh, I am going to…” He hit the gas hard and accelerated down the streets of Gotham. Something thunked in the back seat when he took a hard turn.

“Are you leaving city limits?” the cop asked.

Danny nodded, heading towards the highway entrance. “I can’t bother Wulf to be my personal interdimensional portal guy, he’ll start to feel used. I’m gonna pop over to the cheese mansion and take vampire Vlad’s portal to the ghost zone.”

“Do we have any snacks?” The cop leaned a bit up into the front seat. “It’s just, that sounds like a pretty long trip. Are we gonna be gone all morning?”

“I’ll stop when we get to third street,” Danny promised. “Vlad is, uh.” He grimaced. “About two hours away.”

From the backseat came a sullen: “You owe me a juice box.”

“I never said that,” Danny lied. “Officer, this child is trying to rob me.”

Nevertheless, he did stop and promise to get Robin a juice box. The handsome cop guy hopped out of the car and paused weirdly outside the store.

Danny cocked his head and watched. “Are you posing for the security cameras?” He snorted. “You look like a model.” He headed in, ignoring the bemused “thanks?” that garnered. The two of them headed in while Jay malaised in the car and Robin attempted to become a dark cloud. Teenagers, man.

“I didn’t catch your name. I’m Dick, by the way.” Handsome Guy pulled open the cold door and started piling drinks into a basket. Danny edged past him on tiptoes to investigate the chip aisle.

“I’m Phantom.” He started tossing snacks over his shoulder into the basket. “Hey, do you have money? I don’t have much money. I can maybe cover, half of this.” He grimaced. “Maybe Jay would pay me back for his share, but he’s so out of it. Birds don’t carry money, right? That bird looks broke.”

“I can get it, I have a credit card.” Handsome Guy Dick snatched a bag of superhot puffed things and made his way to the check out. “Gas?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and obviously declined a call. His phone began vibrating again immediately.

“That would be a good idea, thanks.” Danny floated behind Dick to the counter, relieved to have a higher level adult present.

They were back on the road and about halfway there before it occurred to him that he should probably warn Vlad he was coming. Danny fished around in his jacket pocket. Nothing. He frowned. “Do you see my phone?” he asked Jay.

Jay said nothing. His head was lolling forward.

“He is out of it, my guy,” Handsome Cop Dick said genially. “Is this it?” He produced Danny’s phone.

“How did that end up back there?” Danny wondered. “Thanks, guy.” He unlocked it with his left hand and started a speakerphone call. As soon as it connected, he said, “I have guests.”

Vlad cut himself off mid what would have definitely been something like, “So you, Daniel Fenton, come crawling back to me, Vladimir Vlad Plasmy Plad, you, the son of my greatest enemy and tragically disinterested love interest.” He was just like that. The guy had no sense of discretion.

“I need to take a cop, a vigilante, and a guy I wanna date into the ghost zone,” he explained. The countryside flew by outside the window in a dizzying rush of green. “I’m on my way to your place to borrow your portal.”

“...How do you get into these situations?” Vlad sounded interested, damn him. His tone dropped suggestively. “You are constantly in situations, my lad. Perhaps it is a lack of paternal guidance-”

“Probably not,” Danny interrupted cheerfully. “But I hear you loud and clear, you have an empty nest and you’re not dealing well, say no more, I’ll send over the little gremlin and the big guy, let them know you just hit up costco and you want them to stock up-”

Vlad literally hissed into the phone. “Cease and desist. Fine.” He was outright pouting.

“Oh, you sound sulky.”

“I am going to tell your father that I want photos of you in the turtle halloween costume to put on a slideshow for investors.” Vlad’s voice dropped dangerously low. “I can convince him that there is a legitimate reason. He probably will not even ask why.”

Danny winced. “Truce,” he said. “I’ll be there in like an hour, okay? Can I take a car in through the lab?”

“A car?” Vlad shrieked. He sounded weirdly offended about it.

“I didn’t know his voice could go that high,” Danny said in a quiet aside to the car. Dick nodded. His expression was unreadable. Danny lifted his volume to explain. “They’re all humans, can’t fly, also now that I think about it I need some way to move the prisoner.” He frowned. He noticed the cop went very stiff in the backseat. Hmm. Yeah. The backseat was getting pretty full.

“...You are a disaster,” Vlad said flatly. “I will provide a more appropriate vehicle. I will accompany you.”

“You sure? I’m gonna have to see Walker. He hates you, right?” Danny switched lanes to pass a slow van. “He hasn’t told me anything, but everyone hates you, so he probably also does.”

Vlad hung up.

…fair.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dead on main #red ghost driver

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peachyprophets-blog · 6 months ago

Text

Drowned Love, let me see you again…

Epic (Obsessive! Odysseus/ Yandere! Apollo) x Reader

Content Warning: Mention of character death, fear of drowning, Yandere themes, obsession, manipulation, imprisonment, reader has trauma and phobia of water

Description: After Poseidon has destroyed 558 men (reader included), Odysseus realizes that you have disappeared. When you wake up, you find yourself in a palace that is not made for mortals. While you are not yet aware of what you have gotten yourself into, you are not aware of how your loss affects Odysseus and how obsessively he is looking for a way to find you again.

Part 3: the glow of the golden sun and desperate faith

A/N: I really did this part in like 7 hours! I really hope you enjoyed it :> What do you think about the end? Circe is joining the Team! 👀

PREV / PART 4

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As the waves grew stronger and more threatening, you felt the threatening eyes of the sea god piercing your soul. But in that moment you could see no hatred or anger in the storm that you could see in his eyes, no, it was something deeper, an unspoken lust, a desire to possess you, to get your love and to bind you to him. The obsession to possess you was impossible not to recognize, at this realization a cold shiver ran down your spine. Poseidon was angry, not only that Odysseus did not kill his son the Cyclops after blinding him but because you were at his side, why did he have you when he had a wife and a son? Mortals are greedy, that was no secret. But this time he did not want to accept this greed or he would voluntarily go to the Tatarus. After Odysseus asked for forgiveness, it was decided that you should no longer stay with this greedy king. The waves piled up, screams for the captain rang out in panic for their lives until their souls left their bodies. You were thrown off the ship by a strong wave, desperately trying to stay on the surface of the water, but the water seemed to push you down. It didn't take long before the air escaped from your lungs and was replaced with water. Your body got colder and colder, the cold temperature of the water only accelerated the process. Your body felt heavy, your eyes could no longer see anything before they closed. Memories came into your head, long forgotten moments from your life, every emotion, every pain until you could no longer see or feel anything. Suddenly, when you thought it was all over, you felt a warmth surrounding you.

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As you slowly opened your eyes, you felt the soft fabric of the bedsheets that were laid over your body on your skin. The sun shone gently on your face, the warmth felt pleasant like soft, loving kisses on your skin. As you looked around the room you saw white marble that glowed softly, golden decorations on the walls and hyacinths filled the room with a lovely scent. As you dared to look out the window one thing became clear to you, you were on Olympus, the realm of the gods. Your attention wandered to voices that echoed into the room from the other side of the door, they were very powerful voices. You recognized the voice of Poseidon, he was upset and seemed to be arguing with some of the other gods, female voices could also be heard which sounded to you like protests or attempts to calm the angry god.

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Reader POV:

As I listened to the voices I slowly pushed the soft blanket off my body, a light cold shiver ran down my body as the fresh air hit my skin. When I looked down I noticed that I was only wearing a thin dress, which confused me because I didn't wear anything like that when I was on the ship, and my armor was nowhere to be found. I wanted to get up, but I stopped as I tried to remember what had happened - but nothing came into my head, I could only remember those eyes of Poseidon and the dark water. The thought of the water that had dragged me to my death made me feel sick, the mere thought of ever going into the sea again sent you into a panic, you had developed an indomitable fear of open water that you couldn't move. It felt like all the air was escaping from my lungs again, my body was tense and everything was spinning. My stomach was turning and it felt like I was going to vomit at any moment. At least that's what I thought, until I felt that warmth again like before I sank to my death. But did I really die? "Calm down, sunshine," a gentle male voice suddenly rang out, until I felt a hand on my forehead, his skin was so soft. It was as if all my fear was dissolving and I finally relaxed. When I closed my eyes I leaned back but instead of the soft pillows a muscular chest awaited me. I jerked and turned around abruptly, my breath caught when I saw the man sitting on the bed behind me, looking down at me with watchful eyes. His eyes shone like the rays of the sun, just like he himself is surrounded by a slight glow. His blonde hair was long and a strand fell into his face which he tucked behind his ear with a deft movement, his tanned skin glowed slightly in the sun. His head was adorned with a golden laurel wreath like Poseidon's, and on his robe was a golden pendant with the symbol of a hyacinth. Next to him lay a beautiful lyre and on the other side of the bed was a bow, just like a quiver with arrows. "Lord Apollo," I whispered softly, I knew him, better than I would have liked. My family worshipped him, we had a temple of Apollo on our island and prayed to him there every day. He nodded in agreement at the sound of his name, his eyes briefly shone in a way that I could not interpret, something very deep. "I'm glad you're well, my sunshine, I was full of worry when I found out what Poseidon had done to you and I'm so sorry about the loss of your crew and Odysseus... I wasn't there when you needed me," said the god with great guilt in his voice. But wait... loss? Odysseus? Does Apollo mean that Odysseus and the others died? This thought brought tears to my eyes. He couldn't be dead, not him. As if he could sense my despair, he put his arms around me and held me tightly but without hurting me. "Don't worry, he's fine where he is now. I'm with you now and I'll make sure nothing else happens to you," he whispered softly in my ear. I don't know why, but the warmth he radiates gave me a feeling of security and my eyes slowly closed in his warm embrace.

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While you fell asleep in the god's arms you couldn't see Apollo's bewitched smile; he had you exactly where he wanted you: in his arms just for himself and the other gods. He had looked after you when your parents first came to his temple with you as a baby and prayed that he would give you his blessing. He didn't grant this without hesitation. From that moment on he always watched you; whenever you were alone he would strike down any enemies who wanted to harm you with his arrows. The sun always shone for you; when the sun shone it was as if it rose just for you. Until Odysseus met you; he didn't like that because you spent less time in his temple. When he once had an argument with Poseidon he decided to let your kingdom sink in a devastating storm, but his attempt to murder you failed. Yet Apollo could no longer be there for you, as Athena, the goddess of wisdom and warfare, had given her her blessing when his little ray of sunshine had killed the magical wild boar with Odysseus and Poletis. He thought it was unfair, but Athena had also developed an obsession with you. The other gods were still arguing about who would have you next while Apollo stroked your hair and hummed a soft melody, his voice manipulated your thoughts and made you believe it was safest with the gods and your memories of what had really happened to you were sealed deep in your mind. And Odysseus? He was full of despair, 43 men were still with him, after the storm they ended up with Circe who turned his men into pigs, and yet his thoughts still revolved around you, you can't have died. Never. When he desperately explained everything to Circe, she took pity on him, transformed his men back and granted him access to the underworld, but she was still curious who you were that he was so desperately clinging to the hope that you were still alive. Maybe she should question Hermes more, after all, he had often mentioned this young woman during his visits.

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-Peachyprophet

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manmuncher777 · 3 months ago

Note

Visiting kuna while he’s in prison. Eughhhh 😈😈😈 especially if he gotta go buzz 😩

Awh hell yeah nonnie, you just like me fr. Enjoy my love🌟🌟

18+ MDNI SMUT

“I-I” you stuttered out, unable to come up with an explanation that might soothe the feral man beneath you. Nothing good coming to mind

“You-You. You what sweetheart?” His gruff voice rings in your ears, snapping you out of your brain fog. Visiting your boyfriend in prison had it benefits. Especially when hes a well known gang member. It allows for certain perks. Like him being allowed to have your visits in his room, a room that he doesnt have to share. For this you were very glad, seeing as you were straddling sukuna on his bunk, having a very private conversation.

“Come on baby, use that big girl brain of yours and tell me, I wanna know.” Sukuna had been in prison for months now, and each night you were getting lonelier and lonelier. And of one of the nights you were missing him… badly. Deciding to write him a letter, describing exactly how badly you needed him, what you wanted him to do to you, and if that wasnt enough you included a few photos of yourself to show him how much you missed him. Only that had now backfired on you as you realised you had riled up an imprisoned man, and now you were going to have to face the consequences

“ I wanna know exactly what you were thinking when you sent that to me.” Huge hands that previously rested on your hips now travelling to your ass, holding the flesh tight through your skirt. Pressing you down onto his growing buulge that was highly visible in his orange jumpsuit

“Because to me, thats just not fair, teasing me with those fucking Polaroids, looking all pretty and shit when you come and see me.”

“Kuna…” your voice trailed off, unsure of what to say. No actual words flowing though your minds, only filthy thoughts of the man beneath you. Face flushing as he speaks. All you can do is try and focus on what hes saying to you, but that same feeling if need you had the other night is now crawling up your spine, soaking your little panties.

But Sukuna wasnt happy with that reaction, he wanted more from you. He wanted to get you as needy as you had made him that night.

The air in Sukuna’s cell is thick, charged, the tension palpable. His hands, lazily resting on your ass, don’t move—but his smirk? That deep, knowing smirk is a weapon in itself. He lounges against the cold wall like a king on his throne, utterly at ease.

And yet, it’s you who feels trapped.

Because his eyes, dark with amusement and something far more dangerous, trace the curve of your lips, the flutter of your lashes, the way your breath hitches every time he exhales against your skin. He’s enjoying this—enjoying you—and he hasn’t even touched you properly yet.

If you weren’t going to talk about the letter, he was just going to have to tease it out of you.

“So,” he purrs, tilting his head. “A little bird tells me you’ve been thinking about me.”

Your body tenses at his words, mind buzzing with so many thoughts, but you force yourself to answer him, doing your best to cling onto he little resolve you have left. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His chuckle is low, taunting. “Oh, don’t play coy now, sweetheart. Not after that filthy little letter you sent me.” His fingers flex against your thighs, not quite gripping, just there, a reminder of how easily he could control the situation if he wanted to. “What was it you said? You couldn’t stop thinking about me—” he drags the words out, watching your reaction closely, “—about my hands on you?”

Your stomach twists, heat rushing up your neck. “I—I didn’t—”

“Oh, you did.” His grin widens, razor-sharp. “You even described exactly what you wanted me to do to you.” His eyes darken as he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “Such a dirty little thing, putting it all in writing. You wanted me to read it and ache for you, is that it?”

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you try to push away, but his hands slide up to your waist, keeping you firmly in place. Not squeezing, not forcing, just holding—a warning.

He tilts his head, feigning concern. “Look at you. All flustered. You weren’t so shy when you were begging on paper.”

You suck in a sharp breath. “I wasn’t—”

“You were.” His lips are so close now, brushing against the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “Should I remind you exactly what you wrote? Word for word?”

You shake your head quickly, a rush of embarrassment flooding through you, but he just hums in amusement.

“Mm. No? Shame. It was my favorite bedtime story.” His tongue clicks, mock disappointment laced in his tone. Then, with deliberate slowness, he exhales against your neck, letting his breath ghost over your skin. “I wonder… if I touched you now, would I find you as eager as you claimed to be?”

Your breath stutters, thighs instinctively pressing together, pressing yourself onto the bulge beneath you. And that’s all the reaction he needs.

His smirk sharpens. “Ahh… There she is.”

And you realize—he’s not done playing with you yet. Not even close.

“Now what was it you said?…:His hips subtly shifting upwards into your, pressing himself deeper into you. Knowing it was driving you wild. Fake pondering as he recalled your writing “You wanted my fingers, because yours couldn’t stretch out that pretty little pussy like mine do.”

“I- um” your eyes flit about the room, struggling to stay locked on his, his predatory gaze watching your every move

“How badly you missed my cock, deep inside” One of his hands trailing around to press on your tummy gently, right where his cock would show when he fucked you.

The words dying in your throat as he gives you a Cheshire Cat like grin. You were fucked.

“Tell me girl, did I get that right?” His pearly white teeth flashing as he spoke, fully aware he already knew the answer.

A small nod was all you could muster. But that was enough for him.

Sukuna’s hands slide lower, skimming the hem of your skirt, and you feel the ghost of his touch against your thighs—light, teasing, deliberate. He hasn’t even moved to lift it yet, but you swear your breath is already hitching, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach.

“What’s this?” he murmurs, dragging the tips of his fingers along the fabric. “Wearing something so short to see me… were you hoping I’d take it off?”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

Sukuna chuckles darkly, his grip finally tightening, just enough to make you squirm. “Come on, sweetheart. You had all that confidence when you wrote to me. Tell me…” His fingers inch under the fabric, knuckles brushing against your bare skin. “Did you get wet thinking about me touching you like this?”

A sharp gasp escapes you as he pushes your skirt up, exposing more of your thighs. The cool air kisses your overheated skin, and you reflexively grab his wrist, a weak attempt at stopping him.

He laughs at the gesture—deep, rich, cruel.

“Oh? Now you want to act shy?” His other hand trails up your back, slow and possessive. “Should I stop?” His voice is a mockery of innocence, but the look in his eyes is pure hunger.

Your silence betrays you.

His smirk deepens. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

And then—so agonizingly slow—you feel him peel your skirt down, the fabric dragging over your thighs, your knees, your ankles until it’s gone, discarded on the floor.

Sukuna leans back against the wall, gaze devouring the sight of you. “Now, that’s better.” His hands settle on your now-bare thighs, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath catch. “You look much prettier like this, trembling in my lap.”

His lips curl as he watches you, his next words laced with dark amusement.

Sukuna hums, dragging his palms up your thighs, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath catch. He spreads his legs a little wider beneath you, making sure you feel the hard press of him beneath you, and fuck, you can’t stop the way your body tenses at the realization.

His smirk deepens. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His fingers skim higher, brushing over your inner thigh—light, teasing, barely there. “You were so bold with those little Polaroids… don’t tell me you’re already getting shy?”

You bite your lip, trying to glare at him, but it only makes his smirk widen.

Sukuna leans in close, lips ghosting against your ear. “Tell me,” he murmurs, voice dropping into something dark and syrupy, “when you wrote that letter… were your fingers between your legs?”

A sharp inhale. Your whole body heats at the question, and the moment you hesitate, his hand slides up—fingers just grazing over the heat between your legs.

Your hips jolt instinctively, and he fucking laughs. You can feel your mind slowly slipping with each passing moment, struggling to keep composure

“Ohh, you were, weren’t you?” He clicks his tongue, amused. “You really laid in bed, all alone, spreading your legs and touching yourself while thinking about me?”

You should deny it. You should push away that smug grin of his, but the way his fingers press a little firmer against your clothed core makes any coherent thought vanish. Prickles of pleasure flow up your skin as you finally get the touch you had been missing.

He watches you struggle, loves how easily he’s unraveling you. “Didn’t even have me, and you still came all over your own fingers, huh?” His voice is so mocking, so cruelly sweet, and then—without warning—his fingers slip beneath the fabric of your underwear.

Your breath stutters.

Sukuna exhales a low tch the second he feels it. “Holy fuck.” His fingers slide through the slick heat of your needy cunt, languid, slow, as if testing just how drenched you are for him. His smirk sharpens. “You’re soaking.”

You bite back a whimper as he drags his fingers through your folds, spreading your wetness, moving in agonizingly slow strokes that make your thighs twitch. His free hand grips your waist, keeping you still in his lap

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he mutters, mostly to himself, the edge of a chuckle laced in his words. “Knew you’d be a mess for me.”

And then, just when your body starts to tense, when you need more, he pulls his hand away.

You make a noise of protest before you can stop yourself, and he grins. “Oh? You want more?” His slick fingers trace teasing circles against your inner thigh, refusing to give you what you so clearly need. “Then ask for it, sweetheart.”

Your pride fights against the growing, unbearable ache. You try to grind against his thigh instead, desperate for any kind of friction, but his hands are there, holding you in place.

“Ah, ah,” Sukuna tuts, dragging his tongue over his teeth. “You’re not getting shit until I hear you beg for it properly.”

His fingers stroke your thigh again—so fucking close, but still not enough.

You shudder, swallowing your pride. “Please.”

His smirk darkens. “Louder.”

You glare at him, breath shaky. “Please, Sukuna—”

And fuck, that’s all he needed.

He shoves his hand back between your legs, two fingers sliding inside you in one slow, deep stroke—so smooth, so effortless, your walls stretching around him as if your body was made to take him.

You choke on a gasp, clenching down around his fingers, and he groans against your ear. “Ohhh, there it is,” he mutters, voice thick with satisfaction. “That pretty little cunt was just waiting to be filled, huh?”

His fingers pump into you at a leisurely pace, dragging along every sensitive spot inside you, curling slightly with every deep stroke. Your head tips back, breathless, aching, because it’s still not enough.

Sukuna’s fingers work you open slowly, deliberately, making sure you feel every deep stroke, every lazy curl of his fingers against that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble. His other hand is firm on your waist, keeping you exactly where he wants you, making sure you don’t squirm away from his relentless teasing.

“Fuck,” he groans, watching the way your body reacts to him, the way your walls clench around his fingers every time he drags them out just to push them back in, deeper, rougher. “You’re so tight. Haven’t been properly fucked in a while, huh?”

You whimper, clutching at his shoulders, your thighs tensing around his hips. He smirks. “Poor baby,” he muses, voice dropping, “Makin me feel bad for not being there to fuck you properly”

He buries his fingers inside you to the knuckle, pressing against the soft, spongy spot deep inside you that has you gasping, nails digging into his skin.

“Ahh, there it is,” he laughs. “That’s the spot, huh?” His fingers curl again, harder, pulling a sharp cry from your lips. “Yeah. I can feel you squeezing me so fucking tight. You gonna cum for me already?”

Your head tips back, your body rocking forward instinctively, chasing every stroke of his fingers, aching for more. But Sukuna sees it, sees you getting desperate, and instead of giving you what you need, he slows down.

Your breath stutters, a frustrated whine spilling from your throat as he deliberately drags out every motion, keeping you right on the edge without letting you tip over.

Sukuna grins against your throat, teeth grazing your skin. “Tch. Look at you,” he murmurs, amused. “So fucking needy.”

He presses a kiss to your pulse, almost mockingly sweet. Then, with a slow, devastating thrust of his fingers, he curls them just right—just deep enough, just sharp enough—

And you break.

Your whole body tenses, pleasure ripping through you as your walls flutter around his fingers, your breath coming in broken, stuttering gasps as the tension inside you snaps. Your thighs shake against his hips, your nails scraping down his arms as you ride it out, grinding helplessly into his hand as he works you through it.

Sukuna groans, his free hand gripping your waist as you tremble against him. “That’s it,” he murmurs, drinking in the sight of you coming apart in his lap. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this. So fucking messy.”

His fingers don’t stop until your body jerks from oversensitivity, and only then does he pull them out—slow, teasing, dragging it out just to watch you shudder.

Then he brings them to his lips.

You watch, dazed, as he licks the slick from his fingers, humming thoughtfully as he tastes you. His eyes darken, tongue dragging over the pad of his thumb as he smirks.

“Always miss your taste sweets.”

He tilts his head, gaze flickering over your wrecked expression. “Think you’re ready for my cock now?”=

Sukuna’s fingers leave you aching, your thighs still trembling from the aftershocks, but he doesn’t give you a moment to recover. No, he just smirks, eyes burning as he watches you struggle to catch your breath, utterly wrecked in his lap.

Then, with a sharp grip on your hips, he grinds up against you, letting you feel just how painfully hard he is beneath you.

You whimper, hips jerking forward instinctively, and Sukuna groans low in his throat, his fingers tightening against your skin. “Ohh, fuck,” he drawls, head tipping back for a second before his gaze snaps back to you, hungry, dark with something ravenous. “You feel that, sweetheart?”

You can barely think, let alone answer.

He chuckles, teeth flashing. “Of course you do. You’re already rocking against it, huh?” His hands guide your hips, forcing you to grind against his length, the thick heat of it pressing between your slick folds. “Tch. So fucking desperate.”

Your breath shatters as he moves your hips again, forcing more friction against your already aching clit, and the sensation sends lightning through your veins.

“You gonna let me fuck you now?” Sukuna mutters against your ear, voice thick with amusement, but fucking starving at the same time. “You got me so hard, you better be ready to take it.”

He shifts beneath you, one hand reaching down to free himself, and when you feel the hot, heavy weight of his cock slap against your slick folds—thick, unrelenting, already leaking at the tip—your whole body shudders.

Sukuna smirks. “Ohh, I know you’re wet enough for it, but—” He grips his cock, dragging the head through your soaked folds, coating himself in your slick but not pushing in. “—I wanna hear you beg for it first.”

You whimper, grinding down against the head of his cock, desperate, but he just laughs.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Be a good girl and tell me how bad you want it.” He presses his tip just against your entrance, teasing, mocking, but refuses to give you more. “Or else I’ll make you sit here and fucking wait for it.”

His free hand tightens in your hair, yanking your head back slightly, his mouth grazing your throat.

“You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

His cock nudges at your entrance again, but still—still—he doesn’t push in.

And with the way your body is aching, the way his fingers are digging into your hips, the way his breath is so fucking heavy against your skin—

You know.

He’s going to make you beg for it.

And he won’t stop until you’re screaming his name

But you can’t help it—your body is on fire, still desperate for him, and every breath feels like it’s drawing you closer to the edge again. Sukuna leans back, his smirk never fading as he watches you struggling to even form a coherent sentence at this point

“Missed your cock so bad Kuna~” you whine out pathetically, hoping he would show you mercy and give you exactly what you had been craving

Sukuna chuckles, low and dark. “You really thought I’d let you get off that easy? Tch, you’re adorable.” His hand snakes around to your back, fingers digging into the soft skin there, and he pulls you closer—pressing your body flush against his. The heat of his skin, the weight of him, it drives you wild all over again.

His lips brush against your ear, his voice a gravelly whisper. “You’re going to take every inch of me, aren’t you?” His words send a shiver down your spine. “All that teasing? I’ve been waiting for you to beg for me. You wanted me, now you’re going to take it.”

With a sudden, fluid motion, he grips your thighs, pushing you higher up his lap. You feel the tip of his cock against your entrance, teasing, just barely brushing you. His smirk is cruel as he watches your face flush with the need. “Go on, sweetheart. Show me how much you want me.”

You don’t need him to say it twice. With a sharp, needy gasp, you push down onto him, feeling his length stretch you, fill you as you sink down slowly, painfully, inch by inch. The stretch is almost too much, but the ache is exactly what you’ve been craving.

Sukuna’s eyes close for a moment, his lips parting in a low groan as he feels you grip him. “Fuck, that’s it. Such a tight little cunt. So fucking perfect for me.”

You rock your hips, hands gripping his shoulders for support as you start to move, his body perfectly aligned beneath you. Each thrust you make is slow, deliberate, a mix of pleasure and need, the way his hands dig into your skin, urging you on. His grip tightens with every movement, guiding you, making you feel every inch of him as he shifts beneath you.

But he doesn’t let you forget he’s still in control. “You’re so fucking desperate,” he mutters, voice thick with lust. “Cumming on my fingers like that, and now you can’t even think straight. Pathetic.”

Your body shudders with each word, the way his cock fills you deep, pushing you to the edge of insanity. It’s all too much and not enough at the same time. You push harder, riding him, needing more, needing everything.

Sukuna’s hand finds your throat, squeezing lightly, not enough to choke you, but enough to make your breath catch in your throat as he pulls you forward. “Come on. You’re close, aren’t you?” His voice is low, commanding. “Beg for it. Tell me how much you need it.”

“P-Please! Kuna, need it so bad”

The way Sukuna’s hands grip your hips, guiding your movements as he watches you unravel, it feels like he’s claiming every inch of you—every piece of your will, your dignity, your ability to think straight. He’s controlling the rhythm now, forcing you to take him deep, making you feel every inch of him. His eyes are intense, burning with something darker than lust—something deeper, something possessive.

“Look at you,” Sukuna growls, his chest rising with every breath. “I’ve waited so long for this. You… you make me wait, tease me, and now you’re finally giving in. Isn’t that right?”

You can barely form a coherent thought, your mind spinning, body on fire, each movement more desperate than the last. But Sukuna doesn’t care. He’s not slowing down. He’s chasing his own pleasure now, pushing you harder, deeper, rougher, making you feel every inch of his cock, every thrust.

“You like that, huh?” Sukuna snarls, pulling your body flush against his, his teeth grazing your neck as he watches you struggle to keep up. “You love to tease me while im locked up in here”

His words only seem to make it worse, your body clenching around him with the reminder of what started all this. He remembers, and now you’re paying for it.

“I’ve missed you,” he admits, almost as though he’s surprised by it himself. His voice drops low, and for the briefest moment, there’s a sincerity to his tone that almost makes you forget he’s the King of Curses. “Missed how you taste. How you feel. How good you are to me. How you stayed with me”

He doesn’t give you time to process the weight of his words. Instead, he slams into you harder, faster, your body shaking with each thrust. He’s relentless—determined to take every ounce of control, making sure you’re his.

Your body is a mess of sensation, the pressure building, rising higher and higher with every thrust, every growl of his voice. The way his hands are gripping your body—like he’s scared you’ll slip away, like he’s afraid of losing you all over again—pushes you to the edge.

“You feel so fucking good,” he whispers against your ear, his voice thick with lust. “Tight. Perfect.” His grip tightens, and you feel him hit even deeper, the force of it pushing you toward the brink.

You can barely think now, only feeling—only craving the release that’s so close but seems just out of reach. His words—his confession of missing you, his twisted affection—sends something raw through you, unraveling every last shred of control you had left.

And then, without warning, he shifts his grip, pulling you harder down onto him, and that’s all it takes. The pressure inside you snaps. The orgasm rips through you in waves, overwhelming your senses, and you let out a ragged cry as you come apart in his lap. Your body shudders, spasms of pleasure wracking you as he holds you steady, refusing to let you go, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

Sukuna doesn’t stop, though—his thrusts become more frantic, chasing his own release, but he doesn’t let go of you for even a second. His fingers dig into your skin, pulling you closer to him as he moves faster, his voice rougher now.

“Fuck,” he groans, his movements becoming more erratic. “You’re so fucking perfect. Cumming on my cock like the perfect girl you are”

And then, with a final, brutal thrust, he’s there, spilling inside you, his body shuddering as he grinds against you, his breath hot against your skin. For a moment, he just holds you, both of you tangled up in the aftermath, trying to catch your breath.

His hand slides to your back, holding you close. “I’m not letting you go,” he mutters, almost like a promise—or a warning.

You can barely respond, your body still trembling from the intensity, but you feel him stiffen slightly, his grip tightening even more possessively around you. His lips brush your ear again. “You’re mine, you know.”

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