galosreb

[galosreb]

♡ Artists need to eat too - Please reblog for exposure ♡

YouTube - X/Twitter - EBay/Art Store

[galosreb]

i wanna watch this movie so much T-T

The Rule Of Jenny Pen (2024)

[galosreb]

lotta continua, buona festa dei lavoratori🌹✊

[galosreb]

the crush i have for this specific character is embarrassing

This is one of my favorite scenes from The Best Offer (2013) 💐🎨 I don't know why, but Geoffrey is sooooooo adorable *chef kissing*

[galosreb]

Fanaticus- Commodus X male!Gladiator

Imagine if Commodus became a fanboy of a gladiator in the Colosseum , he becoems obssessed until he realizes it is love. chapter 1 here

Chapter 2 

The days that followed the gladiator's victory were a blur of games and royal duties for Commodus; yet, no matter how many spectacles he attended or the faces he saw, there was only one that lingered in his mind. The gladiator. That tall, broad-shouldered man with his wild blond hair and his cold, determined eyes. And surely the gladiator had felt a gaze on him, so powerful he felt like the next day an enemy deadlier than the others would take his life. 

Commodus found himself returning to the Colosseum more often, not because of the games themselves, but to see him...  

That gladiator was becoming an obsession in his thoughts, a constant presence in his mind, even when he was far from the arena. Each time the man fought, Commodus was there, his eyes glued to him, watching his every move, studying him like a piece of art he couldn’t quite understand but knew he had to possess. 

The gladiator’s fighting style, unlike anything the emperor had seen before, was something Commodus found both brutal and beautiful. He was quick, calculating, and deadly. He didn’t just fight for victory; he fought with a kind of purpose, as if the battle was an expression of something deeper, something beyond just survival. Commodus admired that. He admired the way the gladiator moved, the way his muscles rippled beneath the thin fabric of his tunic, the way he made every kill look effortless. The way he grinned at the crowd, making them cheer even more. But it wasn’t just his fighting that held Commodus’s attention. It was the man himself.  

At first, Commodus’s interest was masked by the public admiration any ruler might have for a successful gladiator. But it didn’t take long for it to grow into something far more personal. He began to send gifts to the gladiator, small tokens of his esteem. Fine clothes, food from the royal kitchens, a silver necklace even. Nothing too extravagant, but enough to let the gladiator know that he was noticed. Commodus had always been used to power, to people doing what he wanted because of who he was.  

But the gladiator was different. He didn’t beg for the emperor’s attention. He didn’t grovel or fawn., and it only made Commodus more intrigued. In fact, the gladiator barely acknowledged the gifts at all, leaving them untouched in his quarters. It troubled the gladiator much, it was nice to know his talent was appreciated but it reminded him of those courtesans and noble women, filling him with gifts after taking possession of his body to fill their lustful fantasies. It reminded him how much he didn’t belong to himself anymore but had an object of entertainment...a toy.  

It wasn’t until the gladiator’s next fight that the emperor decided to act. He had lost sleep and that could not keep going. There would be no subtlety, no gifts from behind the scenes or whispered words. Commodus would speak directly to the gladiator, and he would do so in front of the entire Colosseum. 

The fight was brutal, as usual, and when the gladiator victoriously stood in the center of the arena, bloodied but unbowed, holding the decapitated head of his adversary, the crowd erupted in cheers. Commodus’s heart pounded in his chest as he stood from his seat, his eyes fixed on the gladiator. Without hesitation, he made his way down to the arena floor, the crowd parting to make way for the emperor as he strode forward with purpose. 

The gladiator, still catching his breath, looked up in surprise as Commodus approached accompanied by the intimidating praetorian guards. The emperor’s gaze never wavered, locking onto him with an intensity that silenced the noise of the Colosseum around them. 

“You.” Commodus said, his voice ringing out clear and firm, but his face bore a smile, and his eyes lit like a boy meeting his hero “You’re unlike any gladiator I have ever seen.” 

The crowd quieted, sensing the tension in the air. The gladiator stood frozen, his hands had dropped everything to clench into a fists, unsure of how to respond to the emperor’s sudden attention. 

“I’ve watched you fight before.” Commodus continued, stepping closer, his words carrying over the arena like a declaration. “But today... today you showed something more. You fight with purpose. With passion. You are a true warrior.” he beamed. 

The gladiator’s eyes slightly narrowed; his wariness was evident. “I fight to survive, my lord.” he replied, his voice gruff from the exhaustion. He had heard much about the Emperor, and those were everything but praises. He mostly heard about him being a man-child, prone to anger and violence, sleeping with his sister. Even though, at first glance these rumors didn’t seem to be true. He surely had a boyish appearance, the air of a man used to people obey his every needs. 

A smile appeared on Commodus’s lips, but there was something fierce behind it. “And you do it well.” He paused, his gaze softening for a moment. “But it is not just survival that drives you, is it?” he asked, his eyes shining, eager to know the motivations of his favorite gladiator. 

The gladiator said nothing, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Commodus could see it, something deeper, something that made the gladiator more than just a fighter. And that, more than anything, drew Commodus in. 

The emperor’s hand gestured to the crowd, who were still watching in stunned silence. “I will reward you.” he said, “For your strength, your skill, your tenacity. You will have more than just gold and glory. You have earned my favor.” he spoke with a certain fondness, the cheering of the people bursting and becoming deafening. 

The gladiator bowed his head slightly, his heart racing. Such praises in front of all from the most powerful man in the world. He was willing to enjoy that favor to its bones, if necessary, but he knew he needed to keep his guard up. His eyes remained guarded, unsure if he could fully engage in Commodus's praise.  

Commodus, however, was undeterred. This was just the beginning. He would not let this gladiator slip through his fingers. 

With a final glance at the man who had ignited something inside him, Commodus turned and walked back toward the royal box, the crowd erupting into applause once more behind him. But as he ascended the steps, his thoughts remained fixed on the gladiator, the one man who had managed to intrigue him in a way that no one else ever had. 

The days following the public exchange in the arena were filled with whispers, rumors of the emperor’s fascination with the gladiator spread like wildfire through the Colosseum and the palace alike. But Commodus paid no attention to the talk. His mind was consumed by one thing: the gladiator. His gladiator. 

Every time the man fought, Commodus was there, seated in his box, eyes locked on the arena floor. He watched as the gladiator moved, as if the very air around him crackled with electricity. Commodus had seen many gladiators in his time, but none had affected him in such a way. The more he watched, the more he desired, not just his body, though that desire was undeniable, but the man himself, his strength, his resolve, his hidden vulnerability. 

One evening, Commodus could no longer stand the distance between them. His dreams filled with the most intense dreams; fighting alongside the gladiator in the grand arena, the public calling them ‘the new gods of Rome’ and other lustful dreams, the Emperor laying on his back as the gladiator ravished him. His thoughts during the day weren't any better and it started to affect his rule. So, he ordered that the gladiator be brought to him. 

When the gladiator entered the imperial chambers, he was met with the emperor’s piercing gaze. The man stood tall, his posture proud, but there was a tension in his shoulders, a wary look in his eyes. He had never been summoned to speak to the emperor outside of the arena, and now he was here, alone with the most powerful man in Rome. Commodus walked toward him slowly, his eyes never leaving the gladiator’s. “You’ve impressed me.” he said, his voice quiet, yet filled with command. “Your skill is unparalleled. And yet... there’s something more. Something I can’t ignore.” 

The gladiator stiffened. “My lord, I am but a servant of the games. I fight to survive. Nothing more.” he replied, perhaps sensing where the emperor was going. Sure, the emperor was a handsome man, it was undeniable. But he did not know him and the fear of the man forcing himself upon him terrified him, he would have no choice but comply or he would die. By the hands of the Emperor or of his praetorians. 

Commodus smirked, stepping closer until the gladiator was forced to look down at him. “Is that truly all? You may call it survival, but I see something else in your eyes when you fight. I see passion. And I...” He hesitated for a moment, his breath catching. “I want to understand it.” 

The gladiator swallowed hard, the weight of Commodus’s words pressing on him. He had felt the emperor’s gaze upon him many times in the arena, but now, in the privacy of this chamber, it was different. The air between them was thick with unspoken tension. There was something dangerous in Commodus’s voice, something seductive that made the gladiator want to step back and yet, at the same time, lean forward. So, he was seeing what he hid so preciously. 

“I am a gladiator.” the man said, his voice low and steady. “I do not belong in the palace. I fight for the crowds, for the games. And I will never be a pawn in your game, Emperor.” 

Commodus's lips twitched into a smile. He was pleased that the man had the courage and honesty to reply such words. “You are not a pawn. You are a prize.” 

The words hung in the air like a challenge. The gladiator’s heart raced, but he refused to show it. His mind was clouded with uncertainty. He had felt the emperor’s gaze on him more than once, it burned him, yet knowing the man watched his fights had become oddly comforting and it stirred something within him, a fire he couldn’t ignore. 

But the gladiator also feared what that fire might mean. Could it be more than just lust? Was it possible that Commodus saw something in him beyond his body, beyond his ability to kill? Or was the emperor simply obsessed with the idea of possession, of taking something he desired and discarding it once he had grown bored? 

“I’m no plaything.” the gladiator said, his voice firm, but the vulnerability in his eyes betrayed him. “If you seek to claim me, then you’re delusional. I won't let you use me as such; I don’t care if you were born with a golden spoon in your mouth. You won’t have me with just a snap of your fingers and discard me when your interest wanes. People like you get bored quickly by their toys.” 

Commodus’s smile had faltered; the brutal honesty of the gladiator had wounded him to the core. So that was how the slave saw him. It suddenly made Commodus feel guilty, selfish.  And the gladiator saw that flicker of in his eyes, something rare, something human. “I don’t discard what I want.” Commodus replied, his voice quieter now, but still intense. “And I want you.” 

The gladiator took a step back, trying to maintain his composure. “I’m not some object for your pleasure, Emperor. You may control the games, but you cannot control me.” 

Commodus’s eyes darkened. “You are wrong about one thing, gladiator. I never seek to control.”. He paused. “I seek... to understand. And I want to understand you.” His gaze softened slightly. “You are more than a fighter. And I see that.” 

The gladiator didn’t know what to make of the emperor’s words. Was this genuine? Or was it just the emperor’s desire to possess him, to make him another trophy? He longed to believe it, to trust that Commodus saw something in him beyond the bloodlust of the arena, but fear gnawed at him. Fear that, when the emperor grew bored, he would be discarded, forgotten like so many others. 

“You request to understand me, to want me. Yet in all these days you haven’t even asked me for my real name.” he pointed out, lifting his chin proudly, sending another shot to the Emperor, to show him how foolish he was. The colors left Commodus’ face, a boyish hair appearing again, then a blush appearing on his cheeks. His knuckles became white, and for a moment he could not look at the slave in the eyes, ashamed.  

“This certainly doesn’t show me in a proper light...” he scoffed with a bitter smile “What is your name ‘Celt’?” he asked looking up at him once again. 

“Aingeal Tuiteamach  ” Instantly replied the blond man, his eyes filling with pride. Here was that gaze Commodus loved, one that perhaps reminded of himself. 

“Aingeal...” he tried the name on his tongue a few times, getting accustomed to the foreign accent. He smiled, feeling rejoiced at knowing his name, he was surely the only one to know, he thought. It made him feel closer to the man and made him desire even more to know everything about him. His story, what made him laugh, what made him cry. 

The gladiator had remained silent as he listened to his name being spoken. For how many years he hadn’t heard it spoken so sweetly, with such respect...but no he didn’t want to be fooled “I will not be your plaything, Commodus,” the gladiator firmly repeated, his voice low but resolute. “I will not fall to your whims.” 

Commodus’s face hardened. He had expected resistance, though not as intensely but something about the gladiator’s defiance only stirred his desire more. “We shall see.” he murmured, stepping back. “But know this, you have caught my attention, and once that happens, there is no turning back.” 

As the gladiator turned and left the room, Commodus stood still, watching him go. He knew that the gladiator’s resistance was a challenge to be overcome, boundaries to break, vulnerability... but something in the man’s eyes had struck him deeply. This wasn’t just a conquest. This was something more, something that Commodus was determined to unravel. 

I hope you enjoyed this second chapter, longer and diving into Commodus obssessive personnality! looking forward to your comments <3

Tag list: @kfanniart @stardancerluv @galos-writing @skaravile @lyoongx @weirdflecksbutok @charlie-sisters @stardancerluv @sgtsavoytruffle @ohcarlesmycarles @rajacero @niniitah-ah @morrisonmercurryphoenix @fly-like-a-phoenix @thatdummy-girl​r @galos-writing @pstvchld @chiclunatic @hopelessdisasterr @buttergirlie​ @rosebloodstuffandthangss​ @clowndaddyfleck​ @jaylovesbats @dreamingmaria​ @just-a-fucking-comedy​ @lady-carnivals-stuff​ @sierraclegane​​ @lemondedeniname​​ @hvproductions​​ @syvellsworld​​ @papercut-paranoia​​ @jokerflecker​​ ​ @bring-your-holy-water @five-miles-over​ @beatlebabe1996​ @kfanniart @soulsfrostedheart18 @mayflower-gal @creativestorylove @smallratboy

[galosreb]

Short but full of feelings, I could literally feel the tension in Commodus's aura! You write so beautifully I love it ����

more commodus x male!reader please :)

Your request has been heard! I hope you will enjoy this, it is a first chapter and you and others enjoy it, I have next chapters available^^

Commodus X male!Gladiator

Imagine if Commodus became a fanboy of a gladiator in the Colosseum , he becoems obssessed until he realizes it is love.

Chapter 1 

The roar of the crowd was deafening, reverberating through the towering stone walls of the Colosseum, but Commodus barely heard it. His eyes were fixed on the arena below, where gladiators fought and bled for the amusement of the masses. The spectacle was familiar, thrilling in its brutality, but today his mind wandered, distracted by the anticipation of a single fighter...a gladiator who had caught his eye during previous games. 

It was no secret Commodus loved watching the games, whatever gladiator fights, chariot races. He had always been so invested as he watched, clapping, cheering, groaning and all sorts of other emotions passing through his heart. But today was different... 

Commodus sat in his private box, his royal robes barely stirring as the hot breeze blew through the open walls. He was used to the adulation, the eyes of the crowd ever on him, watching who he cheered for, who he would save or condemn. However, in that moment, the eyes of the emperor were elsewhere. The gladiator had just entered the arena, tall and imposing, his long blond hair tied back in a messy braid at the nape of his neck. His stubble gave him a rugged edge, his left pectoral and shoulder had a tattoo, something so exotic and foreign too Romans...yet so common among Guals and Celts. Surely, he was one of these. His armor, unlike the others, was plain but distinctive, hinting at a past that was foreign to the Roman warriors Commodus was accustomed to. 

The gladiator stood tall in the center of the arena, his presence commanding the attention of all, even in the face of the violence unfolding around him. His fighting style was unlike anything Commodus had seen before, fluid, almost dance-like, yet devastating. His opponents fell with swift precision, his movements smooth but brutal. Every swing of his sword seemed to speak volumes, a language of power and control that set him apart from the rest. 

Commodus’s heart raced in a way he hadn’t expected. There was something about this fighter; this man, that intrigued him. It wasn’t just his physicality, though that certainly caught his eye. It was something deeper, something hidden beneath the surface of his sharp features and lethal skill. Commodus found himself leaning forward, forgetting the crowd around him, his gaze locked on the gladiator as he effortlessly dispatched another opponent. 

The emperor knew he wasn’t like the others; he didn’t just want to watch. No, this was different. He felt a spark, a growing desire, though not just for the man’s body, but for something more. For a connection, perhaps, something he hadn’t allowed himself to crave before. He wanted to be like that man, a gladiator invincible in the Colosseum, adored by all. He wanted to fight him as well, see who would win, would they kill each other as equals? And then he wanted to learn from him, how to fight so effortlessly, so graciously. Such were the conflicting thoughts racing through his mind. Yet, one thing was sure, he was surely his biggest fan. Commodus clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the armrests of his chair. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but he knew one thing, he couldn’t take his eyes off him. 

The fight continued, but Commodus’s mind was no longer on the arena. It was on the gladiator, the man who had just stolen his attention, and for the first time in a long while, Commodus felt the stirrings of something more than lust. He had to know more. He had to get closer. 

As the gladiator exited the arena, bloodied but victorious, Commodus’s mind raced with a single thought: ‘I will see him again.’ 

Thank you for reading and looking forward to your review/comments dears!

tag list: @kfanniart @stardancerluv @galos-writing @skaravile @lyoongx @weirdflecksbutok @charlie-sisters @stardancerluv @sgtsavoytruffle @ohcarlesmycarles @rajacero @niniitah-ah @morrisonmercurryphoenix @fly-like-a-phoenix @thatdummy-girl​r @galos-writing @pstvchld @chiclunatic @hopelessdisasterr @buttergirlie​ @rosebloodstuffandthangss​ @clowndaddyfleck​ @jaylovesbats @dreamingmaria​ @just-a-fucking-comedy​ @lady-carnivals-stuff​ @sierraclegane​​ @lemondedeniname​​ @hvproductions​​ @syvellsworld​​ @papercut-paranoia​​ @jokerflecker​​ ​ @bring-your-holy-water @five-miles-over​ @beatlebabe1996​ @kfanniart @soulsfrostedheart18 @mayflower-gal @creativestorylove

[galosreb]

"boohoo you said a slur you said the f word-"

STANDING👏 FOR👏 THE👏 FAG👏

🏳️‍🌈🫡

[galosreb]

[galosreb]

god i just love commodus. this is a bit self indulgent but im a traditional apothecary/healer lady and i would love to request some commodus fluff where he just falls in love with this healer girl who is always unbelievably gentle and kind when patching him up?

thank you so much! i love your writing!

Hiiii I don't know if you are the same person who requested something similar recently but anyway, I decided to tie both stories, it will fullfil your request and serve as a prequel to the fic I wrote called Wait for me for @shobolanya so please enjoy, can't wait for your review!^^ I truly love exploring such relationship with Commodus, like nothing established but deeply close, and older reader, a different dynamic ^^

Tell me you are mine - Commodus x Reader

From the moment he was born, Commodus had never been alone. Even if he thought the opposite. 

You had been there on the night of his birth, standing in the shadows of the imperial chamber, barely more than a child yourself. You had watched, silent and wide-eyed, as your father, the trusted physician of the imperial family tended to the exhausted empress, his skilled hands guiding the fragile new life into the world. Seven years old and eager to learn, you had held the basin of warm water, wiped sweat from his brow, and listened as the empress gasped through the final moments of labor. And when the newborn Commodus had released his first cry, piercing and thin, you had felt something stir deep within your chest, a sense of quiet wonder. 

Though you were not born into nobility, you were raised in the halls of power, a constant presence in the emperor’s household. You learned early that your hands were meant for healing, that your voice should be steady, and that your role was not to question but to serve. Your father, ever patient, guided you in the art of medicine, teaching you the delicate balance between strength and gentleness. 

By the time Commodus could walk, he already knew your name. 

He was never an easy child, restless, defiant, and prone to flashes of temper that sent nurses and tutors scrambling. He had been born into greatness, yet even as a boy, he seemed to feel the weight of it pressing down on him. His father’s expectations loomed like an unshakable shadow, and when the world became too much, he lashed out. Others scolded. Others withdrew. 

But you never did. 

You were the one who found him after he had stormed away from his lessons, fists clenched, breathing ragged. You were the one who sat beside him in the garden when he refused to return to the palace, saying nothing, simply waiting until he was ready to speak. And when he fell from his horse, scraping his knees and biting back tears, it was your hands that wiped the blood away, your voice soft with reassurance. 

“You’re not as invincible as you think.” you had told him, you were twelve years old and already mature, pressing a clean bandage to his wound. 

At six years old, Commodus had only scowled at you, crossing his arms with all the petulance of a boy who wished to be a man. But something in the way you touched him, careful, practiced, never cruel, made his anger waver. 

It became a pattern, a quiet rhythm between you. You grew together and despite different, ranks, social status and personalities you always found each other in perfect balance.  

Commodus grew, and you remained at his side, watching over him as you would with any patient, but knowing deep down that he was different. He was not just another noble child to be tended to; he was something else, something you had been bound to long before he had even known your name. 

And Commodus, though he did not yet understand it, had already decided, he would never let you go. 

At seven years old, Commodus believed himself unbreakable. It was a lesson he learned the hard way. 

The training yard had been wet with morning dew, autumn was coming and so a storm too. Commodus had been determined that day, more reckless than usual, more eager to prove himself. His small hands clenched too tightly around the wooden practice sword, his strikes wild and impatient as he faced off against another boy. 

Maximus. 

Maximus was already strong for his age, already favoured by the instructors. He carried himself with an ease Commodus envied, a boy who never needed to prove himself because others already believed in him. Commodus had taken the first hit. Then the second. By the third, he had fallen hard, the breath knocked from his lungs as his arm twisted awkwardly beneath him. The crack had been small, almost insignificant beneath the roaring in his ears, but when he tried to push himself up, a sharp pain flared through his wrist, bringing an involuntary gasp to his lips. 

The other boys had laughed. Even Maximus, though he tried to stifle it, throwing an apology that Commodus did not want to hear. His father had merely turned away. He already showed himself disappointed with his son. 

But you had been there. You were not disappointed. Not ever. You thought it was not your place to judge, besides Commodus always gave his best, and he deserved to be praised for it.  

You found him in a quiet corner of the palace, sitting alone, his injured wrist cradled against his chest. He did not cry, though his face was pale, his pride wounded far more than his body. When you knelt before him, he refused to meet your eyes. 

"Let me see." you murmured, reaching to examine his arm but he shuffled away and remained quiet. "Commodus." Your voice was softer now, the way it always was when you were trying to soothe him. "I can help you, but only if you let me." You smiled gently. For a moment, he remained still, his jaw set tight. Then, hesitantly, he allowed you to take his arm. 

Your hands were warm, steady as you turned his wrist gently, checking for signs of a break. He winced but did not pull away. You had touched him many times before; adjusting his posture when he was slouching, brushing dirt from his tunic when he had been too stubborn to let a servant do it. But this was different. This was careful, deliberate. There was no judgment in your touch, no ridicule. Only care. 

"It’s not broken," you told him, relief evident in your tone. "But you’ll need to be careful for a while. You’re lucky." 

Commodus scoffed. "I don’t feel lucky." 

“It is a matter of perspective.” You smiled, reaching into the pouch you always carried at your hip, pulling out a strip of cloth. "Hold still." He obeyed, watching as you wrapped the fabric around his wrist, securing it in place. You worked with practiced ease, your fingers brushing against his skin as you tied the final knot. It was the first time Commodus realized that your touch did something to him, something unfamiliar, something that made his stomach feel strange. 

"You’re too reckless." you said, sitting back on your heels. "One day, you’ll have to learn that you don’t have to fight every battle the moment it presents itself." 

Commodus frowned, tilting his head. "Isn’t that what warriors do?" 

You exhaled a soft laugh. "The best warriors know which battles are worth fighting." He did not understand then, not fully. But as you rose to your feet, ruffling his curls in the way you always had, something inside him shifted. 

From that day on, whenever he was hurt, no matter how small the injury, he always sought you out first. 

Indeed, years passed, but Commodus’ need for you never faded. If anything, it deepened. 

As he grew from a boy into a young man, around thirteen years old, his dependence on you became something unspoken yet undeniable. The palace had its healers, its physicians, its servants who stood ready to tend to him at a moment’s notice, but Commodus only ever sought you. No matter how small the wound, how insignificant the ache, it was your hands he wanted on his skin, your voice he wanted soothing him. 

One day, he came to you, bloodied from another sparring match with Maximus, his upper lip split open from an unlucky strike. He sat on the edge of your chamber’s wooden table, legs swinging idly as you cleaned the wound. 

"You let him do this to you?" you asked, dabbing a cloth against his lip. 

"I let no one do anything," Commodus muttered, looking away, his eyes stormy. 

 "You provoked him." You sighed; you knew his temper by now. You knew he was growing more and more famished for approval, to be the best, above all. 

"He provokes me." 

You gave him a look, one of knowing, and he fell silent. It was always like this with you; how easily you could strip away his defenses with nothing more than a glance. The sting of the salve you applied made him wince, but he did not pull away. He never did, not from you. 

"One day, you’ll be stronger than him," you murmured. How bad you understood his pain. 

Commodus’ gaze flickered up to you. "Do you really believe that?" 

Your fingers were still gentle against his skin, tracing the line of the wound with practiced ease. "I do." His chest swelled at your words. It meant more, coming from you. You were the only one whose belief in him felt real, not forced or obligatory. 

At fifteen, he came to you after another argument with his father. He stormed into your chambers, breathless and red-faced, his hands clenched into fists. 

"Marcus Aurelius is a fool." he spat. 

You had been grinding herbs into a paste and barely looked up. "That fool is your father." 

"He treats me like a child!" Commodus began to pace, his anger restless, wild. "Like I am not worthy of the empire. He praises Maximus more than he ever praises me." 

You remained silent for a moment, letting his words settle. Then you stood, stepping toward him with measured patience. "Commodus." 

He turned to you sharply, eyes burning with frustration.You lifted a hand to his face, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. The touch calmed him instantly, though he would never admit it. 

"You are still young." You spoke, trying to temper him. "Your father sees Maximus as a soldier because Maximus has already fought. He has proven himself on the battlefield." 

"And what of me?" His voice was softer now, laced with something almost desperate. "What do you see?" 

Your hand lingered against his cheek for a moment longer before falling away. "I see a boy who wants so badly to be seen as a man." His breath hitched slightly at that. "I see someone who will one day be a great ruler." you continued, your voice quieter now. "If he learns when to fight and when to be patient." 

It was the same lesson you had told him in the past, after his first injury in the training yard. He hated it then, and he hated it now. But hearing it from you made the bitterness easier to swallow. 

“Y/N...do you belong to me?” he asked suddenly, his eyes traveling back and forth from me to an imaginary point on a wall, insecure. 

“I serve the imperial family. So, you. You are of the highest rank. So, yes, we could say I do belong to you.” you replied, no asking the reason of his answer. The prince didn’t need to justify himself to anyone but his father and the gods. But you guessed it had to do with a need to feel like he had grasp, control at least over something in his life. 

At sixteen, he no longer needed an excuse to see you. He sought you out for reasons he did not fully understand, lingering in the doorways of your chambers longer than necessary, finding any excuse to be near you. Sometimes, just enjoying watching you work. You had gotten used to his shadow, it was comforting to have him around, he was one of the rare persons to never judge you. 

For Commodus, your touch was no longer just a comfort, it was something else entirely. Something that made his pulse quicken, something that made him feel like the world was shifting beneath his feet. You had always been his. At least, that was what he had convinced himself of. 

But as he stood before you one evening, watching the candlelight flicker against your face, he wondered if you had ever realized that one day, he would expect you to see it too... 

“Y/N, you are mine are you not?” he asked softly, but there was an edge in his tone, as if that softest was used to conceal a dark emotion. 

“I am, Commodus.” you replied as a matter of fact, you had gotten used to that question he asked now and then, often when his self-confidence got triggered. 

At eighteen, Commodus was no longer a boy. He was taller now, his shoulders broader, slight stubbles growing over his face, his features sharp with the promise of the man he was becoming. The childish need for you had not faded, but something had changed, it had deepened, evolved into something he did not yet have a name for. 

That night, the palace was unusually quiet. Everyone was resting after a long day of debate at the Senate, and only the distant crackle of torches and the occasional murmur of the night watch filled the silence. Commodus found himself walking toward your chambers without a thought, as if drawn there by instinct alone. He had suffered no injury, no sickness, no reason to seek you. And yet, he did. 

When he pushed the door, you were seated in your bed, reading a few notes you made during the day, the recipes of new ointments you had prepared. The scent of crushed leaves and oil hung heavy in the air, familiar and grounding. 

You glanced up at him, unsurprised. By now, you had grown used to his insomnia as well. It wasn’t the first time he sought you while you were in your nightclothes, and it had never been a bother. 

"Couldn’t sleep?" you asked, voice low so as not to disturb the night’s peace. 

Commodus said nothing at first. He simply stood there, watching you, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he murmured, "I hate him." 

Your eyes stilled. With a slow breath, you set down your papers, folding your hands in your lap. "Your father?" 

Commodus scoffed, stepping inside fully. "Who else?" His fingers twitched at his sides, restless. "Every day, he looks at me as if I am not enough. As if I will never be enough." His voice grew sharper, bitterness creeping in. "But Maximus, Maximus can do no wrong. Maximus is the son he wishes he had. He is my brother, and I love him, but father makes it conflictual." 

You exhaled softly, watching him with the quiet patience you always had. "Commodus…" 

"You don’t understand." His tone was edged now, defensive. "You were never his disappointment." 

Your brows furrowed slightly, and something in your gaze shifted. For the first time, there was something almost wounded in your expression. "Do you think I have never been overlooked?" You asked, your voice quieter now. "Do you think I do not know what it is to be unappreciated? My father is a great physician. But I…" You shook your head. "I will never be more than his daughter. I will never hold a title, never be written about in the histories. Because I am a woman, and I shouldn’t be a doctor. I should be a maid, a witch healer, a midwife at best. " 

Commodus frowned, taken aback. He had never considered this before. He had never thought of you as anything but his, as if you existed solely within the orbit of his world. He did not like the thought that you had longings of your own, wounds he had never noticed. For a moment, neither of you spoke. 

Then, without thinking, Commodus moved towards you. Slowly, hesitantly, as if even he was unsure of what he was doing. You remained still as he stepped closer. Sitting on your bed. He did not reach for you, not yet, but the space between you was thin, fragile. 

"You are more than that." he murmured he spoke, his fists clenched. He looked at you in the eyes, extremely serious. You blinked a few times, surprised by his kind words. You were used to listening to him, reassuring him but he had never done the same for you. It was the first time.  

"You are not like the others." he continued, his voice rough with something almost desperate. "You see me." Something inside you ached at the way he said it, as if it were the only thing in the world he truly needed. 

Without thinking, you reached up, fingertips ghosting along the sharp line of his jaw. It was the first time you had ever touched him like this, not as a healer, but as something else entirely. 

Commodus’ breath caught. He had spent years craving your touch, but this, this was different. This was not patching up wounds or tending to aches. This was something far more dangerous. 

For a moment, he thought you might pull away. But you didn’t. "You will always be enough." You whispered softly, a mutual understanding. 

He closed his eyes. Just for a second. Just to hold onto this moment. For the first time in his life, Commodus felt like he had something worth looking out for. 

In the weeks that followed, Commodus found himself restless. His thoughts were no longer his own, they belonged to you. He had always sought you, always felt a pull towards your presence, but now, something had changed. Something had settled deep inside him, unshaken and unrelenting. 

He found himself watching you more than he should. The way your hands moved with practiced ease as you worked, the way your voice softened when speaking to the wounded, the way you stood with quiet grace among men who would never see your worth. 

And worst of all, he was haunted by the way you had touched him that night. He lost even more sleep after that. The memory of your fingers on his jaw, of you, whispering words that had undone him, left him restless in ways he did not understand. No one had ever spoken to him like that, without expectation, without fear. No one had ever told him he was enough. 

And yet, despite the warmth it had given him, it also left him uneasy. Because it was you. You were not a passing infatuation, not a fleeting desire like the women who were sent to his bed. You were Y/N, his only Y/N. The one person who had always been there, who had always belonged to him in some unspoken way. 

But this… this was different. 

One evening, as he trained in the sparring yard, his frustration boiled over. Maximus had landed another successful strike against him, and the burning shame in his chest was too much to bear. He launched himself forward with reckless force, his blade colliding with Maximus’ shoulder harder than necessary. 

"Enough!" the trainer barked, stepping between them. 

Maximus huffed a breath, rolling his shoulder. "Commodus, if you fight out of anger or other emotion you will always lose." 

Commodus’ grip tightened around his weapon, his breathing ragged. He wanted to lash out, to silence the words that struck too close to the truth. But instead, he turned on his heel and stormed away, his mind already seeking the one place he knew he could find solace. 

Y/N. 

He found you in the physician’s area grinding herbs as you often did. The moment you looked up and saw his expression, you sighed. 

"Maximus again?" you asked even if your tone was obvious, you knew the answer. 

He didn’t answer. Instead, he strode toward you, his movements sharp with frustration. "You say I will be enough..." he muttered. "But will I? In my father’s eyes? In Rome’s?" 

You studied him for a moment before setting aside your tools. "Come here." you said softly. He hesitated, but you only raised a brow, waiting. And as always, he obeyed. When he stepped closer, you reached for his arm, fingers grazing over the fresh bruises forming along his skin. "You let your emotions control you." she murmured. "That is why Maximus wins." 

Commodus scoffed. "You sound like my father." 

Your lips quirked slightly. "No. If I were your father, I would say you must learn patience and humility. I am simply saying you must learn control your emotions when needed." 

Commodus exhaled sharply, looking away. He did not want to talk about Maximus. He did not want to talk about his father. He wanted to talk about you. His gaze flickered back to you, studying your face, the way the lamplight cast shadows across your features. You had always been beautiful to him; he had just never allowed himself to think of it this way before. 

"Do you ever think about that night?" he asked suddenly, looking back at you. 

You looked at him curious, taken aback by his question "What night?" 

"You know what night." Your throat bobbed as you swallowed down, understanding to which he referred to. "Commodus…" 

"You touched me." His voice was quieter now, uncertain. "Not as a healer. But as something more."  

Your gaze softened, but there was caution there too. "I touched you because you needed it." 

He took a slow breath, his frustration now replaced with something else. Something raw. "And if I still do?" 

The words lingered between you both, heavier than the air around them. You did not answer right away. Instead, you reached for his arm once more, pressing your palm against his wrist. The touch was gentle, comforting. But it was not the answer he wanted. "You are still young" you replied after a while, looking at him as you always had, caring  

Commodus let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I am not a boy anymore, Y/N." 

Your fingers curled slightly against his skin, as if you knew the truth of his words but did not want to acknowledge it. "You should rest." you murmured, stepping away. For the first time, the distance you placed between yourself and him felt unbearable. 

Commodus clenched his jaw, but he said nothing. He only watched you as you turned away, pretending to be unaffected. But he knew the truth. She felt it too. 

The prince had always been possessive of you. Even as a child, he had sought your attention, craved your presence, and resented anyone who pulled you away from him. But now, the possessiveness was different. It was not the longing of a boy who wanted comfort, it was the hunger of a man who wanted something more. And it terrified him. 

It had started as a slow ache, a restless stirring in his chest whenever you looked at him with those knowing eyes, whenever your hands grazed his skin under the guise of tending to his wounds. It had become worse after that night; the night you had touched his face and whispered the words he so desperately needed to hear. 

Now, it consumed him. 

The realization struck him in the most unexpected moment. 

You were in the emperor’s tent, you were tending to his father, who had fallen into another fit of coughing. Commodus stood by, his arms crossed, watching with forced indifference as you moved around the chamber with effortless grace. Maximus was there too, his worry obvious for the man who had been like a father to him. 

You had done this all his life, tended to the old man, humored his endless wisdom, soothed his pains with your gentle hands. Commodus had never cared before. But today, something inside him burned as he watched the way his father’s weary eyes softened when they settled on you. Or Maximus’ smiles for you. 

Marcus Aurelius reached out, his frail fingers brushing over your wrist in silent gratitude. And you did not flinch, did not pull away, only offered him that quiet, patient smile. As he got older, you showed even more gentleness, you couldn’t explain why but you felt like it was the right thing to do for a man reaching the end of his life. Commodus on his side, tensed, his eyes fixed on the spot of your arm his father had touched, he didn’t like that sight. 

“Once again, his highness illness is calming down thanks to your care Y/N.” praised Maximus with a smile. 

“Your praises won’t distract me Maximus. I have to sew that wound of yours.” you replied on a teasing tone as you put aside your ointments and tapped his injured arm.  

Commodus felt something snap. 

He had no right to be jealous. It was absurd. And yet, the sight of your hands on another man, his father, and Maximus of all people, made his jaw clench so tightly it ached. 

"Leave us." he said abruptly, his voice sharper than intended. 

You looked up, surprised. "Commodus-" 

"I said leave us." he repeated, this time directed at you. Your brows furrowed slightly, but you did not argue. With a quiet nod, you excused herself, gathering your things before slipping out of the tent. 

Marcus Aurelius sighed as the tent flap closed behind you. 

"She is not yours, Commodus." Spoke Maximus, his tone was gentle, knowing of his feelings, almost teasing. 

The words landed like a blow on Commodus’ chest. He forced a scoff. "What nonsense are you speaking now?" 

Maximus studied him with the same infuriating calm he learned from the emperor. "I have seen the way you look at her. It is the same way your sister once looked at me." 

Commodus stiffened. "You are delusional." 

Marcus Aurelius only shook his head. "Love is not possession, my son." 

Commodus turned away, unwilling to let the conversation continue. "Rest, Father," he said coldly before leaving the tent. But his father’s and Maximus’ words followed him into the night. He wanted to prove them wrong.  

He found you in your tent, organizing her herbs in quiet concentration. You looked up when he entered but did not speak. For a long moment, neither did he. Then, finally, he exhaled and muttered, "You left too easily." 

You arched a brow. "Would you have preferred I argue with you in front of your father?" 

He ignored the question, stepping closer. "Do you ever think about it?" 

You tilted your head. "Think about what?" 

"You know what." His voice was quieter now, rough with something unspoken. 

You held his gaze for a long moment. Then, slowly, you placed the herbs down and sighed. "Commodus…" 

"Don’t say my name like that," he cut in, his frustration slipping through. "Like I’m a child to be scolded." 

 "Then how should I say it?" You asked hesitantly. 

A muscle in his jaw tensed. He took another step forward, closing the space between your bodies. "Say it like you love me." 

Your breath caught. It was the first time he mentioned such sentiments. Commodus studied your reaction, searching for a sign of denial, of rejection. But you only stared at him, your lips slightly parted, your pulse visibly fluttering at your throat. 

He leaned in, lowering his voice to something almost pleading, almost desperate. "Say it like you need me. Like you can’t breathe without me. Like you are mine." Silence hung between you, thick, suffocating. 

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching at your sides as if resisting the urge to reach for him. "Commodus…" 

This time, when you said his name, it was different. And that was all the confirmation he needed. 

The moment hung between you, thick with something neither of you had the strength to break. Perhaps you should have stepped away. You knew you should. But you didn't. Because Commodus was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. Like you were his air, his salvation...his. And that terrified you. That question he kept asking for years, it was as if you were only starting to grasp the meaning of it. 

You had always known Commodus was possessive, but this… this was different. This was not the childish longing of a lonely boy. This was the burning claim of a man who had just realized he could not live without something...and that something was you. 

His hand lifted, fingers grazing the side of your neck, tilting your face toward him. His touch was not rough, but there was an unmistakable tension in it, as if he was holding himself back from something darker, something more dangerous. 

"Tell me." he murmured. "Tell me you are mine." 

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You should have denied him this time. You should remind him of what you were, what the two of you had always been. But the way his thumb traced along your jaw, the way his breath warmed your skin, left you defenseless. 

And he knew it. "You won’t say it this time." Commodus whispered, his voice thick with something almost wounded. "Why?" 

You swallowed hard. "Commodus… This is dangerous." You warned him, as if only understanding now the importance of those words for him, its implications. 

His fingers tightened ever so slightly. "I do not care." You exhaled shakily, your hands pressing lightly against his chest as if to push him away, but you did not. And Commodus, keen-eyed as ever, noticed. "You belong to me, Y/N." The words were quiet, reverent, almost fragile. "You always have." 

Something inside you shattered at the way he said it. Because part of you had always known it was true. You had spent years tending to him, soothing his hurts, holding him together when no one else could. You had watched him grow from a boy into a man, had seen every sharp edge, every hidden wound. And yet, you had never stepped away. 

Because you had always been his. Slowly, carefully, you exhaled. And then, just as carefully, you let your forehead rest against his. Commodus sucked in a sharp breath at the contact, his fingers flexing against your skin. 

“You are very tired, aren’t you?”  You asked softly. Your words seemed to touch a sensitive nerve, his brows furrowed briefly, and a whine escaped his lips  

“I am... it’s just, every moment that passes I feel like my mind is about to break.” he breathed, his voice slightly shaking. So many didn’t care about how he felt, only you did. 

“How about I help you sleep then? For once your father can’t order physicians to take care of your case.” you smiled softly, your tone slightly playful. A light passed through Commodus’ eyes, hope, need.  

“Yes, please...just like you always did. What his physicians do, it doesn't work.” he replied, his forehead still pressed against yours. You suddenly that found that closeness flustering and part from him. But he caught your wrist, afraid you might slip away and not fulfil your suggestion.   

You accompanied Commodus to his chambers, reluctantly he had let go of your hand. His shoulders were slightly hunched, his eyelids heavy yet the rest of his body showed signs of restlessness. So much seemed to go through his mind and all at once, you had always seen him tormented. As you entered his room you took care of diming the ambient light by extinguishing a few torches and averting your eyes as he undressed for the night.  

You waited for him to slip into bed, a brief tension had filled the air, as if he had hesitated. Then you heard the familiar rustle of the sheets and finally turned around. The prince laid in bed, slightly curved into a ball, turned towards you, expecting. 

You approached, sitting on the edge of the bed, gently adjusting the covers. He moved his head to rest it on your lap, taking a deep breath before sighing.  

“I hate father’s physicians. The medicine they give me, it makes me feel terrible, as if I was the most underserving person in the world. And it tastes awful.” He murmured. He had that child air on his face, expression a need to be taken care of. 

“It is because the plants they use, even if perfect to sooth stress and make you sleep, has a side effect of giving melancholia to some patients.” You explained to him, passing your hand over his hair soothingly. He closed his eyes under your touch, slightly relaxing.  

“With me, no medicine. I promise” you smiled. Your fingers started to trace his facial features, slowly, feather like. First, his eyebrows, slowly heading to his nose, the outlines of his lips.    

“If any of them dares to speak ill of you in front of me. I shall have them thrown to the lions in the grand arena.” he murmured seriously. 

“Now, Commodus. This is not the time to discuss this. I appreciate your care.” you tilted an eyebrow, smoothing his wild curls once again “now, it is time to think of more pleasant dreams...” you whispered, the low tone of your voice would help him fall asleep.  

“Like what?” he asked, his eyelids half closed, his fingers distractingly playing with the fabric your tunic. 

“Anything you desire. Close your eyes, let me guide you.” you brushed your hand over his eyes; he let you do, obedient, willing. As long as it allowed him to spend more time with you. “Imagine yourself in Ostia, the coast, in your family villa you love so much...the weather is perfect.” you cooed, you had accompanied the family there often, you loved it too, so appeasing, far from the political schemes, smoky scent and noise of Rome.   

Your finger buried in his hair, gently massaging his scalp and back of his neck, relieving all the tension he had accumulated there. “You can smell sea salt and algae carried by the wind, ruffling your hair, it’s reviving, makes you happy. You are not alone of course; you are in the company of those dearest to you.” 

To those words, he opened his eyes, looking almost worried. “Are you there?” his voice restless once again. 

“If you desire so, yes I am there. Here...by your side.” you hand remains in his hair, pressing a little more to ground him, making him close his eyes once again. Your other grabbed his hand, placing it over your chest, top make him feel your heartbeat. “You can feel the warm sun, bathing your skin, it’s so comfortable, you would love to take a nap there, on the balcony, lulled by the ripple of the waves on the beach. The seagulls fighting over seashells...nothing else to think about, you can spend your whole life there if you want. And I shall remain by your side.” you breathed, feeling him doze off, his hand on your chest becoming limp and landing back on top of the bed. You kept whispering  

And for the first time in his life, Commodus felt like he had something no one could take from him. 

Thanks for reading till the end, don't hesitate to like and comment <3

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[galosreb]

hello! 🥰i really like the way you write commodus and lately i've fallen in love hard with him. could i possibly request something with commodus x reader, where she is a healer he became friends with and she gets to him before he manages to kill marcus aurelius and comforts him?

ofc no pressure :D

Heyyyy! you're request really excited me, I had to write it instantly! so i hope you will enjoy it. Don't hesitate to comment or DM to tell me what you think of it, it really makes me happy to read reviews <3

Wait for me, Commodus x F!healer

The scent of damp earth and burning wood filled the cold night air. Distant echoes of celebration, soldiers laughing, music, the clatter of armor, the occasional shout of victory, passed through the Roman camp, nestled deep in the dense forests of Germania. The battle had been won, but the tension of war still clung to the air, thick as the mist rolling through the trees. 

Inside a modest tent, lit by the glow of oil lamps, you worked in silence. The table before you was cluttered with vials of balm, bandages stained in dried blood, and a bronze mortar filled with crushed herbs. The scent of laurel and myrrh mixed with the ever-present metallic tang of iron. 

Born the daughter of the imperial family's physician, you had spent her childhood in the shadow of power, learning the art of healing at your father’s side. You had been there the night Lucilla was born, watching from a quiet corner as your father worked. And years later, you had stood at the threshold once more, listening to the labored cries of Marcus Aurelius’ wife as she struggled to bring Commodus into the world. You had only been a child then, seven years old, watching with wide eyes as your father reassured the exhausted empress and helped deliver the boy who would one day call himself Caesar. 

Perhaps it was fate that bound the both of you. 

Commodus had never been an easy child, very sensitive, prone to tempers, defiance, and moments of dangerous stillness when the weight of being a ruler’s son settled too heavily on his young shoulders. While others scolded him, pressured him. You had only ever listened. While others treated him as an heir or a disappointment, you had treated him as something far simpler: a boy in need of understanding. 

Now, he was no longer a boy, and neither were you. Now, you followed everywhere the imperial family went, as their personal healer and reinforcement in the case of battles. In fact, you had spent the entire day tending to the wounded, despite the tiredness of entire days of riding to reach Marcus’ Aurelius camp.  

The fabric at the entrance of the tent shifted, and a tall figure stepped inside. You knew who it was before you even looked up. He had that quiet aura when he wandered around. 

"You took your time," you murmured, voice calm but knowing. A small smile playing on your lips as you cleaned your hands in a vinegared water basin. 

Commodus stood before you, clad in his blue and gold tunic which remained spotless, he had arrived too late on the battlefield, to his great relief, you knew. His dark eyes flickered in the low light, restless, troubled. You had witnessed his meeting with his father, cold, without affection from the older man for his son, barely a look and very little words exchanged. 

"You always wait for me..." he said, his voice lower than usual, almost tired. 

You finally met his gaze. Commodus, the boy you had known, the man he was, now seemed different. There was something unspoken in the way he carried himself, a crushing weight that had nothing to do with war. You knew it was due to his father, always was him or the Senate. 

“Of course. I promised to help you sleep didn’t I?” you smiled, approaching him as you pulled your cloak over your shoulders, those forest were very damp. You placed the back of your hand against his forehead to check for fever “No fever. But you seem unwell. Something happened?” you asked, caressing his cheek. You had always been quite intimate with the boy, protective, caring.  He looked down, boyish as if he already craved to be in peace, under a warm blanket. 

“I fear I won’t be able to sleep tonight. Father has requested my presence.” he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his curls. A flicker of restlessness transpired through his entire being. 

You studied him carefully. Bringing your hand to his cheek, slightly rough from unshaved stubbles "You knew this was coming." you said, wanting to reassure him. You and Lucilla had listened to him during the entire trip, rambling passionately about his future plans for Rome, how much he was eager to show his father what he planned for the Empire.   

Commodus nodded, but his fingers twitched where they rested on the edge of the table. He was anxious. Terribly anxious. But not because he feared the meeting, no, the gleam in his eye told her otherwise. 

"You believe this is it.” you said softly. How strange that atmosphere was, a sadness to lose a father soon yet eagerness to inherit what you’ve been prepared for your whole life.  

His gaze snapped to yours, unreadable. Then, slowly, he smirked. It was a fragile thing, thinly veiling something more desperate beneath. "You don’t?" 

You hesitated. You had known Commodus too long, had seen him through too many moments of doubt and yearning. You knew how deeply he craved his father’s approval, how much of himself he had molded to fit the role he thought he was destined for. And now, standing before you, he looked certain. Commodus stepped closer, tilting his head, close to your ear, lowering his voice as if confessing a secret. "It has to be." he said. "The war is over. Father is exhausted, you saw it. Rome will need an emperor soon. Who else would he choose?" He beamed; in that moment he didn’t notice the thought flashing through your mind. 

You could think of one man...Maximus. You had seen how differently he was treated by the emperor. But you said nothing. Then you felt Commodus’ eyes on your face. He exhaled, shaking his head as if to shake off his insecurities "Stay close tonight," he murmured. "When it happens, I want you there." 

She could see it now, the dream playing out in his mind, the moment his father would name him, the way the camp would kneel, the way he would turn to her first, as he always did. As if she was part of it. It made your stomach twist; you had the intuition that unfortunately it wouldn’t go the way he dreamt of.   

"Of course," you replied, because there was no other answer. You had always been at his side. Even now, even when the weight in your chest told you something was terribly, terribly wrong. 

The emperor’s tent was larger than the others, lined with thick furs to stave off the chill. It wasn’t too far from your tent. In case the emperor’s doctor required your assistance for the aging man. Outside, torches burned low, their flickering light barely touching the darkness of the forest beyond. 

Commodus had entered for a few minutes now. You stood just beyond the entrance, your heart pounding, anxiously waiting for any clues of what was being said inside. For now, you could only hear low voices, you couldn’t identify the words. But the atmosphere had grown freezing. Marcus Aurelius speaking was the usual measured and unwavering tone. As for Commodus he was awfully quiet and that was never a good sign. 

Then- 

“I searched the faces of the gods…for ways to please you…to make you proud…one kind word…one full hug, while you pressed me to your chest and held me tight…would have been like the Sun on my heart for a thousand years…what is this in me you hate so much?” you heard Commodus sob, his suffering was clear in the tone of his voice . You closed your eyes. You had known. Somehow you had known. Each words Commodus let out was a cry for help and each reply of his father another blow on his son’s wounded heart. You had witnessed many things on the battlefield, men gutted and bleeding, soldiers clawing at life with the last shreds of their will. But none of it compared to the horror of watching Commodus unravel. 

Suddenly your chest filled with anxiety, your eyes widening, Commodus was breaking. He was panting, erratic and the lack of reaction from his father worsening it all. You clenched your fists; you had to enter. Intervene or something terrible would happen. 

Inside the emperor’s tent, the air was thick, suffocating with the weight of the men’s words.  Commodus’ breath came sharp and uneven, his entire body trembling like a caged animal on the verge of breaking free. His father’s words still hung in the air, cold and absolute. 

“I would have butchered the whole world…if you had only loved me….!” As Commodus pronounced those words, he wrapped his arms around his father. The young man’s mind had fractured under the weight of betrayal. His hands curled into fists, his chest rising and falling with the force of his ragged breaths. The golden glow of the torches flickered over his face, catching the glint of something terrifying in his eyes. 

Not pain. Not sadness. Pure, violent desperation. 

You quickly stepped forward in urgency, understanding what he was about to do. "Commodus," you called, your voice steady despite the hammering of your pulse. But he didn’t hear you. His eyes were locked onto his father, his entire body tense like a predator ready to strike. He had been raised to be Rome’s next emperor. It had been whispered to him since childhood, a truth woven into the very fabric of his existence. And now, with a single sentence, his father had unmade him. 

"You won’t be Emperor.” 

"Maximus." 

A lifetime of belief had just turned to dust in his hands. And Commodus, Commodus did not know how to exist without it. 

"Commodus, stop!" You called again, louder this time as his father finally understood the intent of his son and pushed himself away. 

Thankfully the force of your voice cut through the tent like a blade. Pulling Commodus out of his mad act. He flinched, his breath catching as if your words had grabbed him by the throat. His wild, storming eyes flickered to you. For the first time, he hesitated. 

You took a step closer, slow, deliberate. "Look at me." You said softly. While others always used a firm tone with him, you had understood tenderness had more effect to him. The torment in his face was raw, so excruciatingly human that it nearly broke you. His entire body shook with the force of his rage, his betrayal, the years of longing for love that had just been shattered beyond repair. 

If you let him spiral, if you let him be consumed, you knew what would happen. And you would not lose him to that abyss. 

You reached up, pressing your palm against the side of his face as you had done so many times. "You are not a failure," you whispered. "Not to me." His breath hitched. His skin burned under your touch, feverish with emotion, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought he might shatter beneath the weight of it all. 

But he was listening. Waiting to grasp any ounce of affection he could get. "You are more than what he makes you feel." she murmured. "More than what he denies you." You spoke louder. Ignoring the old man who was perhaps only understanding now what he did. Now, it was just you and Commodus. 

The prince trembled, his eyes begging you. You swallowed down, letting your forehead press lightly against his. "I see you, Commodus. I always have. Always will." 

A shudder tore through his frame at your words, his body collapsing forward into your arms. A strangled breath escaped him, followed by another, a sob... 

He tried to swallow it down, tried to hold himself together, but he was crumbling. Years of yearning, of being dismissed and overlooked, of being told in whispers that he was never enough, it all shattered at once. His hands clutched at you, desperate, like you were the only thing tethering him to this earth. His forehead pressed into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. 

"Why?" His voice was hoarse, thick with unshed tears. "Why does he hate me?" Your chest ached at the rawness in his voice. 

You ran her fingers through his hair, soothing, grounding. "He doesn't hate you," you whispered. "He just...doesn’t see you the way you want him to. Doesn’t see the man you are." A ragged breath. Another tremor. Commodus broke apart in your arms, the fury, the grief, the unbearable weight of rejection spilling from him in unguarded sobs. 

And you held him through all of it. Because you were the only one he ever had. 

The world outside the tent was silent, save for the distant crackle of torches and the occasional murmur of soldiers keeping watch. Inside, the weight of Commodus’ grief filled the space like a storm that had yet to pass. Lucilla had joined, taking care of her father, leaving you the care of her brother. Even though she should have been there for him too.  

You could still feel the trembles running through him, his body pressed against yours as if he were holding on for life. His sobs had quieted, but his breath was still uneven, his fingers still gripping the fabric of your cloak as though, afraid you would slip away. You had never seen him like this before. So unguarded. So stripped of the armor he usually wore. 

And you knew, no one else would ever see him this way. His entire life, Commodus had been performing. For his father, for Rome, for anyone who dared question his worth. But here, in the dim light of the emperor’s tent, there was no mask left to wear. 

You kept running your hand through his dark curls, slow and soothing, waiting for his breathing to even out. "You’re shaking like a leaf my dear" you whispered almost motherly. He didn’t answer right away. Just held onto you tighter. 

"You're the only one who’s ever held me like this." he finally murmured, voice hoarse from unshed tears. You stilled. You had known him since he was a boy, a boy who had grown up feeling like a shadow in his father’s presence, constantly reaching for something just out of his grasp. And yet, even after all these years, he had never known a single touch that wasn’t meant to scold or shape him into something he was not. 

Your heart ached for him. You pulled back just enough to look at him, your fingers tilting his chin up. His blue eyes, still wet with emotion, locked onto yours with a kind of desperation that sent a shiver through you. "Commodus." you murmured, your thumb brushing away a tear on his cheek. 

His breath hitched. His eyelids fluttering. As if something shifted between you. And it did. The way you said his name, the physical proximity you shared...the air grew heavier, charged with something neither of you had ever dared name before. Commodus wasn’t just clinging to you for comfort anymore, he was holding onto the only person who had ever seen him, truly seen him. 

And in that moment, you understood. You had always been his confidante. His safe place. But now, you were something more. A slow exhale left his lips, his forehead pressing against yours. He was still shaking, but not from sorrow anymore. Something else flickered behind his gaze, something raw, something dangerous. Something that had always been there, buried beneath the years. His fingers, still trembling, slid up your arm, tracing over the fabric of your sleeve before coming to rest at your wrist. He swallowed hard. "I don’t want to be alone tonight." he admitted, barely above a whisper. 

You felt your heart knock against your ribs. You had always put your emotions aside. Staying professional, at your place, even if you wished the opposite. Now, those feelings were rushing back to you. You should have stopped it before it went too far. But when you looked into his eyes, all that heartbreak, all that need, you knew you wouldn’t. 

Because the truth was, you didn’t want to leave him either. Not tonight. Not ever. 

The moment Commodus pulled away; you felt the loss of his warmth like a sudden chill in the air. His face was still close to yours, his breath unsteady, his grip lingering on your wrist as if he was afraid you might vanish if he let go. He swallowed down; his blue eyes dark with something unreadable. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the emperor’s tent. 

You hesitated, just for a moment. But then, as if some invisible force was pulling you forward, you followed him. 

The camp had quiet at this hour, the soldiers settled into their tents or hunched over fires, murmuring in low voices. No one paid you any mind. No one dared to. Commodus moved with purpose, his cape billowing behind him, his shoulders tense as if he was still caught in the storm of his own thoughts. 

You could sense it in him. That darkness. That fury. It was dangerous, unpredictable, and yet, you weren’t afraid of him. Perhaps you should have been. 

Your pulse quickened, your footsteps light as you trailed after him through the torch-lit paths of the camp. You had seen Commodus fight. You had seen him order men’s deaths without a second thought. There was something terrifyingly untamed about him tonight, like a lion still pacing after the kill, unable to find peace. 

And yet, that same wildness pulled at something deep inside you. You should have left him to his anger. You should have let him drown in it alone. But instead, you followed. You couldn’t leave him down that path. 

He led you to his tent, pushing through the heavy fabric without looking back. For a moment, you lingered at the entrance, you breath coming slow and measured, your own body betraying you with the faintest tremor. 

The air of the tent was full of his scent, one you always loved it brough such a sense of familiarity. Family. A single lantern flickered on a wooden table, casting long shadows along the tent walls. Commodus stood in the center, his back to you, his fingers pressing into the edge of the table as if grounding himself. The silence stretching between the two of you, almost unbreathable.  

“You followed me,” he murmured, his voice low, almost unreadable. His shoulders were tense, his head hung down.  

“You wanted me to.” you simply replied, calm. Wondering if you should approach to comfort him better.  

He turned then, slowly, deliberately. His face was unreadable, but his eyes burned. Not with rage. Not anymore. But with something else. Something that sent a sharp thrill down your spine. The storm in him hadn’t passed. It had only shifted. And now, it was coming for you, you thought. 

Commodus stood in the dim glow of the lantern, the golden light flickering over his face. His hair was still damp from the night air, stray curls slightly falling against his forehead, his tunic rumpled from where you had held him just minutes before. 

But the vulnerability was gone. In its place was something else, something coiled tight beneath his skin, something watching her with an intensity that sent a slow, heated ache through her stomach. 

You felt yourself almost unable to hold his gaze, wanting to step back. What you resisted for so long was pulling you stronger and stronger towards him. You didn’t manage to tear away your eyes from his, instead it was like your mind slipping into his. 

His chest still rose and fell too fast, his fingers flexed against the wooden table like he was fighting some invisible restraint. His gaze was not leaving you either. "You should leave." Commodus murmured, but his voice was rough, uneven. A warning, or perhaps a plea. 

You swallowed down; your throat dry. "Do you want me to?" You manage to ask. Something dark flickered behind his eyes. He exhaled sharply, running a hand on his chest before stepping forward. Not all the way, just close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin. 

"I don’t know what I want." he admitted as if resisting his pulsion and quickly stepped back again, leaning his back against the table, arms crossed over his chest.  But the way he was looking at you told you otherwise. The silence stretched between you again, the air thick, charged. You should have left then. That would have been the safest thing to do. But you didn’t. 

Instead, you took a step closer. And Commodus didn’t move away. He looked up, watching approach. His aura radiated dangerousness. He was unpredictable. And he was beautiful like this. Not in the way marble statues of emperors were beautiful, cold and untouchable. But in the way of something wild, wounded, and starved. 

You heart pounded. His breathing slowed. And in the flickering light of his tent, with no one else watching, you realized something...you wanted to see just how far he would go. 

The space between you vanished. You cupped his face again, his eyes never leaving yours, becoming darker and darker. Then, Commodus moved, and you didn’t resist. Didn’t step away. Didn’t even flinch as his hands found you, one curling around the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist, firm, possessive. 

His breath was uneven, hot against your skin as he exhaled harshly. His body was still trembling, not from sorrow now, not from despair, but from something else. Something dark, something he couldn’t name but could only act upon. 

"Do you know what you’re doing?" he murmured against your ear, kissing the shell of your ear, his voice ragged. 

"Yes." You nodded; your voice slightly trembling; your cheeks burning from the heat he made you feel.  

His grip tightened. "And do you know what it means if you stay?" 

You did. If you gave herself to him now, there would be no turning back. He would never let you go. He would claim you, make you his in a way that was absolute, undeniable. And you accepted it. 

You were the only one left standing between him and the abyss. If you let go, if you denied him this, if you turned away now...he would shatter. Or worse. He would tear the world apart in his grief. 

You lifted your gaze, meeting the storm in his eyes head-on. "Then take me, Commodus," you whispered. "Keep me. If I can make you happy. If I can show you the beautiful man you are... Then, make me yours." 

A shuddered breath left his lips at your words before he crushed you against him, his mouth finding yours with the desperation of a drowning man grasping for air. He didn’t take you gently. He wasn’t soft. He was starving, insatiable, frenzied, like he had been waiting for this moment his entire life. 

He actually did. From the start you had been there for him. Listening to his heart aches, to his complaints. Healing his physical wounds, helping him to sleep. Perhaps he had realized that he had been blinded by his need to prove himself to his father. So blinded he forgot that you had been there, seeing him. If his father didn’t want him, then hell with it. He had someone else he could satisfy. You had become his anchor now. His obsession. 

The moment Commodus’ lips left yours, the room seemed to swallow you whole. His breath came in harsh pants, his hands still gripping your body. The heat between the two of you was suffocating, the air thick with tension and something darker. 

Your pulse raced as you stared at him, the boy who had become everything to you in these moments, a tempest of grief, desire, and madness that you had never known before. He pulled away just enough to look at you, his eyes wild and burning, as if you had discovered something in the night they hadn’t known existed before. 

And in that moment, you realized just how much power Commodus had over you now. But it worked both ways, you had his life, his fate between your hands. 

“I am not just a prince...no longer an heir...you are no longer just a healer...you and I...it will be our power, our weapon...” he breathed passionately against your lips. You had always believed in him and in the future, you would build something that even the emperor cannot destroy.  

Commodus touch was rough, but his eyes never leaving yours as his fingers slid beneath the edge of your tunic, tugging it upwards, and you let him, your breath hitching as the cool air of the tent met your skin. His lips traced down your neck, his hands pulling you closer until you were pressed against each other, skin to skin, you had seen his naked body many times, touched it. But touching it with passion...desire and even love was as if you touched him for the first time.  

His kisses became slower, as if you were slowly calming down the tempest inside him. Though the intensity of his touch still there but tempered with something deeper, something more intimate. His fingers trailed down your back, leaving a burning path in their wake. 

You could feel the storm would take time to pass but for now, something stronger had taken the lead. Need. It was no longer about possession. It was about holding onto something real, something that could make his life worth living.  

He guided you to the bed, which creaked beneath you as you fell onto it. Commodus wasted no time. He kissed you again, fiercely, all over your body, his hands exploring every part of your body. His ears drinking your cries of pleasure. He was making you his and by doing so he was giving himself entirely to you “Y/N if you break me too...I... I will become the nightmare of this world...and then I will die...die so you can all rejoice over my pitiful existence!” he whimpered against your skin. His fingers bruised your skin, his tongue tasted you. And you held, him, never letting go of that man you always took care of. That you always loved.   

That night, Commodus never left you a moment of rest. Each time the both of you climaxed, after a brief pause filled with tender kisses and touch, he would once again be taken by passion, by that need to you, your warmth wrapped him, clinging to him. Later in the night he found himself gained by tiredness, both physical and mental. He had whimpered, wishing he could keep going, fearing that this wonderful moment in your eyes would never happen again. Or perhaps that it was some frightful dream. Commodus laid beside you, his breath still uneven, but calmer now, as if the weight of his emotions had finally been momentarily lifted. 

You lay against him, your head resting on his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat. It was a stark contrast to the chaos that had just consumed you, his anger, his despair, and the madness that seemed to live just beneath his skin. 

But now, in the aftermath, there was something different. Something softer. Commodus, usually so guarded, now felt almost fragile, like the world he had built around himself had cracked, and for the first time, he was vulnerable. 

He shifted slightly, his arm curling around you, pulling you closer. His fingers traced absently across your arm, a small, almost childlike gesture. 

"You’re still here." he murmured, his voice rough but softer now. "You didn’t leave." 

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you reached up, your fingers brushing against the side of his face, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint stubble that had grown more throughout the night.  

"I’m not going anywhere. I promised you." you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You place a kiss at the place of his heart, as if to heal its deep wounds. 

For a moment, Commodus didn’t speak. He closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath, as if he were finally allowing himself to relax, even if only for a moment. His fingers, still gently tracing the curve of your shoulder, paused for a second before he spoke again. 

"You don’t know what this means to me," he admitted, opening his eyes again and looking at you with a fondness he only kept for you and his sister. 

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. They were still stormy, but there was a flicker of something else there, softness, need, even a touch of shame."I think I have some idea," you replied, you voice steady despite the way your heart beat faster in her chest. "But you don’t have to say it." 

Commodus smiled then, not the wild, dangerous smile he often wore, but something more hesitant, almost shy. It didn’t reach the darkness in his eyes, but it was enough to make your heart flutter in your chest. He reached up, his hand brushing through your hair as he pulled you closer again. "I never wanted to need anyone." he said, his voice barely audible. "But I need you, Y/N." 

His words were a balm, soothing the parts of you that had always feared what might happen if you let yourself be too close. 

"I’m here," she whispered, her own voice thick with the weight of their bond. "And I will stay." In that tender moment, there was no emperor, no heir, no burden of destiny. There was only a man who had let himself be seen, and a woman who had chosen to stay. 

Thank for reading! Comment and likes are always appreciated !

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[galosreb]

[galosreb]

[galosreb]

Hi there, honey! Y'know what? I was thinking about our dear Bobby Green, and how underrated he is and that we have just a few fics about him. How about a smut about him in his cop state and a little pissed off because of an unsolved case, taking his girlfriend (Y/N) in his car and playing with the handcuffs at her wish, sort of that? Thank you!

I am so sorry for the time it took me to answer your request T_T but I hope you and others will enjoy it <3 Bobby is indeed so underrated !

**Brooklyn, 1989**

The police station air was thick with cigarette smoke and frustration. Bobby leaned over his desk, one hand gripping a half-empty coffee cup, the other rubbing his temple. The case file in front of him was a mess...witness statements that contradicted each other, surveillance photos that told him nothing, and a suspect list that was too damn short. A drug bust gone sideways, a key informant shot dead, and the scumbags responsible still nowhere to be found.

His colleagues had warned him; cases like this had a way of eating at you, crawling under your skin until they felt personal. But Bobby was already there, knee-deep in it, his patience worn thin.

“Bobby.” A voice cut through his thoughts. It was one of the rookies, wide-eyed and nervous. “Cap wants to see you.”

Bobby exhaled sharply, shutting the file with more force than necessary. “Yeah, yeah. Tell him I’m comin’.”

He pushed back his chair, grabbed his leather jacket off the backrest, and threw it on. Whatever the captain had to say, Bobby wasn’t in the mood for another lecture on procedure. He needed a break. More than that, he needed a distraction.

And he knew exactly where to find one.

Bobby hopped in his car. The captain was used to his need to vent, his unconventional way of working. And there was nothing he could say about it; Bobby needed this too much. After a half-hour drive, Bobby’s tires screeched as he pulled up outside your apartment, his grip still tight on the wheel. The inside of the car smelled like cigarettes and worn leather, the tension from the precinct still sitting heavy in his chest. He ran a hand down his face, exhaling hard.

A few seconds later, the passenger door opened. You slid in, your perfume cutting through the smoke scent in the car, something soft and familiar that made his jaw unclench just a little.

“Hey, handsome,” you murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. He let you, but he didn’t kiss back. Not yet.

You pulled back, reading him in that way you always did, eyes flicking over his face. “Long day?”

Bobby huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.” He started driving, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming against his thigh.

You watched him for a beat. “You gonna tell me about it?”

“Nah.” His voice was rough, edged with something he wasn’t ready to let go of yet. “Nothin’ you need to worry about.”

You didn’t push. You never did. Instead, you reached out, fingers light on his forearm, tracing over the veins there. A small, teasing touch. “You’re tense.”

Bobby smirked, shaking his head again. “No shit.”

You grinned, letting your nails scrape lightly against his skin. “Maybe I could help with that.”

He glanced at you, finally, eyes dark under the glow of the passing streetlights. “Yeah?”

Your lips curled. “Yeah.”

And then, quieter, more deliberate…

“You still got those handcuffs?” you asked, detailing him in his uniform. If there was one thing exciting about his change of life, it was his uniform, he was terribly sexy in it.

Bobby let out a slow breath through his nose, his fingers tightening around the wheel.

Shit.

"You know me. If we start that way, you won't be able to stop me." He warned you. When he was in that kind of mood, better leave him alone or let him do whatever he needed to do.

"Who said I wanted you to stop, Officer Green?" you replied, your hand traveling down his thigh and squeezing it. His eyes glanced at your hand, his pupils dilating with desire.

"Bobby, look at the road!" you suddenly exclaimed, catching the lights of a car passing close, making him pull on the wheel to correct the car's path.

"Fuck, that was a close one!" he burst out laughing, shaking his head as he steadied the car. "You're gonna get in trouble, sweetheart." Even though he had become a cop, he still had that hint of craziness; that man who enjoyed having fun and took nearly nothing seriously except you.

"Am I, Officer?" You grinned, leaning back against your seat and biting your lower lip as you detailed him suggestively.

Bobby let out a rough chuckle, shaking his head as he flicked the turn signal and pulled the car into a quiet side street. The tires crunched against the pavement as he eased the car to a stop, throwing it into park. The street was dimly lit, empty except for the soft hum of the city in the distance.

He turned toward you, one arm draped lazily over the wheel, the other reaching out to trace his fingers along your jaw. "You keep runnin' that mouth, sweetheart, and you're gonna see just how much trouble you can get into."

Your breath hitched, but you held his gaze, tilting your chin up defiantly. "Maybe that's exactly what I want."

Bobby hummed, low and amused, before his fingers trailed lower, ghosting over your throat, then down your arm. "Yeah?"

You nodded, a slow, deliberate movement. "Yeah." His hand dipped toward his belt, where the cool metal of his handcuffs gleamed under the faint glow of the streetlight. He let his fingers brush over them, teasing. "Then maybe I oughta do somethin’ about that."

The way he looked at you, dark, hungry, sent a shiver down your spine. You swallowed, pulse quickening, anticipation thick between you.

"Then do it," you whispered, a challenge laced in your tone.

Bobby's smirk deepened as he reached for the cuffs, the click of metal loud in the quiet car. "You asked for it, sweetheart." And just like that, his frustration from the precinct faded, replaced by something else entirely, a way to vent, one that only you mastered.

"Put your hands in front of you, madam. Don't do anything harsh or I'll be the bad cop," he spoke, playing his role to perfection. It made you squeeze your legs together, tempted to play naughty already. You put your hands in front of you, an innocent air playing in your eyes.

You watched as he seized your wrists, his grip firm as he secured the cuffs. A little smile played on his lips, his fingers toying with the chain between them, enjoying watching you squirm in anticipation. You squealed when the back of your seat suddenly reclined, nearly flattening out. You had been so captivated by his fingers on your cuffs that you hadn’t noticed him reaching for the lever.

"What? Scared, baby?" he chuckled, a wolfish grin spreading across his face as he shifted onto your seat, his knee pressing between your thighs, teasingly close. His cop hat tilted slightly, the rogue air about him only making your pulse race faster. His hand came to your face, cupping your chin, thumb brushing over your lips. "I'm so fuckin’ lucky to have found you," he murmured.

You kissed his thumb, then lightly sucked the tip, making his breath hitch, his pupils darken with something raw and unrestrained. "My handsome… officer. But please don't stop," you whispered, swallowing hard as he grabbed your cuffed wrists, pinning them above your head.

His mouth brushed over yours, teasing, taunting. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk. "I ain't stoppin’ till you beg me to." His words made you shudder, your pussy aching already from arousal. 

"My such a good girl, so needy already..." he chuckled at your reaction "I can feel how wet you are for me darlin'..." he purred, referring to his knee pressed between your legs. He could feel your warmth, your moisture transpiring through your panties. 

He licked his lips, taking out his knife. He brushed it against your breast, loving the way you gasped as the cold metal of a blade brushed against your hard nipples through your shirt. The blade slid down to your belly and under your shirt. He pressed slightly, the blade so sharp that it easily made your buttons pop, exposing your breast without bra.

"Hmmm...you did it on purpose don't you? to get some officer’s attention?" he played, in fact he was right, you loved to provoke him, tease him in the most inappropriate times. 

"Perhaps...take off the rest and I'll show you..." you purred, undulating your body suggestively. Bobby exhaled, not able to make you wait any longer. He placed his mouth on your chest, kissing your breast, fondly, hungrily. One hand cupping it as he kissed and nibbled your nipple. 

His other hand let go of the knife to travel down your body once again, sliding underneath your skirt until it reached your laced panties "Oh...I see...missing your Bobby huh?" he smirked, his fingers pressing against your pussy, feeling how much it had wet your panties.  His mouth went up to your neck, covering your skin in slow, sloppy kisses, his nose inhaling your scent. One that made him lose his mind. You started moaning under his touch, closing your eyes to enjoy the full sensation of his lips, his fingers all over you. You moved your arms to grab his hair, loving to bury your fingers in those thick curls. 

But he stopped you, sizing your cuffed wrist "Huhuh no sweetheart. Can't touch a man of the law." he teased you, pushing your arms up again but a sly light flashed through his eyes "Unless he orders you to. Undo my pants baby." he ordered you, his voice hoarse from arousal, letting you lower your arms again.

You panted excitedly, the chain of the cuffs clicking as you worked to undo his belt, licking your lips as you enjoyed the sight of his swollen bulge pressing through those fitting pants. You flattened your palms, rubbing them slowly against it, teasing him back, watching as he opened his mouth, and moved his hips "Oh you're trying my patience..." he moaned, his hand caressing your neck, grabbing a handful of your hair as he enjoyed your touch. 

Deep down, you wished you weren't in that damn uncomfortable car so you would take your time, use your mouth...but in that tight space it wasn't possible. Anyway, you knew you would have plenty of time later to quench your thirst. Your fingers unzipped his pants slowly as you made eye contact with Bobby, provocative, he was at your mercy right now, his eyes, his entire body begging for more. "Huh....missing your sweetheart huh officer?" you teased him back, using the same words he had used for you while you uncovered his hard manhood.

His pupils dilated, his breathing faster “Enough.” He groaned, grabbing the chain of your cuffs again and lifting them above your head as he crashed his lips against yours. He didn’t let you touch his erection no more. No, now he wanted one thing, and your hands wouldn’t be enough.

He grabbed your thighs and lifted them, pulling you closer to his hips. You gasped as you felt his cock press against your panties, rubbing against your sensitive spot. He licked his lips, his fingers pushing away your panties to expose your hole. “Do it Bobby, I can’t wait any longer!” you whined. Your cries terribly aroused him, he pushed his hips forward, and penetrated you, gasping excitedly.

“Ah…Y/N…!” he breathed, his left hand squeezing your tied wrist, his pinky finger entwinning with yours. He couldn’t help those tender gestures, and it was something you loved. Bobby always pretended to be a bad boy, you knew it was just a façade. You wrapped your legs around him, encouraging his hungry thrusts, your arms already aching from being held up but damn it was so hot.

His mouth crashed against yours once again in a heated battle that none of you would win. His hat fell over, the car slightly creaking from the movement of your entwined bodies. The metal and glass of the car not able to conceal your moans. You didn’t give a fuck, no one would say a thing to a cop.

Soon, Bobby’s grip on the cuffs weakened, his hand wanting to steady your hips better. You took that opportunity to trap Bobby in your embrace, your tied wrist nuzzling around his neck, your legs pressing him deeper inside you. It made both of you reach peak, pleasure becoming more and more overwhelming, your voices higher pitch.

Finally, you came, you back arching and your legs quivering, your mind dazed. After a few more erratic thrusts Bobby came as well, his warm seed filling your insides. He collapsed onto you, burying his face in your neck, his fingers holding tight the edges of your skirt.

He exhaled soundly, his body fully relaxing against yours as you buried your fingers in his curls “Feeling better Bobby?” you asked after a pause, kissing his forehead.

He nodded, letting out a happy groan. He placed small tender kisses on your skin. His mind felt much lighter, much clearer now. His thoughts couldn’t help but drift back to his investigation for a moment.

“What is it?” you cocked an eyebrow as he quickly lifted his head, his expressing shifting from pure bliss of love making to realization, his eyes moving in a way to show he was thinking quickly.

“Shit…!” he beamed, quickly reaching for his cap “We have to go back to the station!” he exclaimed, giving you a big kiss before parting from you all disheveled.

You blinked, still catching your breath. “What?”

He ran a hand through his hair, a new energy sparking in his gaze. “I just figured it out, the case. I know where to look.”

You exhaled a breathless laugh, shaking your head. “Of course you do.” he gave you his coat to cover your exposed chest and zipped his pants, forgetting to put his shirt back into it. He was about to turn the car on.

“Wait! Undo my cuffs!” you laughed, glad to have help him. Pride filled your chest, he had become such a good man and worked so hard for it.

“A shame…I wish I kept you in custody for a little more…” he flirted, reaching for the keys and freeing you from the cuffs. But tonight though…he put the cuffs and keys in your purse, winking at you as he put the contact on “Guess you’re ridin’ with me, sweetheart. Let’s go catch some bad guys.” He grinned, off to his investigation but this time with you, his most essential motivation by his side.

tag list: @skaravile @lyoongx @weirdflecksbutok @charlie-sisters @stardancerluv @sgtsavoytruffle @ohcarlesmycarles @rajacero @niniitah-ah @morrisonmercurryphoenix @fly-like-a-phoenix @thatdummy-girl​r @galos-writing @pstvchld @chiclunatic @hellcatrising

[galosreb]

i want the priest (a hot one) to tell ive worked hard and then i want him to play the fnaf kids yay sfx at my funeral. thanks

[galosreb]

my comfort characters too, and, as an only child, kinda envying them too

OK. I'm not saying that they are my comfort characters but they are my comfort characters

[galosreb]

[galosreb]

NEW TRAILER