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littlenerdybee · 7 days ago

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❝SAVE YOUR TEARS.❞ ― 𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐄 𝚰𝚰, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞.

PLAYER!ELLIE ﾒ MEAN!READER ─ ALWAYS PLAY THE PLAYER.

❝YEAH, I BROKE YOUR HEART LIKE SOMEONE DID TO MINE, AND NOW YOU WON’T LOVE ME FOR A SECOND TIME❞

ᝰ.ᐟ⌞SUMMARY⌝ ﹕ A year after that devastating summer, Ellie is stunned to see you again—this time at a summer camp where you’re both working. The girl who once led her on and then disappeared without a trace is back, but Ellie’s no longer the naive girl you once played. Still aching from the way you broke her heart, Ellie is filled with a desire for revenge. She wants to make you feel the same confusion and hurt she felt. She’s ready to pull you into the same emotional game she was trapped in, to finally get her payback. But as she carefully lays her plans, Ellie finds herself in uncharted territory. She’s never been one for revenge, and now that the opportunity is in front of her, she begins to question if it will really give her the closure she craves—or if it will leave her with something far worse. Is revenge really worth it, or will Ellie learn the hard way that some wounds can’t be healed by hurting the person who caused them?

✶.ᐟ⌞THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS⌝﹕4.1k words⨾ 18+ CONTENT⨾ no use of y/n⨾ cunnilingus (𝑒!receiving)⨾ use of alcohol⨾ reader being down bad⨾ angst⨾ sub/loser/delusional!ellie (enjoy it while you can.)

.ᐟ.ᐟ⌞AUTHOR’S NOTE⌝ ﹕oh! it’s been a minute, huh? anyway, my babies are back. finally. just using this author’s note to let you all know that the girl who inspired this (yes, because this shit is basically half true, i was just venting like a total loser this whole time) is now dating a guy! insane. truly wild times… sigh. anywhore, enjoy the chapter──proofread by @sapphichotmess !!

#.ᐟ ⌞CHAPTERS⌝ ↯

˗ˏˋ catch up, will ya? •｡𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕦𝕖 ⋆ 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ⋆ 𝐭𝐰𝐨 ⋆ 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 ⋆ 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 ⋆ 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 ⋆ 𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞ˎˊ˗

𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒.

The night had been perfect, and so was Natalie. She had gone all out, picking you up in her Porsche, jasmine scent clinging to her glowing skin. The satin black dress hugged every inch of the mature woman perfectly, and you found yourself practically salivating at the way her tits threatened to spill from the shiny fabric. You felt disgusting, but you knew she wore it for a reason—so, was it entirely your fault for behaving like a caged animal that hadn’t seen a woman in ages? Or maybe you were just starting to behave like a man and that thought horrified you.

At dinner, she ordered for you without hesitation, with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how to give you the night of your life, and that alone made you want to eat her out from under the table. She poured expensive champagne into your glass, watching you through her lash extensions as you took your first sip.

The flickering candlelight did little to soften her features, no hint of platonic warmth lay in her eyes, only the kind of focus of someone who had their agenda clear for the rest of the night. It didn’t take a genius, to be fair. You could tell by the placement of her hand, her fingers claiming territory beneath the tablecloth, her thumb tracing languid orbits onto your skin. You knew exactly what awaited you once you were away from all the prying eyes and you didn’t mind it one bit.

The entire drive back to your apartment, her hand rested high on your inner thigh, squeezing it ever so slightly every time you giggled, flustered like some pathetic schoolgirl crushing on her way too attractive teacher.

Natalie was nearly twice your age, though she barely looked it—breathtakingly gorgeous, long, sleek black hair always flawless, her eyes so strikingly grey they looked like glaciers in the passing streetlights. She could make anyone weak in the knees, and then walk away gracefully in her Louis Vuitton heels without ever looking back. Even you’d let her step on you and thank her for the honour.

She had confided in you before, late nights spent in relentless complaints that you listened to because you wanted to, and every time she shared her struggles, you couldn’t help but wonder how any man could be so fucking stupid. You already knew from experience that men like him were nothing but brainless little puppies; her husband, though, was some uglier breed. How could he let all that slip through his useless fingers?

Then again, maybe she was simply too much for him. You weren’t even surprised. Men had a habit of being handed treasures only to let them collect dust, treating women like nothing more than trophies. It was always the ugly ones with nothing to offer but a nonexistent ego and an insatiable need to be worshiped.

You weren’t even sure how things had started between you and Natalie. Maybe it was that one long night after babysitting her son, when, after a few glasses of wine, you’d playfully told her that you’d never considered sleeping with someone nearly your mom’s age before. She had only laughed, feeling a little too flattered. That’s when your nights started looking a little different—fucking her like no man ever had, legs locked tightly around your head, making her writhe like never before.

Once back at your apartment, the door had barely clicked shut before her lips urgently smudged her red lipstick across your neck. Her hands wandered like lost guests, except they weren’t lost at all, and knew exactly where they wanted to go, pushing the strap of your dress down with her nails. The scent of jasmine perfume still clung to her, mixing with the faintest trace of wine on her breath as she pressed against you from behind, hips glued to your ass.

“Missed this,” she whispered into your ear, insistent fingers already working to lift the hem of your dress. “Missed you.”

As if she hadn’t been over just days ago, bent over your kitchen counter like a whore, tits smashed against cold marble, mumbling something about you getting her pregnant while you split her open with the strap-on she had practically forced into your hands. Red claws carved love notes down your back as you fucked her dumb, her nectar making a mess of your floor. And now, she was back at it, all needy and impatient, grinding against you like she couldn’t stand the thin fabric keeping your bodies apart.

The scrape of her nails marked your skin from shoulder to forearm, raising tiny bumps. Simultaneously, her other hand ghosted over your ribs before her palm settled to mold itself against your breast, kneading it gently. Your glossed lips quivered slightly as you sighed, your head tipping to the side, silently urging her further, her fat tits pressing into your back. She was just tall enough to make you feel caged in, but never enough to make you back down.

Her lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, “Gonna treat you so good tonight, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.”

She tucked your hair over one shoulder, her eyes lingering on the blooming red stains she had painted across your skin, admiring her handiwork under the soft lights of the kitchen.

“Why don’t you go get the toy I got you, hm?” she suggested, her lips pressing a lingering kiss over the very spot she knew would make you melt into her further.

Your stomach tightened at her words, heat pooling low in your poor cunt. You let out a breathy chuckle, pushing your ass back into her, grinning when she subtly ground against it.

“Now, that’s a good idea.”

Her wine-flavored breath brushed against your cheek while she laughed against you, urging your ass into her. “I had a feeling you’d go along with it.” Her red nails pinched at the soft fabric clinging to your hips, tugging teasingly. “Will you let me wear it this time?”

You snorted lightly, grinning over your shoulder. “You wish.”

“Bet I can change that real quick.”

You loved that about her—how she always tried to take control, even when the battle was already lost. It was cute watching her push and tease, pretending she had the upper hand when you both knew better.

But you let her play the game anyway, just to see how long she’d last.

Delicate hands slid back up, groping both your breasts through the thin fabric of your dress so neither felt neglected. Natalie pulled your aching buds between her fingers just enough to make you suck in a breath.

“Love the way this dress looks on you.” Her lips found the curve of your exposed shoulder, trailing open-mouthed kisses against salty skin. She had you melting right under her fingertips and she hadn’t even come near your cunt yet. Funny how milfs work. “But it’d look even better on the floor, don’t you think?”

“You’re gonna look even better bent over this counter, don’t you think?” You managed to fire back smoothly despite the subtle catch in your throat, almost as if her touch had momentarily constricted your breathing, pressing right on your diaphragm.

She delivered a throaty chuckle straight into your neck. “You never let up, do you?”

“Never.”

You turned in her arms, your hands finding her hips, parting those smooth, sculpted thighs with one of your own, not even pressing in just yet. And God, may he smite you where you stand for being just as disgusting as the countless sleazy men she’s dodged in her life, but you’d gladly give her son Evan a sibling if biology allowed it.

Maybe an exorcism would fix you. Or maybe bending her over and fucking her dumb in doggy position would do the trick. Who knew.

Either way, her turgid nipples beneath the satin dress brushed yours—and you swore you could her them beg to be sucked on, bitten into. Her hand gently threaded through your strands, even though she had long since ruined your once-perfect hairstyle.

But to her, you still looked perfect. Maybe even better like this. Perhaps it was the thrill of it, of being with someone she shouldn’t be with. Someone younger. Someone reckless, someone who almost had as much vitality as her, who didn’t care about rules or what was right.

There was something about that she found irresistible. It wasn’t just the way you moved around, but the way you always knew what you were doing, like you were born knowing exactly how to handle a woman like her.

And that did things to her. Things she wasn’t proud of.

Her fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face up so she could let her lips linger on yours, her tongue sweeping against yours in a way that made your hands twitch on her and drag her closer. She pulled away just enough to murmur against your mouth, “That’s what I like about you.”

You didn’t even bother responding, too busy fumbling with the zipper on her back, pulling it down with a hasty jerk.

She pressed herself against you, her breath erratic in your ear, her breasts spilling over from the loosened fabric. Your pulse pounded, body reacting to every little sound she made, every little shift of her hips against yours—until her eyes fluttered open and locked on something just behind you.

“Has that painting always been there?”

That was all it took for your hands to freeze on her back.

Of all the fucking moments.

The heat between your thighs vanished like it had never been there, wetness gone in an instant, dried up all at once. But she didn’t notice. Her fingertips continued to skim up and down your arms, still lost in the fire of the moment.

She wondered how she had never noticed it before, despite having been here countless times. Even with her dress barely clinging to her body and your hands poised to rip it off, her attention was drawn to it like an afterthought that refused to be ignored, the only thing worth worrying about.

You genuinely hoped, with all yourself, she would just let it go. It wasn’t like she could see the meaning behind it. To her, it was probably just an abstract piece of art.

But it was too big to ignore. A piece of something long dead you’d tried to bury, almost laughable when you thought about it—you still had her things scattered around your apartment. Even as you moved out, you’d brought her stuff with you.

So, were you truly trying to leave it all behind?

“Yeah,” You croaked out. The hands that had been restlessly pulling at her dress now fell still at your sides. Natalie blinked, tilting her head slightly to the side to glance back at you.

“I think I’m more tired than I realized.” You made a small sound in your throat, the space between you yawning wide.

Her full lips parted just a hair, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face like a shooting star, dying just as quickly. You knew she had been expecting more after the expensive dinner she had kindly offered you, but Natalie wasn’t like the men she had been with before. She knew how to take a hint and wasn’t going to push. She was a lady, after all.

“Oh,” she forced a gentle smile on, her hands cupping your face as her thumbs tenderly mapped the curve of your cheekbones. “That’s okay, my love.”

“You sure?”

She hummed softly, leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead, leaving behind one last stain of deep red before letting go of you. Her sweet scent enveloped you, smothering whatever ugly feeling had started to resurface. It was sweet, but nothing like Ellie’s.

Natalie smelled like safety, like she could give you everything you thought you needed—but you didn’t get dizzy from it. There was no pine, no worn flannel, no trace of soft detergent or that faint floral earthiness that floats in the air only after a summer downpour. No, this one was just nice, clean, and forgettable.

Nothing you’d want to memorize because you didn’t want to learn another scent.

For an unexpected moment, you felt guilty for thinking of her and pulling away from this goddess after such an incredible night. She had treated you so right, and you wanted to repay her somehow, by ending the night on an even higher note—or moan. But the truth was, you just weren’t feeling it, and that was absurd because you not being in the mood? What a rarity.

“I should probably head home anyway. It’s late, and to be honest…” The older woman trailed off as she batted her lashes. “I don’t exactly trust my new babysitter with Evan.” Her smile broadened, twin dimples forming in her cheeks.

That made you snort softly, feeling the tension inside you crumble just a little. “Hey, as soon as I get back from that stupid camp, he’s all mine again,” you promised, grinning.

“Nuh-uh, you need to focus on your studies,” she scolded, voice dipping into something almost motherly, fingers fixing your hair gently, pulling your dress strap back into place.

“I’ll be free on weekends, though.”

The corners of Natalie’s lips lifted, the bold red of her lipstick blurred around the edges from the way her mouth had pressed against yours. She looked like a silk-clad nympho, dark tendrils of her hair artfully shadowing the curves of her cheekbones—the wet fantasy of many.

And yet, standing within arm’s reach, you didn’t want her.

Something was missing, you felt it in the sickening hollow carved into your chest.

“I hope you had a good night.”

Your head bobbed faintly. “I sure did.”

The coal-haired woman swiftly collected her things, donned her coat, and was gone in the blink of an eye. You stayed by the door, observing as her expensive car drove off into the night, her perfume lingering in the air.

A pitiful whine broke through your daze. You sighed, glanced down, and there she was. A golden furball, sitting at your feet with her head tilted, tongue poking out, giving you that silly look. The “I haven’t been walked yet, and I’m not happy about it” look. Her big, pleading, earthy eyes met yours, and guilt twisted in your stomach. How dare you forget to walk your baby?

“I know, Pumpkin… I haven’t forgotten about your walk,” you reassured, running a hand through your locks. A soft, almost human sigh preceded a sudden burst of energy as you announced, “leash! Go get your leash, baby.” Her tail thumped excitedly before she bolted towards the living room.

The corners of your mouth quirked upwards in a fond smile, but as you turned back toward the painting, the smile turned lopsided, looking more like a pout than anything. Because no matter how much you tried to ignore it, that canvas was still hanging there.

And no matter how good Natalie had made you feel tonight, no matter how much she tried to fuck the ghost of Ellie out of you, Ellie was still there.

Still haunting you.

It was useless.

The languid drag of a warm tongue against Ellie’s clit should’ve had her sinking into the mattress, fingers gripping tight, panting like a dog and dragging the girl deeper between her thighs.

But the redhead barely felt it.

The girl’s deep brown skin gleamed under the shitty yellow light of the bedroom lamp, her swollen lips glossed with Ellie’s slick. But the way she had been looking up at her the entire night wasn’t what Ellie needed.

The autumn-haired girl could tell she wanted more than just a hookup, which was exactly what Ellie wasn’t looking for. She fisted a hand into thick curls, tugging the girl further between her spread thighs, trying to chase something that could make her body feel again. Yet, the pleasure was dull, forced, like chasing a high that never really hits. Like ordering some overpriced edibles from a shady website, only to realize it was all a scam.

Strange, really—because the freckled girl remembered sex as something that made her forget her own name, yet her mind was buzzing with overlapping thoughts, refusing to blur. She wasn’t forgetting a thing. If anything, she could have traced her name onto the girl’s scalp just to prove how much of a bad idea this was. How bad it all felt.

Her grip tightened. The girl, short, all curves, and devastatingly pretty, let out a whimper against her, but the sound barely stirred any reaction from Ellie’s gut. She didn’t even like the way the girl sounded.

Ellie blinked up at the ceiling, the spinning fan above blurring into nothing but a fog of regrets. Her head ached, her palm wiping away some of the sweat clinging to her creased forehead. The music from downstairs throbbed through walls, the bass barely vibrating picture frames, the muffled voices unable to mask the little slurps between her thighs, tentative darts of a tongue working too hard to coax out a sensation.

The brunette inbetween her thighs sucked gently at her clit, her tongue circling, nudging under the hood, waiting for a reaction that Ellie never gave. She wasn’t bad, just—fuck, Ellie didn’t know.

Something was missing. She had expected to be panting, rolling her hips into a warm mouth, begging for more. But instead, she just stared down at her, watching as she fumbled, looking so fucking proud of herself, and felt nothing.

Maybe she didn’t even want this. Which was fucking insane because she had been aching for it all day, and now, with a real mouth between her legs instead of her beloved rose toy, she felt like she could roll over and nap.

Maybe it was the alcohol numbing her nerves, perhaps her hangover already creeping in. Maybe it was the fact that she couldn’t remember the girl’s name. Or maybe it was the way her body refused to react.

Either way, the freckled girl felt blessed for not having a dick, because if she did, she was sure as hell it would’ve gone soft the second this girl laid hands on her.

On second thought, maybe it wouldn’t have changed much, because her pussy was some numb little thing that stayed unresponsive the moment a girl she didn’t want touched her.

Someone who wasn’t you. Or maybe it was Ellie’s heart that was the problem, shutting down the rest—but since when were pussy and heart even connected?

“Oh, fuck… yeah, mhm, just like that.” Her voice came out strained, but not from pleasure. Just exhaustion, frustration.

Maybe that’s why she agreed to this in the first place.

She had been lingering by the counter, taking shot after shot of vodka, barely listening to Dina ramble about something, when this girl had slid up beside her—all coy smile, dewy brown eyes, tight little blue dress showing off her fat ass. She was cute. A little shy but bold enough to flirt with Ellie like she had already won.

Maybe that’s what did it. The way her hands kept trailing up Ellie’s tattooed forearm, eyes flicking to her mouth every few seconds, licking at her glossed lips like she couldn’t wait to taste her.

So Ellie let her.

Let her grab her hand and pull her up the stairs. Let her shove her onto some random bedroom mattress and sink to her knees like she was about to confess every sin she was about to commit. Let another girl undress her and her tongue do her thing, and let herself pretend for a second that it wasn’t awful.

But she was fucking bored. She could be in her room, lost in video games or buried in comics. Instead, her head pounded from the cheap alcohol Jesse had shoved into her hand, and her stomach turned from whatever jungle juice Dina had forced down her throat earlier.

Her eyelids fluttered shut, and suddenly, it wasn’t some nameless girl kneeling between her legs anymore.

It was you.

It was only then that her body finally reacted. Suddenly, she was moaning.

She could almost feel the ghost of you her memory was painting in her mind—could feel the delicious heat licking at her spine, her stomach tightening, your tongue sucking her in hungrily. She could feel you smile against her, feel the way you pressed a little closer, your tongue gliding through her slit like a credit card, wanting nothing more than to drive her insane.

The girl whimpered, her hands smoothing up Ellie’s thighs, squeezing, nails biting into porcelain skin. But still, all she could see was you looking up at her with those wide eyes, hungry for her. Her hand guiding your head, showing you exactly how she wanted to be devoured.

Ellie’s hips rolled into the girl’s mouth, fingers twisting painfully into disheveled curls, “Mmm, yeah, fuck—just like that, baby.”

The girl whimpered again, encouraged, hands gripping Ellie’s thighs tightly.

Her mind kept dragging her back to the way your lips felt when they latched onto the soft skin of her inner thighs like a leech, sucking deep lavenders into her flesh, marking her. To the way your mean fingernails would bite into her dips, holding her like you’d fucking perish if you let go. To the expert strokes of your wet muscle against her pained nub, torturing her just to make her beg.

Her moans only got louder and it wasn’t thanks to the girl between her legs.

“Shit, yeah—fuuuck, you’re so good, ’m so, so close—”

And then the warmth in her stomach was gone, and so was the ghost of you.

Ellie’s climax was ripped away as the girl suddenly pulled back, gasping for air, her lips glossy with her juices and swollen. Her glassy, green eyes snapped open as she propped herself up on her elbows. “Why did you stop?”

Still panting, the girl’s uncertain eyes fixed upwards as she brushed a stray curl from her face, “You’ve been saying you’re close for the past thirty minutes, Eleanor.”

Her stomach dropped.

Ellie’s eyes narrowed at the way she butchered her name—as if Cupid himself was fucking with her. Because suddenly, it didn’t just feel like you were in her head; it felt like you were right here in the room, grinning, watching as the moment crumbled around her. Proud of yourself for ruining her so completely that she couldn’t even finish without you invading her thoughts. That even with someone else between her legs, it was still you that had her body and soul tied to.

“Is it me? Am I that bad?”

A soft sigh accompanied the downward sweep of Ellie’s hand across her warm, blush-dusted face. “No, it’s just—” She pushed herself upright, her mind already sifting through shitty excuses to spoon-feed this sweet little thing blinking up at her.

The smell of her perfume was way too sweet—revolting, even—and Ellie hated how it coated her tongue every time she sucked in a breath.

“Guess ’m too drunk for this,” she shoved her reddish bangs back, though it clung there, stubbornly sticking with sweat at her temples.

The girl pouted subtly, studying her for a moment, before nodding softly, looking a little hurt. “It’s okay,” she soothed, climbing onto Ellie’s body and pressing a slow kiss on her mouth. The kiss felt far too lingering for the freckled girl’s taste, and she found herself counting down the seconds until the girl finally pulled away.

Only Ellie knew how much effort it took to swallow the revulsion rising in her throat, to stay still, to keep from wiping the girl’s spit off her lips the moment it ended.

And yet, despite how catastrophic the whole thing had been, the first thing the curly-haired girl asked was if she could have her number, maybe hang out sometime that week.

But Ellie was already scooting away, reciting her digits quickly. Her movements were frantic as she hastily pulled her clothes back on, watching the girl type it in, beaming as if Ellie had just gifted her the very fucking stars.

She needed air, or maybe she just needed an escape.

It was almost adorable, the way she bounced on her feet before the bedroom door clicked shut behind her, leaving Ellie alone, drowning in thoughts louder than the music still thumping through the walls.

Sweat cooled against her pale skin, her stomach twisting from alcohol and regret.

She should feel bad for giving that sweet girl the wrong number. Should feel something.

But she didn’t.

Because when her eyes shut, it was you she was thinking of.

.⊹⋆.˚ TAGLIST ﹕ @rew1nds @satellitespinner @boobdrug @ivying @elliewilliamsbelovedwife @mina-281 @hysteriawillnotsuccumb @chxrryvalxntine @bookpagecandlescent @fionaapplelover2010 @andersonslove @macaroni676 @elliesbabygirl @vampcubus @visupremacysstuff @elssaphica @kaykeryyy @nenas19 @rxreaqia @fatbootymuncher @dying-brb @euphoric-rush @intothespidersweb @d1psht @prettygirlfemme @antobooh @vahnilla @na0koz @sta-rcrossed @evaprincessx @prwttiestbunny @liasxeatt @hitmehardmommy @pearlplui @pray4carsss @bambiaches @piscesthepoet @iadorefineshyt 1800-i-eat-pussy @morticeras @ellesrad @l0veylace @juiceboxfullofslime @luvherguts @moonfloweredprincess prettybabylol eriiwaiii2 [COMMENT TO BE ADDED!]

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littlenerdybee · 7 days ago

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Last Updated: 2025-05-27

Disclaimer: I am not the author of these stories, just sharing my favourite Anthony Bridgerton stories. Find the authors' links below. If you want your work removed, message me privately.

Legend: 〔E〕 ⇢ Erotic/Steamy￨〔F〕 ⇢ Fluff￨〔A〕 ⇢ Angst/Hurt 〔M〕 ⇢ Minor Angst/Hurt￨〔C〕 ⇢ Comfort￨〔S〕 ⇢ Suspense￨ ♥︎ ⇢ Established Relationship￨𑁍 ⇢ Pregnancy/Children￨🚫 ⇢ Content Warning

✑ Art is to Feel by peterpparkrr • 〔F᜶A〕 •

Synopsis: Anthony Bridgerton has only one goal for this upcoming social season. To find a wife. What will he do when a young woman with no desire for marriage comes waltzing into his life?

✑ Not So Simple by atlabeth • 〔F᜶A〕 •

Synopsis: Coercing Lord Bridgerton into pretending to court you to avoid the affections of a Baron is very simple. that is, of course, until it isn't.

✑ A Beneficial Arrangement by fayes-fics • 18+ • 〔F᜶E〕 •

Synopsis: A marriage pact with a Viscount. What could possibly go wrong?

✑ A Bridgerton Captivity by heloisedaphnebrightmore • 〔A᜶F〕 •

Synopsis: Eloise and Benedict grow tired of you and Anthony avoiding each other. They decide to intervene in the most inappropriate way possible.

✑ A Lack of Convincing by benedictscanvas • 〔F᜶E〕 • ♥︎ •

Synopsis: In which you and Anthony attempt to wait to show everyone your love for each other, but you can’t quite stop staring at him.

✑ A Long Time by rubysunnday • 〔F᜶A〕 •

Synopsis: You've waited a long, long time for Anthony to finally declare he was ready to marry. However, by the time he finally decides to find a wife, you have run out of time, and Anthony is suddenly faced with losing you to someone else.

✑ A Sudden Arrival

✑ An Innocent Glimpse by kiaraldias • 〔E᜶F〕 •

Synopsis: A simple mistake turns utterly scandalous when you walk in on Anthony Bridgerton stepping into his bath—completely bare—unaware that your innocent fascination is unravelling him entirely

✑ Anthony's Darlings by imthebadguyyy • 〔F〕 • 𑁍 •

✑ Arrangement by jswizzlewrites • 〔F᜶A〕 •

Synopsis: Anthony and Y/N find themselves in an arranged marriage, but could it be more?

✑ Atonement by fayes-fics • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

Synopsis: Anthony returns home early and catches you breaking his rules.

✑ Awakening by fayes-fics • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

Synopsis: You experience an awakening a few days into your arranged marriage with the Viscount.

✑ Baby, Baby, Sweet Baby by iliveiloveiwrite • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

Synopsis: Anthony and you enjoy first-time parenthood.

✑ Beginning Again

Synopsis: You were supposed to marry a horrible man to help save your family who were struggling with money problems. Instead however, a surprising hero saves the day for you.

✑ Bickering by ijustwant2write • 〔F〕 •

Synopsis: Anthony yearns to despise you and sweep you off your feet in equal measure.

✑ Birthday Cake by imthebadguyyy • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Synopsis: The Viscount tries to bake you a special birthday treat with his siblings.

✑ Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain by favefandomimagines • 〔A᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

Synopsis: Your marriage to Anthony was a dream; until it all went slightly sour.

✑ Bridgerton Blues, the by imthebadguyyy • 18+ • 〔F᜶E〕 • ♥︎ •

Synopsis: It's the first time after your wedding, Anthony sees you sporting the signature Bridgerton blue, and it does things to him that he can only express in a much more....physical manner.

✑ Card Games and Cocktails by iliveiloveiwrite • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Synopsis: You get a little too drunk after playing cards with the ladies. Thankfully, your beloved husband is there to take care of you.

✑ Care to Dance? by imagine-that • 〔F᜶A〕 •

Synopsis: Who'd have thought a dance with the Viscount could lead to such shocking revelations?

✑ Causing a Fuss by ijustwant2write • 〔F᜶M〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

Synopsis: Prehaps you should have heeded your husband's advice to embrace bed rest during the final weeks of your pregnancy.

✑ Dear Anthony by vintunnavaa • 〔F᜶M〕 •

Synopsis: If you thought that having an unrequited crush on Anthony was troublesome, wait till you write and lose the letter you wrote for him.

✑ Distraction by peterpparkrr • 〔F〕 •

Synopsis: What happens when Daphne asks you to distract her brother, Anthony, so that she can enjoy the ball without interruptions?

✑ Distraction by shelby-love • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Synopsis: Reader wakes up in a rush once she knew there are visitors, but Anthony seemed to want to make her reader stay in bed.

✑ Don't Believe Everything You Read by captainsophiestark • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Synopsis: A wannabe Whistledown is posting some awful rumours, but luckily for Anthony, his wife knows him well enough that she doesn't believe them.

✑ Don't Blame Me by peachpitfics • 18+ • 〔A᜶E〕 •

Summary: Daphne Bridgerton is your closest childhood friend, and her eldest brother, Anthony, is the love of your life. After avoiding each other for years, you both finally lose control.

✑ Enchanted by delehosies • 〔F〕 •

Synopsis: In which Anthony Bridgerton is enchanted to meet you.

✑ Every Breath You Take by anastasiareadsnwrites • 18+ • 〔F᜶E〕 • ♥︎ •

Synopsis: It's really happening, believe it or not. You are finally married to Anthony Bridgerton, the Viscount. Unfortunately, no one had prepared you for the marital act, leaving Anthony to guide you through it.

✑ Feeling of Nature, the by shelbgrey • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

Synopsis: You and Anthony are in the midst of silent treatment after an argument. This was when your pettiness really showed, you'd stay silent and at the same time tease each other till the other one cracks.

✑ Five Times I Whispered 'I Love You.' by randomfanfics02 • 〔F᜶M〕 •

Synopsis: Being Daphne's best friend had its perks, growing up alongside the Bridgerton family, going to the balls with them, and falling in love with her older brother.

✑ Forbidden Desire by whispersoftheton • 〔A᜶F〕 •

Synopsis: {…}

✑ Four and One by imthebadguyyy • 〔F〕 •

Synopsis: The four times Anthony realized he loved you, and the one time he confessed.

✑ Free Falling by rubysunnday • 〔F〕 •

Synopsis: Sometimes the only solution is to swoon into the arms of your childhood best friend.

✑ Gamble by butterflybuckethat • 〔F᜶M〕 •

Synopsis: You and Anthony were always inseparable. However, with the season…

✑ Good Enough for You by heloisedaphnebrightmore • 〔A᜶F〕 •

Synopsis: Anthony has been acting as if he were your personal royal guard, not letting even one gentleman near you. Once Benedict joins you and teasingly steals you away, Anthony shows you another side of him.

✑ Healing by just-iimagine • 〔H᜶F〕 •

Synopsis: {…}

✑ Heir by ladysharmaa • 〔M᜶F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

Synopsis: Telling Anthony she's with child after facing difficulties getting pregnant.

✑ Honourable by fayes-fics • 18+ • 〔F〕 •

Summary: Anthony gets hurt, and you tend to his injury.

✑ House of Bridgerton by mickisnotreal • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Synopsis: Everyone in the ton knows not to mess with you, wife of Viscount Bridgerton. bothering her also bothers her husband and gaggle of brothers-in-law.

✑ I Want That with You by ijustwant2write • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

Synopsis: Anthony and his wife visit the Bridgerton house. While there, he sees her with his youngest siblings and realizes he wants to be a dad. When they go home, he tells her that he wants a kid.

✑ In Her Arms by violetwishestowrite • 〔F〕 •

Synopsis: Anthony falls for your motherly nature, and it's pretty clear to everyone that he's in love.

✑ It's a Bad Idea You and Me by rubysunnday • 〔A᜶F〕 • ♡ •

Synopsis: Y/N was ready to give her entire heart to Anthony Bridgerton. Only for him to shove her aside in favour for Sienna Russo. But, now, Sienna is gone and despite what Y/N keeps telling herself - Anthony truly does own her heart.

✑ Kisses in the Study by justdaydreamsandimagines • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Synopsis: You are everything a sleepy and tired Anthony needs after a long day in the study doing his work.

✑ Little Bean, the by igotanidea • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

Synopsis: {…}

✑ Meeting the Family by iliveiloveiwrite • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Synopsis: After courting Anthony for some time, it is finally time to meet the rest of the Bridgerton family.

✑ No Longer in Denial by iwritefandomimagines •

Synopsis: Anthony made no secret of not wanting to marry, despite it being more than clear that he is head over heels in love with you, his "best friend." Benedict, fed up with Anthony's denial, takes matters into his own hands by inciting jealousy from his older brother.

✑ Nothing Last Forever by rubysunnday • 〔A᜶F〕 •

Synopsis: Anthony Bridgerton refused to even entertain the idea that Y/N Elliot could become his viscountess. She was the perfect woman and a perfect friend. But that was precisely the problem. If he married her, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from falling in love - and he'd made a vow to himself, that that would be the last thing he'd do.

✑ Of Loathing and Longing by munsons-maiden • 〔F᜶M〕 •

Synopsis: You despise him, and yet, Anthony Bridgerton seems to haunt you at every revel you attend this season. Until an accident brings the two of you much closer than you would have thought possible...

✑ Overprotective by fayes-fics • 〔F〕 •

Synopsis: Anthony gets overprotective when there is an injury.

✑ Reunion of Sorts by ijustwant2write • 〔F〕 •

Synopsis: {…}

✑ Right Person, All the Wrong Times by wwinterwitch • 〔A᜶F〕 •

Synopsis: Both you and Anthony have been in love from the moment you met, but it seems nothing will ever happen between you. However, when you catch the attention of another gentleman, he realizes perhaps it's time to finally do something about his feelings.

✑ Rumour Has It by eufezco • 16+ • 〔A〕 •

Synopsis: There had always been rumours about you and Anthony, but what if they were true now?

✑ Ruse, the by writeroutoftime • 〔A〕 •

Synopsis: You and Anthony are in love, unfortunately, the Viscount refuses to deal with his emotions, leaving it up to Benedict to push his brother in the right direction.

✑ Since When? by writers-hes • 〔F᜶M〕 •

Synopsis: You grew up with the Bridgertons, and for the longest time, Anthony thought of you as a friend…since when did he look at you differently?

✑ Stolen Ribbon and Secret Smiles by writeroutoftime • 〔F〕 • 𑁍 •

Synopsis: One day in the park, you stumble across the two youngest Bridgertons, leading to a friendship with none other than their eldest brother.

✑ Storm, the by kiaraldias • 〔A᜶F〕 •

Synopsis: You had come for a simple visit—to see Benedict, to enjoy an afternoon in pleasant company. Instead, you were stranded… Alone… With Anthony.

✑ Stubbornly, Irritatingly by atlabeth • 〔M᜶F〕 •

Synopsis: It's not easy to help the Viscount find a wife when he continues to reject every woman you introduce. It turns out he has a better reason for it than you realize.

✑ Take My Hand by rubysunnday • 〔M᜶F〕 •

Synopsis: As much as you try to appreciate Anthony's matchmaking efforts, it's hard when he's the only man you want. Luckily, a fall in the lake allows you to voice your feelings in more ways than one.

✑ Tea and Crumpets by imthebadguyyy • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Synopsis: The Viscount, your husband, decides to join you in the kitchen.

✑ Viscountess by atlabeth • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: When you begin to doubt yourself, your husband is there to quell your thoughts.

✑ Viscount's Fiancee, the by heloisedaphnebrightmore • 〔A᜶F᜶E〕 • ♥︎ •

Synopsis: Being engaged to the eldest Bridgerton brother makes you the happiest person alive, occasionally so much so that it makes you act as though you were a foolish child. But all that giddiness is about to disappear upon your findings.

✑ What is This Feeling by favefandomimagines • 〔A᜶F〕 •

Synopsis: Love and loathing often ride a thin line…

✑ A Very Serious Conversation by kiaraldias • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Busy Days, Peaceful Nights by iliveiloveiwrite • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Dastardly Plan by aliesbienish • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Early Morning Cuddles by iliveiloveiwrite • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Every Piece of You by maaeveeee • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ First Born by vintunnavaa • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Future Viscountess by storieswithvenus • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Just Can't Get Enough by kiaraldias • 〔A᜶E〕 •

✑ Little Menace by multi-fandom-imagine • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Lover by rubysunnday • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Morning After, the by multi-fandom-imagine • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Oceans Away by favefandomimagines • 〔A᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Our Story by jswizzlewrites • 〔F〕 •

✑ Priceless by butterflybuckethat • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Radical Ideas by thebadgerclan • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Selfish by leviathanspain • 18+ • 〔F᜶E〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Shots Taken by butterflybuckethat • 〔F〕 •

✑ Sore by butterflybuckethat • 〔A᜶C〕 •

✑ Sunday Tradition by wonderlandprose • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Surprise by ladysharmaa • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Welcome Home by justdaydreamsandimagines • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Anthony Being Jealous… by hauerhoetime • 〔F〕 •

✑ Anthony Proposing to You... by writeroutoftime • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Being Pregnant w/ Anthony's Child… by iliveiloveiwrite • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

See More: Navigation || Anthony Bridgerton Master Index

Authors: @aliesbienish || @anastasiareadsnwrites || @atlabeth || @benedictscanvas || @butterflybuckethat || @captainsophiestark || @delehosies || @eufezco || @favefandomimagines || @fayes-fics || @hauerhoetime || @heloisedaphnebrightmore || @igotanidea || @ijustwant2write || @iliveiloveiwrite || @imagine-that || @imthebadguyyy || @iwritefandomimagines || @jswizzlewrites || @just-iimagine || @justdaydreamsandimagines || @kiaraldias || @ladysharmaa || @leviathanspain || @maaeveeee || @mickisnotreal || @multi-fandom-imagine || @munsons-maiden || @peachpitfics || @peterpparkrr || @randomfanfics02 || @rubysunnday || @shelby-love || @shelbgrey || @storieswithvenus || @thebadgerclan || @vintunnavaa || @violetwishestowrite || @wonderlandprose || @writeroutoftime || @writers-hes || @wwinterwitch ||

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littlenerdybee · 7 days ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary : You were sent to Rome as a symbol, a marriage forged not from love, but from politics. He was the Empire's golden General, already tethered to someone else. But Marcus Acacius keeps his heart locked behind duty and old scars. But from now on, you are his wife in name, a stranger in his bed, learning that silence can be more painful than cruelty.

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Warnings : arranged mariage, mentions of politics, smut, cold behavior, age gap ? (not really mentioned or important), infidelity, secret relationship, angst (each chapter will have warnings !)

⋆.⋆༺𖤓༻⋆.⋆

𝐈. The woman he sees when he closes his eyes

𝐈𝐈. The woman who waits in silence

𝐈𝐈𝐈.

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littlenerdybee · 8 days ago

Text

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littlenerdybee · 8 days ago

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'The soldier in the armour' | part i

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

next part

summary: Lucilla arranged a wedding between you and General Acacius to protect you from Emperor Geta. Acacius doesn't love you but he has swore to protect you.

w.c: 12k>

warnings: power imbalance, age gap, arranged marriage, creep man, suicide attempt, smut, fluff, and angst.

a/n: this is a mix of two requests! I lost one of the requests in my asks so if you see it, please feel free to yell at me haha there is it! 😭 I wanted to say sorry for taking so long on this, but I made the choice to mix both because I didn't have the time to write separately and I didn't want to make you wait anymore, don't hate me, please.

| dividers by @/saradika-graphics |

There were blurry reminiscent of the life you once had. It wasn’t very different from the one you had now, but it wasn’t the same either.

The empire seemed at peace back in the day, the sun caressed your skin with the tenderness of a loving mother touch, but now it burnt your skin as if you had been set in a fire.

You remembered your grandfather death.

You recalled your uncle’s death in the arena.

Maximus death, and with him the dream of Rome died, swapping the peace of the empire away.

You recalled a brother. He was your twin, and you remembered loving him.

Lucius.

Your mother had sent him away under sacred protection, with Comodous’s death, he was the next emperor in line.

But you had stay here. After all you were a woman and your blood didn’t have the value running through your veins.

You had been forced to live with the faded memories of Lucius's blue eyes, those that mirrored your own somehow, the ones that used to gleam with the particular mischief of a kid. Now, they haunted your dreams like ghosts, a reminder of the bond torn apart by politics and promises of protection.

Each day in the palace felt like a gilded cage rusted by the passage of time, where the air was thick with deceit, and every word spoken seemed laced with hidden agendas. Emperor Geta’s obsession with you had made life unbearable. His attention was suffocating, his gaze lingering too long, his presence a constant reminder of your vulnerability as a woman in the imperial court.

Under his and his brother rules.

And when your mother and the council proposed your marriage to General Acacius, you had resisted. Marriage was meant to be a union of love, not a transaction of protection. That what you were told by her when you were a kid. Yet, as Geta’s obsession grew more unhinged, and whispers of his plans to claim you as his own wife reached your ears, you knew there was no choice.

Lucilla braided your hair, the same way she had been doing it since you were a kid. Her touch was gentle, but her face displayed her worry. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and the occasional quiver in her fingers spoke of the weight they carried on her hands, not just as your mother but as a woman who had maneuvered through the treacherous politics of the empire her entire life.

"My sweet girl," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I know this is not the life you would have chosen. If I could take your pain and bear it myself, I would."

You turned to look at her, meeting her gaze through the reflection in the mirror. Her eyes, though still fierce, carried a shadow of regret that seemed etched into her very soul. For a moment, you weren’t the daughter of a woman which fate as empress, had been stolen, you were just a child looking for comfort in your mother’s arms.

"But you can’t," you said, your voice trembling as you tried to hold back the emotions threatening to spill over. "You sent Lucius away, and you kept me here. You say it’s for my protection, but sometimes it feels like I’ve been sacrificed for a safety it’s not real.”

Lucilla’s hands paused in your hair. Her reflection in the mirror faltered, the weight of your words cutting deep. "I sent Lucius away because he was a target," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "I thought once he was older enough, one day he would reclaim what is rightfully his. But you... I couldn’t send you away, too. I couldn’t lose both of you."

"Instead, you bound me to this place," you said, unable to stop the bitterness in your tone. "To a life I didn’t choose, to a marriage that will feel like another cage."

Lucilla moved to face you, her hands resting on your shoulders. "Acacius is a good man," she said firmly. "He may not have been the man of your dreams, but he is a man who will protect you. And I swear to you, I chose him because I saw something in him. Something that told me he would be more than just a shield for you”

Her words hung heavy in the air, and you didn’t respond. Deep down, you knew she believed she was doing the right thing, but it didn’t make the ache in your chest any less sharp.

“I wish I was dead” you whispered to yourself only.

The wedding day arrived cloaked in grandeur, yet it felt suffocatingly hollow. The palace was adorned with gold and crimson, every corner lit by the soft glow of countless lamps. Musicians played melodies meant to celebrate unity, but their music tortured your aching heart. Guests gathered in their finery; faces painted with polite smiles masking their true thoughts. You stood at the heart of it all, draped in a gown of ivory silk embroidered with golden threads, a symbol of wealth and duty, not love.

As you walked towards Acacius, flanked by your mother, the room blurred, as if it wasn’t truly real. The man awaiting you at the altar stood tall and composed, his features carved from stone. Acacius wore a ceremonial armor, the white and gold catching the light, but his expression was unreadable. His eyes met yours, steady and unyielding, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered what he truly thought of all this.

The vows were spoken. His voice was deep, calm, and detached. When he slipped the ring onto your finger, his touch was light, almost hesitant. There was no tenderness, no sign of warmth. Only duty. The ceremony ended with applause that echoed in the vast chamber, but the sound felt distant. You were bound now, not by love, but by necessity.

Emperor Geta would stop his courting towards you.

Later that evening, you found yourself alone with him in your new chambers. The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the walls. You sat at the edge of the bed, your hands folded tightly in your lap, while Acacius stood near the window, his back to you. He seemed restless, as if the weight of his armor had been replaced by the burden of this union.

"You don’t have to speak to me if you don’t wish to," you said quietly, breaking the silence. Your voice was steadier than you expected, though your heart raced. "I know this wasn’t your choice any more than it was mine."

He turned then, his gaze settling on you. For a moment, his cold exterior softened, though only slightly. "It wasn’t," he admitted, his tone measured, as if he were weighing every word. "But it was necessary. Your mother asked me."

His honesty stung, even if it wasn’t unexpected. You nodded, unable to meet his eyes. "My mother,” you echoed, her title feeling heavy in your mouth.

Acacius sighed and ran a hand through his hair, the movement breaking his usual composed demeanor. "This isn’t what I imagined for my life either," he said, his voice quieter now. "But I’ve sworn to protect you, and I will. Even if this arrangement feels..." He paused, searching for the right word. "Unnatural."

"Unnatural," you repeated with a bitter smile. "What a lovely way to describe a marriage."

His jaw tightened at your sarcasm, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he crossed the room, stopping a few steps away from you. His presence was imposing, yet his movements were deliberate, careful, as if he were afraid of overwhelming you.

"I will do my duty," he said finally, his voice firm but not unkind. "And I will honor you as my wife. But I can’t pretend to feel something that isn’t there.”

His words were a knife, cutting through the fragile hope you hadn’t even realized you’d been clinging to. You swallowed hard and nodded, keeping your gaze fixed on your hands.

"If you need anything, you only have to ask. I’ll be in my chambers." he said. And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the vast, empty room.

That night, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the weight of your new reality pressing down on you. Acacius’s words echoed in your mind, and though they weren’t cruel, they felt colder than any rejection. You couldn’t blame him, not really. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

You wished you could close your eyes and be anywhere else. In the gardens with your brother, in the safety of Lucius’s protection, or even in the quiet stillness of a life unbound by imperial chains. But instead, you were here, in this gilded cage, with a husband who was as much a stranger as the walls around you.

The following days were a blur of formality and silence. Acacius remained distant but civil, his actions guided more by duty than emotion. He escorted you through the palace when required, his hand resting lightly on your arm but never lingering. At meals, he was polite, engaging in conversations when prompted but offering little more than what was necessary. You were a pair in appearance, but the gulf between you was undeniable.

Lucilla watched it all silently. She offered no commentary, but her concerned glances betrayed her thoughts. Her belief that Acacius was the right choice remained unwavering, yet even she couldn’t deny the strain in your union.

One evening, after the day’s obligations had ended, you returned to your chambers to find Acacius standing by the window. He was in his tunic, having removed the heavy armor that seemed to weigh him down as much as the marriage itself. His posture was stiff, his shoulders tense as he gazed out into the fading light of dusk.

“Do you regret this?” you asked softly, breaking the silence. The question had been clawing at you for days, and you couldn’t keep it bottled up any longer.

Acacius turned to you; his expression unreadable. “Regret isn’t the right word,” he said after a pause. “This wasn’t what I wanted, but it’s the path I’ve chosen. I will honor it.”

You crossed the room, stopping a few paces from him. “You speak of honor as if it’s enough to make this work,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “But what about us? Are we just to coexist in silence, fulfilling obligations without ever truly living?”

His brow furrowed, and for a moment, his cold demeanor cracked. “Do you think this is easy for me?” he asked, his tone sharper than you expected. “I didn’t ask for this any more than you did. But I’m trying. I’m doing everything I can to give you the life you deserve.”

“The life I deserve?” you echoed, anger bubbling to the surface. “I deserve a life where I’m not a pawn, where my choices matter. I deserve a marriage built on something more than duty.”

Acacius looked away, his jaw tightening. “And yet, here we are,” he said quietly. “Bound by something neither of us chose.”

Silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating. You turned away, wrapping your arms around yourself as you tried to hold back the tears threatening to spill. “I didn’t ask for this,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

“I know,” Acacius said, his voice softening. You felt his presence behind you, and a moment later, his hand rested lightly on your shoulder. “I can’t change what brought us here, but I can promise you this; I will protect you. Always.”

“Why do you don’t like me as a person?” you asked, unable to meet his gaze

Acacius’s hand froze on your shoulder, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. The weight of your words hung in the air; unspoken questions laced with vulnerability. Slowly, you turned to face him, your arms still wrapped around yourself as if shielding your heart from the answer you feared.

“Why don’t you like me as a person?” you repeated, your voice trembling. “Is it because you didn’t choose this? Because I’m nothing more than an obligation to you?”

Acacius’s jaw tightened, his eyes searching yours as if debating whether to speak the truth or spare you further pain. Finally, he exhaled deeply, stepping back to create some space between you. His hand fell to his side, the warmth of his touch fading.

“It’s not that I don’t like you,” he began, his voice low and measured, as if choosing his words with care. “You’re intelligent, strong-willed, and far braver than anyone gives you credit for. But... this isn’t about you. It never was.”

Your stomach twisted, the pit forming at his words. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned away, running a hand through his dark hair as he stared out of the window. “Your mother,” he said finally, the words falling like stones. “I... I loved her.”

The breath caught in your throat, your chest tightening as if the room had suddenly closed in on you. “What?” you managed to choke out, disbelief coloring your tone.

Acacius turned back to you, his expression a mixture of regret and resignation. “Lucilla. I loved her long before any of this. Long before Commodus fell, before your world became this mess of alliances and power struggles. But she...” He hesitated, his gaze softening.

“Asked you to marry her daughter because of Geta’s courtesy” you ended his sentence. You felt disgusted by his confession and guilty for destroying the chances of your mother and Lucilla of being happy together.

Acacius's eyes widened slightly at your words, but he didn’t deny them. Instead, he looked at you with a mixture of shame and helplessness, as though he carried the weight of his choices like chains he could never cast off. “It was more than just Geta,” he said quietly. “Lucilla believed—she hoped—that this union would keep you safe from him. And I thought... I thought I could do that for her.”

You stepped back, your heart pounding. The walls of the room seemed to close in, suffocating you under the weight of his confession. “And in doing so, you destroyed any chance you both might have had for happiness,” you said, your voice trembling. “Because of you, she sacrificed everything—for what? To tie me to a man who doesn’t even want me.”

“Hey,” Acacius said quickly, stepping closer, but you held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice breaking. “Don’t try to justify it. You will never love me, and now I know why. Because all you see in me is her shadow.”

“No.” His voice was firm now, his eyes blazing with an intensity that startled you. “You’re wrong. I never wanted this to be about her, and I never wanted you to think I see you as anything less than who you are. But I can’t bury my feelings, and I can’t undo the choices we made.”

Your stomach churned with anger, disgust and despair. “Do you even realize what you’ve done?” you demanded. “You’ve tied me to a life I never wanted, a life where I’ll always wonder if I was just a piece in someone else’s plan. I’m always trapped in the middle of something.”

The tears you had been holding back finally broke free, spilling down your cheeks as sobs wracked your body. The weight of Acacius’s confession, of everything you had endured, crushed you, and the walls of the room seemed to close in around you.

“I can’t do this,” you said, your voice trembling, thick with emotion. “I can’t stay here.”

“Please,” Acacius began, his tone urgent as he stepped toward you, his hand outstretched. But you recoiled, shaking your head fiercely.

“Don’t!” you cried, your voice cracking. “Don’t come near me! Don’t tell me it’s going to be okay when nothing ever is. You’re just another person who’s used me, another person who doesn’t see me.”

The rawness of your words hung in the air, and for a moment, Acacius froze, his face etched with a mixture of pain and helplessness. But you couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. The walls of the room blurred as your tears continued to fall, and you turned abruptly, your feet moving before your mind could catch up.

You fled the room, your sobs echoing in the empty corridors as you ran blindly through the villa. Servants and guards turned to look at you, startled by the sight of their lady in such distress, but you ignored them. You needed to get away, away from Acacius, away from the suffocating weight of expectations, away from everything.

Eventually, you found yourself in the gardens, the cool night air biting at your skin. The sky above was scattered with stars, their distant light doing little to ease the turmoil within you. You collapsed onto a stone bench, your arms wrapping around yourself as you cried, the sound of your grief swallowed by the rustling of the trees.

You had tried so hard to find a place in this world, to make peace with the life forced upon you. But tonight, every fragile piece of that illusion had shattered, leaving you adrift in a sea of uncertainty and pain.

As your sobs subsided, a cold breeze swept through the garden, chilling you to the bone. For a brief moment, you thought of Acacius, of the way his eyes had softened when he spoke, of the regret laced in his voice.

But the anger and betrayal still burned too brightly within you to let those thoughts linger.

The cool night air stung your cheeks as you sprinted through the gardens, past the rows of manicured hedges and marble statues. The villa loomed behind you, its walls suffocating even at a distance. Your lungs burned, your heart hammering against your ribs, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You didn’t know where you were going—only that it had to be far away from Acacius, from the weight of his confession, from the life you no longer recognized as your own.

Your feet carried you to the outer grounds of the villa, where the shadows grew darker, the torchlight dimmer. The muffled sound of distant voices reached your ears, guards patrolling the perimeter, but you veered away from them, toward the narrow dirt path that led to the forest. The trees ahead beckoned like a sanctuary, their darkness promising solitude.

You barely noticed the snap of a twig behind you until a voice cut through the silence.

Before you could gather your thoughts, you heard soft footsteps approaching once more. Your heart lurched. "Acacius?" you called out tentatively, but when the figure stepped into the moonlight, your breath caught.

It wasn’t Acacius.

It was Geta.

He stood there, his face shadowed yet unmistakably troubled. The smugness on his face was characteristic but still you couldn’t name his expression you couldn’t place what he was feeling, desperation? Anguish? The way his chest rose and fell told you he’d been running, as if chasing you had been his sole purpose.

“Emperor Geta? wha-what are you doing here?” you demanded, your voice shaking, not with fear but with a volatile mixture of emotions you couldn’t quite name.

“I was on my way to pay a visit to our beloved General” he answered, his sinister smile still on his face, "I must admit," he said, stepping closer, his tone dripping with false amusement, "I didn’t expect to find you wandering out here all alone. What would dear Acacius think, hmm? Leaving his precious wife unguarded in the dead of night?"

Your heart pounded harder now, but for an entirely different reason.

Geta took another step toward you, and you fought the urge to recoil. The air between you felt suffocating, charged with a tension that made your skin crawl.

"You’re drunk, emperor" you said sharply, hoping to mask the fear creeping into your voice. "Go back to the palace, Geta.”

But he only laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "Oh, I’m perfectly sober," he said, his eyes narrowing. "And I think it’s time we had a little... talk, you and I.”

“What more could you possibly want from me, Emperor?”

His eyes met yours, and for the first time, they weren’t cold or calculating. They were raw, bare, and filled with an emotion that made your stomach churn.

“You,” he said, the word barely above a whisper.

Your blood froze. “What?”

“I’ve loved you,” he said, his voice trembling. “For as long as I can remember. And I’ve hated myself for it, but I couldn’t stop. Not even when I tried to keep my distance. Not even when I told myself it was wrong.”

The ground seemed to shift beneath your feet. This was a nightmare—a fever dream born of the turmoil of the night. It had to be.

“No,” you said, shaking your head vehemently. “No, you can’t—you don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he said, stepping closer, though he didn’t reach for you. “I’ve tried to bury it; to pretend I could be the dutiful emperor everyone thought I was. But every time I see you, every time I hear your voice...” He broke off, his hands clenching into fists. “It is like I am set on fire.”

“I—” you started, but words failed you.

Geta took another step forward, his desperation palpable. “Do you see now?” he asked, his voice softer but no less intense. “I’ve only ever seen you as mine.”

“Stop,” you said, your voice trembling as you raised a hand to keep him at bay. “Just stop. Whatever you think this is, whatever you feel—it’s wrong.”

He froze at your words, his face twisting with a mixture of pain and defiance. “Wrong?” he repeated, his voice cracking. “How can it be wrong when it’s the only thing I’ve ever been certain of?”

“Because I don’t feel the same!” you shouted, your tears spilling over now. “I will never feel the same. I’m married.”

Geta flinched at your words as though you’d struck him. His face, already a storm of emotions, darkened further. “Married,” he spat, his voice low and bitter. “To a man who will never truly see you. A man who cannot love you the way I do.”

Your chest tightened as anger began to bubble within you, momentarily overpowering the fear and confusion. “Love?” you repeated, your voice trembling. “This isn’t love, Geta. Whatever you think this is, it’s twisted. You’ve turned me into some...some object to claim, a possession to own!”

His jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists at his sides. “I have done nothing but love you,” he said through gritted teeth. “When no one else cared about your happiness, when they made you a pawn in their schemes, I thought of you. Always.”

“Then why didn’t you stop it?” you demanded, stepping forward despite yourself. “Why didn’t you, with all your power, say something? Do something? If you loved me so much, why didn’t you fight for me?”

Geta’s gaze faltered for the briefest moment, a crack in his otherwise unyielding façade. “Because I couldn’t,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Because to love you openly would have been to destroy you. You think I don’t know how they look at me? How they whisper? They already call me unfit to rule, unstable. If they knew how I felt, they would have turned their wrath on you.”

“That’s not love,” you said, shaking your head, your voice breaking. “Love doesn’t hide in shadows. It doesn’t tear someone apart from the inside. It doesn’t...” You trailed off, pressing a trembling hand to your mouth as sobs threatened to escape. “It doesn’t feel like this.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant rustle of leaves in the night wind.

“I didn’t want this,” Geta finally said, his voice almost a whisper. “I never wanted to hurt you. But watching you with him, knowing you’re his...” His voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath. “It’s killing me.”

“I’m not yours,” you said firmly, the words sharper than you intended. “I’ll never be yours.”

Geta’s face hardened at that, the softness of his confession replaced by something colder, more dangerous. “We’ll see,” he said quietly, his tone chilling in its calmness. “The gods have a way of changing fates”

The sound of hooves pounding the earth broke through the tension that had built between you and Geta. The rhythmic thundering grew louder, and you instinctively turned toward the noise, your heart racing in your chest.

Acacius appeared from the shadows, his silhouette cutting through the night as he rode forward, leading a group of horses. His eyes immediately locked on you, and in an instant, his expression shifted—darkening, as though a storm had formed within him. When his gaze flicked to Geta, the atmosphere around them changed.

Geta remained still, but his eyes narrowed. He knew exactly who had arrived. A low tension crackled in the air, like two opposing forces on the verge of collision.

“Emperor Geta,” Acacius said sharply, his voice hard, his stance unwavering. His hand instinctively tightened on the reins of his horse as if it were a weapon, a subtle warning. “It is too late for you to be out in the middle of the night”

For a moment, Geta didn't respond. The intensity of his stare met Acacius’ head-on, the challenge in his eyes unmistakable. But Acacius didn’t flinch. His presence was commanding, and even Geta, in his turmoil, could sense the shift.

You stepped back slightly, the weight of the situation dawning on you. The conflict between these two men was palpable, and it made the ground beneath your feet feel unsteady. Your heart pounded, not just from fear, but from something deeper, more painful. The realization that you were now caught between these two men who seemed to hold pieces of your life in their hands.

Geta’s lips curled slightly in a sardonic smile, though there was an edge to it. “I bet is too late to pay a visit to our beloved general"

Acacius ignored the provocation, his eyes now focused solely on you, his voice softening. “Are you all right?” he asked, though it was laced with an undertone of concern, almost as though he was afraid to hear the answer.

You could feel your chest tighten as Acacius’s eyes met yours, the concern in his voice stirring something deep inside of you, something vulnerable. You wanted to say something, anything to ease the tension, but the words wouldn’t come. Your emotions were a storm, a swirl of anger, fear, and confusion that made it impossible to think clearly.

Before you could respond, Geta’s voice cut through the moment like a knife. “Does he really care, or is this just about keeping control? Do you really think he’s here for you?” He sneered, stepping forward as if trying to push Acacius out of the space between you. “Or is it just the idea of you that he wants to control, the power that comes with your bloodline?”

The truth was beyond the obsession Geta had towards you, there was fear. He was aware your blood belonged to the realm, so you weren’t a lover he wanted to possess but a treat he wanted to eliminate.

You weren’t just a woman who caught his eye; you were the reminder of the power he feared losing. Your existence in the realm, your connection to the throne, made you a target in his mind. His twisted love for you wasn’t love, it was a deep-seated need to control, to erase what he couldn’t possess or manipulate.

Your marriage to the General of Rome put you in a place where you could go back to ruling the empire.

Acacius stood tall, his eyes still fixed on Geta, the tension between them thick enough to choke the air around you. His expression was hard, his jaw clenched with quiet fury, but it was the protective energy that radiated from him that caught your attention. He wasn’t going to let this spiral any further.

"Whatever matter you think needs discussing, Geta," Acacius began, his voice steady but firm, "it can wait until tomorrow. Not tonight. Not in the presence of my wife."

The words were sharp, final. There was a strength in them that sent a clear message, a line that Geta could not cross. Acacius’s gaze never wavered as he took a step forward, a silent challenge to Geta, daring him to try anything more.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, torn between relief and dread. Acacius's words were a shield, but they didn’t seem to do anything to quell the storm brewing between the two men.

Geta’s face hardened, the flicker of emotion that had passed through him earlier replaced by a steely resolve. “Your wife, Acacius,” he said, the venom in his tone unmistakable, “is a part of this empire, and the future of it is bound to her. Don’t think for a second you can keep her out of this.”

Acacius’s grip tightened on the reins of his horse, his knuckles white as he kept his stance, unwavering. “I’m not keeping her out of anything,” he said, his voice low but deadly. “But as her husband, I will not let you use her to fuel your delusions of power.”

For a moment, the air seemed to freeze, the threat hanging between them like a sword poised to fall. But Geta, ever the strategist, knew when to back down. He held your gaze for one last moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without another word, he turned away, his posture stiff, and he strode off, leaving the two of you standing there in the quiet aftermath.

You exhaled shakily, feeling a weight lift from your chest, but it didn’t last. The shadows of what had just transpired seemed to cling to you, the fear, the confusion still buzzing in your veins. Acacius’s protection, though fiercely given, couldn’t erase the uncertainty of everything that had just happened.

He turned to you then, his expression softening, though the hard edge from earlier remained in his eyes. “Are you all right?” His voice was gentle now, and the concern in his gaze pulled at your heart in a way you couldn’t explain.

You nodded but soon after you moved your head, everything went completely black.

The world slowly came back into focus, the heavy weight of unconsciousness lifting from your mind like a veil being drawn aside. You blinked, the sharp light of the morning creeping through the windows, and the gentle rustle of sheets beneath you signaled you were no longer outside. You were back inside, in the cool, quiet comfort of your chambers.

Your body felt heavy, as though every muscle had been drained of energy, but the pain from the night before had faded, replaced by a strange weariness that seeped into your bones. You tried to sit up, but a soft voice stopped you before you could move.

“Careful,” Lucilla said, her tone gentle but firm. She was sitting by your bedside, her eyes fixed on you with a mixture of concern and calm reassurance. “You need to rest.”

Your heart raced for a moment, the fragments of the night’s events rushing back to you. Geta’s confrontation, the threat in his voice, and Acacius standing between you, the tension thick enough to choke the air. You could still feel the sharp edge of fear in your chest, but for now, you were safe.

“Mother…” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “What happened? Is… is everything all right?”

Lucilla’s eyes softened, and she reached out to brush a lock of hair from your face, her touch soothing. “You fainted, my lady. After the confrontation with the emperor, you collapsed. Acacius was frantic. He had you brought inside immediately. He’s been by your side all night.”

Her words made your heart flutter, a strange mixture of emotions flooding you. Acacius had been there, waiting, watching over you, just as he always did. But there was something else in the air, something unspoken between you and him that neither of you could ignore.

“He stayed with me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The thought of him there, protecting you, made something twist inside your chest.

Lucilla nodded, her expression softening. “Yes. He didn’t leave your side for a moment. He’s worried about you.”

As Lucilla’s words settled into your mind, the door to your chambers creaked open. You barely had time to turn your head before Acacius stepped inside, his figure towering in the doorway. His presence seemed to fill the room, his eyes immediately locking with yours. There was a quiet intensity in his gaze, a depth of emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. For a moment, it felt as though the world outside of your small room had disappeared, leaving just the two of you, caught in the stillness of the moment.

He took a step forward, but it was the way he looked at your mother that made your breath catch in your throat. The same tension you had felt between you and him last night now seemed to make sense. The raw honesty, the confession he had made—the admission of his feelings, the vulnerability in his voice—was clear in that single glance. And in that moment, something inside you recoiled.

You were a burden.

“Acacius…” you whispered, barely able to speak, your mind reeling. You could feel the panic rising inside you, suffocating, as if there was no room to breathe in his presence. Was this what you had been running from all along?

He stepped closer, his voice steady but strained. “You’re awake,” he said quietly, almost as if he was still processing the fact. His eyes softened when they met yours, but there was a flicker of something darker behind them, something you couldn’t place.

“I was worried about you,” he added, his tone still holding a thread of concern, as if your well-being was his sole focus.

You swallowed hard, your mouth dry, and for a moment, you couldn’t find your voice. Lucilla, sensing the weight of the moment, quietly excused herself, leaving you and Acacius alone in the quiet of the room.

As the door clicked shut behind her, the silence between you two seemed to grow heavier, more suffocating. He took another step closer, his gaze never leaving yours, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it fully. Every part of you screamed for distance, for space, and yet, he remained close—too close.

“Acacius, I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat. How could you put into words what you were feeling? The confusion, the fear, the overwhelming weight of it all? It wasn’t just about what Geta had done or said; it was about the emotions Acacius had stirred in you, emotions you didn’t know how to deal with.

You wanted to feel loved in a way your skin felt when the sun caresses your face in the midst of a cold winter.

But Acacius could never love you.

The days passed like slow, heavy drops of rain. The storm of emotions that had churned inside of you seemed to settle, but it wasn’t a calm; it was the oppressive stillness before something darker took hold. Acacius remained by your side, always present, but the warmth that once ignited in your chest when you saw him, when you felt his concern, began to dim. His confession, those raw words of love for your mother, left a lingering sting that you couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard you tried.

Each time you saw him, you felt a coldness creeping into your heart, like the chill of winter settling into your bones. It wasn’t that you hated him, far from it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something fundamental had broken. You had wanted to feel cherished, wanted in a way that made you feel whole, like the sun warming your skin during the harshest of winters. But instead, you felt like the shadows of something lost were all that remained.

The days blurred together as you drifted through them in a fog. The joy that once accompanied your moments with Acacius, his gaze, his touch, seemed to fade with each passing day. You were still there, still functioning, but you weren’t alive in the way you had once been. You were a shadow of the person who had laughed freely, who had dreamed of a future with the man who had stood beside you through every storm.

Now, his presence only reminded you of what could never be. Every word from him felt weighted, laced with an unspoken truth you couldn’t escape. He was there, yes—but it was Lucilla’s name that seemed to linger in the air between you, a constant reminder of what could never happen.

You stopped meeting his gaze as often, your conversations clipped and polite, but distant. You couldn’t pretend anymore that things were the same. You couldn’t ignore the hollow feeling that had taken root inside you, gnawing at you like a slow, insidious poison.

The days felt endless. The life you had once felt for each moment, for each glance he gave you, slipped away bit by bit. You told yourself you were strong, that you would move on, that you could adapt to the life in front of you. But the spark that once filled your soul, the fire that had kept you going, was slowly being smothered. Each day without clarity, without answers, without that spark, made you more resigned, hollower.

The days blurred into weeks, and life continued its chaotic, inevitable march forward. The grandeur of Rome, its towering structures and ancient streets, became a distant backdrop to the turmoil that had taken root within you. Despite the growing tension surrounding you, your presence at the grand events of the empire remained. There were battles in the Colosseum—events that had once stirred the blood, filled with anticipation and excitement. Now, they were merely noise, the sounds of clashing steel and roars of the crowd unable to penetrate the numbness that had taken hold of your soul.

Geta's obsession with you deepened, his presence more frequent, more invasive. His eyes never seemed to leave you, and every word he spoke, every look, was an attempt to assert control, to draw you into his tangled web of fear and power. But his attempts only felt more suffocating. You were trapped, like an animal in a gilded cage, unable to escape his watchful gaze. He wasn’t interested in you as a woman; you were a symbol to him, something to manipulate, to dominate, to erase the threat you posed to his fragile claim on the empire.

Despite your growing isolation, Acacius remained at your side. His concern for you was evident, though he seemed to be walking on a thin line, careful not to overstep or push you too hard. He knew you were withdrawing, knew that something had shifted between you, but he didn’t know how to reach you. He could see the distance in your eyes, the way you pulled away when he tried to comfort you. And it broke him, though he never spoke of it.

There were feelings he didn’t know he was able to feel, appearing.

The battles at the Colosseum grew more brutal, the spectacle becoming more and more gruesome with each passing day. The roar of the crowd no longer thrilled you. The sight of blood, the cries of victory and death—it all blended into a backdrop of life that felt increasingly distant, like you were watching it all from behind a veil. You were alive, yes—but you weren’t truly living.

One evening, as you sat beside Acacius in the grand hall, your hand in his, you tried to force a smile. You knew he was watching, hoping for some sign that the woman he once knew was still there. The fingers that held yours were strong, steady, but you felt a chill crawl up your spine. His warmth didn’t reach you anymore. His presence, once a comfort, now felt like a reminder of everything you had lost.

"Smile," he whispered, his voice gentle, coaxing. "Just for tonight. For me."

You nodded, a small, strained smile curling at the corner of your lips. But as you smiled, something inside you felt hollow. You knew what he saw—the facade of a woman who was still whole, still alive. But inside, you were dying. The life that once burned brightly in you had been extinguished, snuffed out by the weight of betrayal, fear, and a love that could never be returned. And as you smiled for him, you felt like an actor playing a part—faking a life that wasn’t truly yours anymore.

The crowd cheered as Acacius raised your hand, the symbol of his victory and his loyalty to Rome. But you couldn’t feel the victory. You couldn’t feel the joy. You just felt death. Not the death of your body, but the death of everything you had once been. The woman who dreamed, who hoped, who believed in love and light, was slipping further away with each passing day.

Acacius, for all his strength, could never reach you. You could see the worry in his eyes, the way he would glance at you when he thought you weren’t looking, as if he was searching for something—anything—that would tell him you were still there. But you weren’t. You were a shadow, a flicker of the woman you used to be, trapped in the space between life and death.

As the days stretched on, Geta’s obsession with you grew more dangerous. His presence became a constant reminder of your captivity, the ever-present shadow of his desire to control. He wasn’t content with merely watching anymore. No, now he was making his move, pushing harder, testing boundaries. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you, even when he wasn’t in the room. He was always there, lurking, waiting.

Acacius noticed it too. He saw the way you tensed whenever Geta entered the room, the way your eyes darted nervously, the way your smile faltered. He knew you were becoming a shell of the person you once were. And for the first time, Acacius found himself unsure of how to help you. He had always been your protector, your constant, but now, it felt like he was failing you.

“You don’t have to pretend for me,” he said one night, his voice rough with emotion. He reached for your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I see it. The distance. I see you slipping away from me, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

You wanted to tell him, to let him in, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you turned your gaze toward the distant horizon, watching the sun set behind the buildings of Rome, casting long shadows across the streets. It was a beautiful sight, but you couldn’t appreciate it. The beauty of the world was lost on you now.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, though the words didn’t feel like enough. They would never be enough.

Acacius squeezed your hand tighter, as if trying to hold onto you, to keep you from slipping away entirely. But you knew, deep down, that it was already too late. You were already gone.

The days continued to stretch on, the weight of your own existence pressing down on you with each breath you took. You moved through life like a specter, haunted by your own thoughts, consumed by the shadow of everything that had transpired. The air around you felt thick, suffocating, and nothing seemed to reach you anymore.

One evening, after yet another long day of feigned smiles and empty conversations, you retreated to your chambers. You had long since stopped caring about the grand appearances, the masks you were expected to wear. In the silence of your room, the darkness that had begun to take root in your heart felt heavier than ever before. It was as though the weight of your despair had become a tangible thing, pulling you under, drowning you from the inside.

You moved toward the bath, the cool marble surface inviting you with its quiet promise of solitude. You sank into the warm water, hoping, if only for a moment, to drown out the noise inside your mind, to forget the suffocating reality that had become your life. The water enveloped you, and for a brief moment, you felt weightless, free—free from everything that bound you, from Geta's obsession, from the looming presence of the empire, and from the love you could never have.

But the peace was fleeting. The thoughts came rushing back, overwhelming and relentless. Acacius’s touch, his words, his confession of love for your mother—it all swirled in your mind like a storm, too much to bear. And in that moment, something inside you snapped. You wanted it all to end. The pain. The confusion. The crushing weight of everything.

As the water rose higher, you slipped under, the coolness surrounding you like an embrace. It was quiet. So quiet. The pressure in your chest intensified, a cold finality settling in. Your body felt heavier, the world fading as you sank deeper into the water. The voices in your head quieted, the darkness enveloping you completely. And for the first time in a long while, you felt... peace.

But fate had other plans.

Just as the darkness threatened to consume you completely, a sudden hand gripped your arm, pulling you from the water with desperate force. The world rushed back in an instant, blinding, harsh, and you gasped for air, coughing, choking as water flooded your lungs.

“No!” a familiar voice cried out, filled with fear. “Don’t you dare do this!”

Your vision swam as Acacius’s strong arms pulled you up, his face a mask of panic and determination. He moved quickly, his hands steady as he worked to lift you from the bath and cradle you against his chest. His voice was shaky, though he tried to hide it.

“Stay with me,” he urged, his voice breaking as he held you close, his hands pressing against your wet skin. “Please. Don’t leave me.”

You were too weak to respond, your body trembling, your mind foggy. But his words—don’t leave me—cut through the haze. They echoed in your ears, but they didn’t make sense. Why would he want you to stay when you were nothing more than a burden, a shadow of what you once were?

“Acacius…” you whispered weakly, your throat raw as you fought to speak. His name felt like the last thread that held you to this world. "Why...?"

His grip tightened on you, his body radiating warmth as he looked down at you, his eyes filled with desperation and anguish.

“Because I want to love you,” he said, his voice shaking but steady with resolve. “I’ve always wanted to love you. You don’t have to carry all of this alone. I don’t care about the empire, about the danger, or the expectations of the world. I care about you. I want to be there for you—to love you.”

His words hung in the air like an echo, reverberating through the silence that had settled between you. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to reach for that spark of hope, the promise of love he was offering, but the weight of everything you had been through, everything you had lost, held you back.

You closed your eyes, your breath still shaky, and tried to push away the wave of conflicting emotions that surged within you. Acacius’s love, though it was sincere, felt like a distant dream—a dream that you didn’t deserve. How could you accept his love when you felt so broken, so consumed by the darkness inside of you?

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but filled with the depth of the regret you felt. “I’m not who you think I am. I’ve lost so much of myself...”

Acacius gently cupped your face in his hands, his touch tender and comforting, as though he were trying to steady you from the storm that raged inside of you. He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze soft but unwavering.

“You’re not lost,” he said, his voice low but steady. “You’re not alone, even when it feels like it. I’m here. I will always be here, whether you believe it or not.”

The warmth of his touch seemed to seep into your skin, like a quiet promise. But even with that promise, there was still a part of you that resisted. You were drowning—not just in the water, but in the weight of your own thoughts, your own feelings. How could you possibly let yourself love again, after everything that had happened?

“I don’t know how to let anyone love me anymore,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "Not after everything I've been through... everything that's been taken from me."

He leaned closer, his forehead resting gently against yours as his hands moved to hold you more firmly. "You don’t have to figure it all out right now. Just let me be here with you, for as long as you need. You don’t have to carry the world on your own anymore."

His words settled in your heart, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to breathe, to feel his presence. It wasn’t a solution to all that haunted you, but it was something—something real.

“You’re not alone, either,” you whispered, your voice still fragile but more certain than before. “I don’t want to be alone, either.”

The quiet between you felt like an unspoken promise, an understanding. You didn’t have all the answers, and you didn’t know how to fix what was broken.

Acacius carefully lifted you in his arms, his movements gentle yet strong, as though he feared breaking you. The room was quiet, save for the sound of his steady breathing and the soft rustle of the sheets as he settled you onto the bed. His hands lingered at your sides, making sure you were comfortable, as though he couldn't bear to be too far away, even for a second.

You lay there, your body trembling from the cold of the water and the emotions that had swirled through you in such a short time. But there was a warmth now, a steadiness in the way Acacius was with you, something that grounded you amidst the chaos. His presence filled the space between the silence, and you wanted to hold onto that feeling, to keep it close as though it were the last thread that could save you from the darkness.

But even as your thoughts tangled, your voice came out soft, barely a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the fragile calm that had settled around you.

"Acacius," you said, your voice catching slightly. "Stay... please."

The words hung in the air, vulnerable and raw, and you could feel your heart beating faster as you waited for his response. You weren’t sure what you were asking for—comfort, reassurance, or simply the presence of someone who cared when everything else seemed so uncertain.

Acacius didn’t speak at first. He simply moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his gaze intense, but filled with an understanding that pierced through the barriers you had built around yourself. His hand gently rested on yours, his thumb brushing over your skin in slow, soothing motions.

"Of course," he finally said, his voice a soft promise, like the calm after a storm. "I’m not going anywhere."

He pulled the blanket over you, ensuring you were warm and comfortable, and then he settled beside you, close but not too close. His presence filled the space beside you, but there was a tenderness in the way he lay next to you, giving you the space you needed while still remaining close enough to feel his warmth, his care.

You turned your head slightly, your eyes meeting his in the dim light of the room. The vulnerability in your chest, the fear of asking for too much, made you hesitate for a moment. But then, with a shaky breath, you spoke again, this time more urgently.

"Stay with me," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Just... for tonight. I don’t want to be alone."

Acacius’s gaze softened, his lips curling into a faint, reassuring smile. Without saying a word, he shifted closer to you, his arm slipping around you as he pulled you gently against him. His warmth enveloped you, and for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to rest, truly rest, without the weight of the world pressing down on you.

In that moment, as you felt his heartbeat steady against yours, the storm inside you quieted, if only for a little while. The darkness still lingered at the edges of your thoughts, but Acacius’s presence, his steady, unyielding care, was a reminder that, for now, you didn’t have to face it alone.

And so, you closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his arms around you pull you into a fragile peace, knowing that, for this one night, you were not lost.

In the days that followed, something shifted between you and Acacius. It was subtle at first, like the quiet change of seasons, but it was unmistakable. His devotion to you became more evident in every action, in every word. It wasn’t just the caring gestures—though those were abundant—but the way his gaze lingered on you, the way his touch seemed to convey more than words ever could. You could feel the change in the air, like the warmth of the sun breaking through the clouds.

Acacius, the loyal general, who had always been steadfast in his duties to the empire, had turned his focus entirely toward you. His thoughts, his actions, and his very presence were now centered around ensuring that you were safe, that you were cared for.

Every morning, he would bring you breakfast, a small smile on his lips as he placed the tray before you. He would sit with you, talking about the day’s events, but his attention was always on you, his eyes soft with concern, his every movement thoughtful. If you showed signs of fatigue, he would insist on helping you with whatever you needed, no matter how small. And when the nights came, he would always stay, watching over you as you slept, keeping his promise to never let you be alone.

At times, you felt the weight of his care, the devotion he gave so freely, and it both soothed and unsettled you. The fear of being a burden gnawed at your mind, but each time you tried to withdraw, Acacius was there, offering reassurance, pulling you back from the edge.

“What about when you have to go into battle again?” you asked once, your voice barely above a whisper. The question had been haunting you ever since your marriage. No matter how much Acacius promised protection, he was a general first—a soldier bound to the empire’s whims.

He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, the confident, stoic mask he always wore faltered, and you saw the man beneath it, a man burdened with duty and uncertainty.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I will make sure you’re safe before I leave. Always.”

His honesty was disarming, and for once, it didn’t feel like an empty reassurance. Still, the thought of him riding off to battle, leaving you behind in the suffocating grip of the palace, sent a shiver down your spine.

“And what if you don’t come back?” you pressed, your voice trembling.

Acacius stepped closer, his gaze steady. “I will come back,” he said firmly. “I’ve survived countless battles, and I’ll survive the next one. Because now, I have a reason to.”

His words made your breath catch, and you turned away, unwilling to let him see the tears welling in your eyes. “Don’t say things like that,” you murmured. “Don’t make promises you might not be able to keep.”

“I’m not making promises,” he said, his voice softer now. “I’m telling you the truth.”

You looked at him then, your emotions a whirlwind of fear, anger, and something else—something you weren’t ready to name. “You make it sound so simple,” you said bitterly.

“It’s not,” he admitted, his expression unflinchingly honest. “But I’ve faced death more times than I can count, and I’ve always fought to live. Now, I fight for you, too.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Finally, you broke the silence, your voice raw.

“I don’t want to be the reason you don’t come back.”

He reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on your shoulder. “You won’t be,” he said. “If anything, you’re the reason I will.”

The vulnerability in his voice was almost too much to bear. You closed your eyes, taking a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to do this, Acacius,” you admitted. “I don’t know how to let myself care for someone when everything in my life has been taken from me.”

He stepped closer, his hand sliding down to take yours. “You don’t have to figure it out all at once,” he said. “But let me stay by your side while you do.”

His grip was firm yet gentle, and in that moment, you felt a flicker of something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years: hope.

“Just... come back,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“I will,” he promised, his gaze unwavering. “Always.”

And for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe him.

After the gladiators’ fights had concluded in the Colosseum, you and your mother, left the arena, your minds still lingering on the chaos of the day. Acacius had been by your side throughout the event, his protective presence never wavering. But you noticed something had shifted in him—the tension in his jaw, the restlessness in his eyes, as if his mind was elsewhere. It was as though the very air around him had grown heavier.

As you made your way back to the villa, you could feel the weight of the looming battle on his shoulders. The orders from Emperor Geta and Caracalla had been clear: Acacius was to return to the front lines in two days. The idea of losing him, of seeing him walk into another battle with the same fierce determination he had shown every time, filled you with dread.

The villa felt quieter that night, the cool breeze brushing against the stone walls, but inside, the silence was almost suffocating. Acacius was pacing in his chamber, his armor now set aside, but his mind seemed far from peace. You watched him from the doorway for a moment, your heart aching as you saw him battle with his own thoughts.

"Acacius," you said softly, stepping closer.

He didn’t look up right away, but when he did, his eyes seemed to carry the weight of the world. "I’m sorry," he muttered. "I know you want more from me, but right now, my duty—my loyalty—it demands more than I can give."

You walked toward him, the soft sound of your sandals barely reaching his ears. "You don't have to apologize," you said quietly, touching his arm. "But I can see it... you're restless. You're carrying the burden of something you shouldn't have to face alone."

He sighed deeply, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I have no choice. The orders are clear. If I don't return to battle, I dishonor my men, and if I do... I risk everything. Including you."

Your heart fluttered at his words. You moved a little closer, your voice softer now. "You don't have to risk everything alone. I’m here, Acacius. If you need my company tonight, I will stay. I will help carry your burden, if only for this one night."

For a moment, he stood still, as if weighing your words. Then, slowly, his hands reached for you, gently pulling you closer until there was no distance left between you. The tension in his shoulders softened, but only slightly. His eyes, filled with uncertainty and longing, met yours.

"I don’t deserve you.” he murmured, his voice rough.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "You are more than that. You are the man who has kept me safe, and for that alone, I would follow you anywhere."

He seemed to hesitate for just a breath, then, with a sudden urgency, he kissed you. It was gentle at first, a soft press of his lips against yours, as if he were testing the waters. But the moment your lips met, everything else faded. The weight of the empire, the war, the orders—none of it mattered in that instant. The world outside was silent, and the only thing that existed was the warmth of his kiss, the soft but undeniable spark between you.

As he pulled away slightly, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing a little faster, your hearts racing. His voice was low, almost a whisper. "You’ve made this so much harder”

You smiled softly, your hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers. "Maybe that’s exactly what I want," you whispered, a playful glint in your eyes.

His lips brushed against yours again, this time more urgently, more desperately, as if the fear of losing you in the battle, or the fear of losing everything in the coming days, had driven him to this moment.

And in that kiss, you both found something you hadn’t realized you were searching for. You had been lost in the chaos of the empire, in the uncertainty of what came next, but in this moment, with him, everything felt right. You weren’t alone anymore.

As you pulled away from the kiss, Acacius didn’t let go of you right away, his hands still resting on your shoulders, as though afraid you might slip away. His breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling in time with your own. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the world outside the villa’s walls completely forgotten.

Carefully, he brought his hands to your shoulders, traveling down your arms, at the same time your skin bristled under his touch. You had never felt this before, the mixture of nerves and lust of being touched with delicacy and love that you didn't know could exist.

He carried you to his bed gently, in slow steps without taking his gaze from your eyes that looked at him with curiosity and lost in the ecstasy of the moment.

Lust and desire.

The fabric of your dress felt suffocating against your skin and as if he had read your mind, he peeled your clothes off your skin leaving you completely exposed under his gaze. You gaped at him, half embarrassed, half impressed, then he pulled his lips back upon yours, palming your breast, as he made his way to his bed.

You chuckled as you lay there, and his face matched your smile as he continued to kiss you down your neck. The warmth of your uneven breaths mingled, enveloping you both as he quickly worked on his garments, and as soon as his clothes were removed, there was nothing to keep you apart. You curled your fingers in his hair as he kissed you all over your body for the first time. You could sense the emotions, but the intimacy and lust were like a fire in your core.

You felt Acacius' lips against your hips and angled them up for him. You were already dripping as he licked a route from your thigh to your cunt before sucking on your clit and pressing his fingers against you.

You whimpered while holding his head between your legs. His cock hardened as the sound from your lips and you clenched around his fingers. He sucked like he was hungry, forcing your legs apart till you had one calf under his shoulder. His free hand moved up your torso, grabbing your breast, as his nose rubbed against your clit. For instinct, you buried your heel into his back and dragged him closer until all he could taste was you.

He fucked you slowly, taking his time to taste your wetness on his lips before locking eyes with you. You were flustered, and your eyes shone.

"You...fuck," you whispered.

"I want you; I need you before leaving" he whispered desperately, going forward between your legs, forcing your knees up to your breasts, and plunging into you easily. You sighed and leaned forward to kiss him. Your hands were on the back of his neck, and he was on your breasts, attempting to touch you everywhere. As you both kissed, you raised your hips to fuck up into him as he drove down into you, attempting to be as cautious as possible.

You mumbled "Acacius, I love you" into his ear before he reclaimed your lips. He leaned down and sucked your nipples, lightly biting your breasts.

“I’ll come back for you cara mia” he promised, between thrusts, grinding his cock as deep as into you as it could go as you encouraged him with your moans and nails scratching down his back. Those marks would accompany the wounds of thousands of battles.

He slid his hand down to your pussy and rubbed along your clit. You fucked yourself harder on him by thrusting back against him right away.

When you came, he whispered something on your neck. You clutched around him and your hips trembled even as he continued to fuck you. Soon after, he began thrusting into you and eventually pulled out while making uneasy gasps in your shoulders. After that, the only sound in the room was the mingling of your breaths.

Acacius was nosing at your throat, promising he would come back alive to continue his life adoring you

The room was quiet, save for the soft rhythm of your breaths, which mingled together in the stillness. Time seemed to stretch, the weight of the moment settling around you like a gentle, unspoken promise.

his warm breath grazing your neck, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. His hands, still holding you with a tenderness you hadn't known before, seemed to search for something, as though memorizing the contours of your skin, tracing the lines of your jaw, your shoulders, your breath.

"I’ll come back," he murmured, his voice hushed, as though sharing a secret only meant for you. "I promise, I will come back to you. I won't leave you alone."

His lips brushed lightly against the soft skin of your throat, and you could feel the intensity of his words in that simple, delicate touch. You felt a sudden knot tighten in your chest, a mixture of longing and fear, but more than that, a deep, consuming need to believe him, to trust in the promise he was making.

"I will continue my life loving you," he continued, his voice thick with emotion, as though each word was a vow, a binding thread between you two. "When the battles are over, when the storm has passed, I'll be here and I will adore you for as long as I live."

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his body pressed so closely against yours, the heat of his devotion seeping into your soul. For a brief, fleeting moment, it felt as if everything else faded away—the empire, the scheming, the endless pressures. It was just the two of you in that room, your hearts beating as one, a bond forged in the quiet moments when nothing else mattered.

You took a deep breath, feeling his hands gently cradle your face, his thumb brushing away the stray tear that had escaped. Your hand instinctively reached for his, holding onto him tightly as if the act itself could somehow make his promise real, could anchor him to you forever.

"I need you to come back," you whispered, the words escaping before you could stop them, your voice trembling with the weight of the truth behind them.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hands steady and comforting. Then, with a soft and almost hesitant voice, Acacius finally asked, "Could you stay with me tonight? Sleep beside me."

The vulnerability in his words surprised you. Acacius had always been the strong, unshakable general, the one who carried the weight of the empire on his shoulders with unyielding resolve. But now, in the quiet of your shared space, he seemed as human as anyone, his guard lowered, his needs simple, yet profound.

Your heart gave a quiet thud in your chest, and without hesitation, you nodded. "Of course," you said softly. "I’m not going anywhere."

His eyes softened, the slightest flicker of relief crossing his features. He led you over to the bed, the weight of the day seeming to leave him as he settled beside you. The soft rustle of the sheets was the only sound as he adjusted, his body tense but slowly relaxing as you lay beside him.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, simply sharing the same quiet space, your presence the only comfort either of you needed. But the closeness was enough. It was as though the war, the orders, the empire itself could not reach you here, in this space that was just yours and his.

"Stay with me," he whispered after a while, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. His hand found yours in the dark, his fingers threading through yours, a simple but grounding gesture.

You squeezed his hand gently, resting your head on the pillow beside him. "I’m not going anywhere, Acacius. I’m here. And I’ll be here tomorrow, and the day after, no matter what happens."

The words hung in the air, simple but true, and in that moment, you both found something precious, peace in the storm, a promise without words. Acacius’s breath slowed, his body finally releasing the tension that had held him captive for so long.

Acacius woke slowly, the gray light of early morning spilling softly into the room. For a moment, the heaviness of his reality came crashing down on him—the orders from Geta and Caracalla, the battle that awaited him, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. The weight was still there, pressing on his chest like an unrelenting force, refusing to let him breathe freely.

But then, he became aware of something else.

You.

Your warmth was pressed against him, your head resting on his chest, your hand lightly curled over his heart. The soft rise and fall of your breathing matched the quiet rhythm of the room, and for the first time in days, maybe even months, Acacius felt the smallest flicker of peace.

He glanced down at you, his eyes tracing the curve of your face in the gentle morning light. You looked so calm, so trusting, nestled beside him, as though you belonged there. A part of him still couldn’t believe you had stayed, that you had given him this small gift of solace before he left for what could be his last battle.

Carefully, as though afraid to wake you, he lifted a hand and brushed a strand of hair from your face. His touch lingered for a moment, his fingers barely grazing your skin, and he let out a quiet sigh. How had it come to this? How had you, someone he had been ordered to protect, become the person who made him feel safe?

The thought brought a bittersweet smile to his lips. He knew he didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve you. And yet, here you were, giving him the strength he hadn’t even known he needed.

You stirred slightly, nuzzling closer to him in your sleep, and he froze for a moment, unsure if you were waking. But you only let out a soft sigh and settled against him once more. He couldn’t help the way his arm tightened around you, holding you closer, as though he could shield you from the world for just a little while longer.

His voice was barely a whisper, more to himself than to you. "What have you done to me?"

As the minutes passed, Acacius let himself stay in that moment, letting go of the weight of his duty, if only for a little while. With you there, the storm within him seemed to quiet, and for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to hope.

When you finally began to stir, blinking sleepily up at him, he felt his chest tighten. Your eyes met his, and though your expression was soft, he could see the worry lingering there.

"Good morning," you murmured, your voice warm and still tinged with sleep.

"Good morning," he replied, his voice lower than usual, as though the morning had stolen some of his strength.

You reached up, your fingers brushing lightly against his cheek. "You didn’t sleep much, did you?"

He shook his head, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "No. But this... this helped."

You smiled at that, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Then let me help you more. Whatever you need, Acacius, I’m here."

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch as though it was the only thing keeping him steady. When he opened them again, his gaze was clear, filled with something deeper than gratitude.

"I’ll remember this," he said softly, his voice carrying a promise you didn’t fully understand but felt all the same. "No matter what happens, I’ll remember."

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littlenerdybee · 9 days ago

Text

The other woman pt.2

Summary : Since your marriage, the distance between you and Marcus has only grown wider. Doubt settles in, hand in hand with your growing loneliness. But during a conversation with Lucilla, you come to realize something far heavier—you are even more alone than you thought.

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Warnings : arranged marriage, mentions of suicidal thoughts (blink and you'll miss it, it's like just one sentence), cold behavior, age gap ? (not mentioned), infidelity (towards reader), secret relationship, no y/n

Words : 5,9K

A/N : this one was so hard to write, idk why. Sorry if it’s not perfect

Marcus' masterlist | previous part | next part

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The domus was quieter than you imagined a place of such size could be. Its silence was not peaceful; it was the sound of old stone and restraint, guards who never laughed, courtyards where voices echoed too sharply. Rome, they said, was the center of the world. But for you, it felt more like a stage where everyone played a part, and you were still reading the wrong script. Your new home was beautiful, you could admit that. Even if it never quite felt like yours. The marble glowed ivory in the mornings, and the frescoes caught the changing light like painted memories, but there was something unyielding in the walls, something that did not bend to your presence. The mosaic of Gods watched you wherever you walked, their inlaid eyes judging, as though they knew you did not belong in this place.

And yet, you did what was expected of you. Gods, even more. You learned the names of every servant in the villa, learned where they came from, and tried to address them in their own dialects—poorly at first, but with effort, and with warmth. You oversaw the household ledgers, made notes in elegant Latin, organize the pantry to accommodate both Roman and your homeland’s cuisine—dried figs wrapped in parchment, pickled lemons floating in clay jars and cinnamon sticks tied with string, sent directly from your mother’s kitchen gardens across the sea.

You had meals prepared with quiet hope, always with some small detail meant for him. Lamb seasoned the way his men said he liked, olives pressed into the bread he often reached for first, honey-wine chilled precisely to the hour he returned. You even arranged a private dinner once, beneath the olive trees in the inner courtyard, where hanging lanterns cast golden halos through the leaves and the scent of citrus bloomed in the dusk.

He had thanked you with a nod.

Just a nod.

A simple and quiet nod. How stupid of you.

He never ignored you, and sometimes you wish he would. That would have been easier. Cruelty had shaped, form and texture. But civility ? Civility was airless. He was always courteous, always present in body but never in soul. His answers remained clipped, delivered with military efficiency. You dared to ask once, when you saw the pale edge of a scar disappearing beneath his tunic, if it sometimes still hurt.

“No.” He said. And that was the end of it.

You tried again, weeks later. He had just returned from the Senate, and you met him as he sat, pouring his wine before he even asked. “How was the council ?”

He shrugged, already reaching for a piece of bread. “As expected.”

“Do you often speak on behalf of the Emperor ?”

“When required.” He replied, cutting into the meat without ever looking at you.

“Do you-”

“I had a long day,” he interrupted firmly, glancing sideway to your form. “Please.”

As always, you nodded and lower your gaze, retreating just before his indifference could harden into something sharper. You had learned quickly the quiet line between civility and dismissal. This time, you did not even get the chance to tell him about the meal. How you had spent half the afternoon with the chefs, your sleeves rolled up and helping to cook the roast with spices your mother had insisted you bring from home. “He should taste where you come from.” she had said, tucking the jars into your palms before you could say anything.

But Marcus never asked, never seemed to notice, never paused, never looked at you the way husbands were supposed to look at their wives. His expressions always remained unchanged as he took his place at the table, not even looking at you. You would trace the lines of his profile over and over, trying to find the man everyone else seemed to see. He was never cruel though, never raised his voice or said anything unkind. Just detached. And somehow, that was worse.

His silence and distance stretched on for weeks. You had already gone over it all in your mind, countless times. Was it your fault ? You barely knew each other, why did he not at least try to act like a kind husband ? Maybe he did not see the efforts you made, did not feel the quiet weight of your loneliness. Perhaps it was simply normal here, in Rome—for a man to neglect his wife so thoroughly. After all, it was so easy to hide behind duty, to wear the excuse of responsibility like armor.

And yet, he had not even bothered to do that. He had not even tried to offer you those hollow words. Since your wedding night, he had not deigned to speak to you for more than a few clipped seconds at a time. Surely, he could not imagine what it felt like to live in this constant state of silent dismissal. And so, you tried. You held yourself together with frayed strings and stubborn hope, and each day, you persevered. Secretly, foolishly, you hoped that maybe he might change. But deep down you knew. You were not meant to except anything in return. Not from him or anyone.

A few days later, you could not take it anymore. It had been two days since you last saw him. Two long, empty days. You wandered through the corridors of his villa like a ghost—alone, disoriented, slowly unraveling. You could not flee, that would be reckless, foolish, and so humiliating for you or your father. But the mere idea of stepping outside made your stomach twist. You could not bear the stares anymore, the judgment etched into every look. Perhaps you were discreet, yes, but not naïve. Or at least, that is what you once believed.

The rare times Marcus allowed you to company him beyond the villa’s walls, you could feel it—the whispers, the mocking smiles, the stinging judgment. Walking beside Rome’s most revered General made you disappear in your own skin. You were not seen as a person anymore, only as a wife. Not even his.

That morning, something inside you broke. You had risen far too late, long past the moment you always cherished: sunrise. The one constant in your days, the only faithful presence left to greet you. And even that, now, had passed you by. That day, your mother arrived at the domus unannounced, as if she felt that broken feeling from where she was. It was late in the afternoon when a servant came to your room, wide-eyed and breathless. “Domina… Your mother… She is here.”

You did not believe it until you saw her. She stood in your chamber like a mirage; her cloak dusty from travel, her hair twisted in the same thick braid she wore the day you left, the faint scent of jasmine clinging to her skin like a memory.

“I was not supposed to come.” She said as soon as you closed the doors behind her. You fell into her arms without a word, breathing her in like air after drowning. “I had to see you with my own eyes,” she whispered, cupping your face, her thumb brushing your cheek. “Letters do not hold truth. Not the kind I needed.”

Yes, the letters. It was clear you could not speak the truth in them, not fully. You could not lay bare the reality of your new life: its silence, its coldness, its invisible grief. You reminded yourself that in some strange way, you were still lucky. While you suffered in loneliness, others died in agony. That thought haunted you, shamed you even. And yet… there were moments when the weight of it became too much. Moments when you would have gladly traded places with those lives lost. When you would have offered yourself in exchange, just to be freed from this beautiful prison gilded in gold. But you could not write that—not to your mother.

You both sat near the brazier, heads close together like the nights of your girlhood, when you had listened to the ocean wind rattling through the shutters and believed the world would always be kind to you. You felt her eyes study your face. She could see it, surely, the fatigue carved into your skin, the fine line that had deepened between your brows, born from confusion and sleepless worry. You could not let her grow more concerned than she already was, and so you spoke.

“I just did not sleep well, mother. I am fine.” But even as the words left your lips, you could not convince yourself.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then softly, with the heaviness of someone who already knew the answer, she asked, “He sleeps elsewhere ?”

You hesitated. Then nodded.

“I thought it might be… a slow beginning,” you said, though even the words felt thin now. “I thought if I gave him peace, he would give me trust.”

She looked at you with a gaze you had never seen in her before, something almost sacred. There was no use in lying anymore. Not when her eyes saw through every wall you had built. Not when they refused to let you hide anymore. “I tried, mother. Every day, I try. I make this house a home. I speak his tongue, follow his customs. But I think… I think I am only another one of his duties.”

Your mother exhaled through her nose, not sharply, but in sorrow. She reached for your hand, her fingers soft and warm against yours. “There are men,” she said gently, “who wear armor inside their skin. Even when there is no more war to fight.”

You looked at her completely lost, your voice a whisper. “But am I not enough reason to take it off ?”

She did not answer immediately. Her gaze drifted to the window, where the rooftops of Rome caught the last rays of sun, burnished gold and cruelly beautiful.

“He may learn,” she said at last. “Or he may not. But you, my daughter, are not here to be small.”

You pressed your forehead to her shoulder and stayed there, unmoving, wrapped in her quiet warmth. For a moment, you let yourself forget the silence of the halls, the weight of your own unanswered questions. She said nothing because she did not need to. Her presence alone was enough, like a balm laid gently over skin that had long since learned to ache in silence. You breathed her in, that faint familiar scent of crushed herbs and something maternal you could never name, and clung—not to her exactly, but to the feeling she brought. The reminder that there was still softness in this world. That someone, somewhere, still saw you.

She left before nightfall, as if she feared to overstay in a home that was never truly yours to begin with. Or maybe she was too furious to risk running into Marcus. You walked her to the threshold, fingers reluctant to let go, your mouth forming the barest thank-you that did not even touch what you wanted to say. Her departure felt like waking from a dream you were already mourning, like the kind you chase back into your pillow, only to find it slipping further each time.

That evening, you sat at the long marble table once more. Alone. Again. The light from the candles trembled faintly along the gold detailing of the walls, too bright for the mood that clung to the air like fog. His chair remained untouched, the embroidery on its cushion undented, preserved in its quiet defiance. The food cooled slowly on the plates, but you could not bring yourself to lift the fork. You stared down at your wine—red, still, and full—as though it might hold some answer at the bottom of the cup. But it did not. It never did actually.

There was no anger in you. Not that night. Just a familiar hollowness, settling in again like an old companion. You sat there, in the vastness of a home that had never felt like yours, and wondered how long it would take for the sound of your own thoughts to drown you.

You would try again tomorrow, you promised yourself.

And the next day.

And the next.

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But there were patterns you could no longer ignore. The day Marcus finally decided to make his grand return, he gave no explanation for his strange and prolonged absence. Nothing. Not a word. And in the days that followed, nothing changed. The same distance. The same evasive glances. He slipped right back into his silence, as though he had never been gone.

As thought you had never waited

He left earlier in the mornings. Returned later. Sometimes did not come home at all until the moon hung low and pale, and even then, he would pass your chambers without a word, smelling faintly of perfume that was not yours. The scent so faint it might have been imagined. But it was not. And yet, it clung to him like smoke after flame, unsettlingly familiar. You tried to place it once, standing alone by the doorway long after he had gone—that note of crushed rose and some darker resin beneath—but your memory gave you nothing. Just unease.

You could not let the weight of it settle without resistance. You owed yourself the truth, or at the very least, the effort to seek it. So, you began to watch, to listen, to gather the pieces one by one as the days unfolded. And yet, something refused to align. As if a part of the puzzle had been carved to deceive, beautiful on the surface but wrong in its shape.

You began to see things with new eyes. The way certain hours of the day were always unaccounted for. The way Lucilla began to arrive unannounced. The way she never glanced at you directly, but smiled as if she knew a secret you did not. The way the servants went silent in her presence, and even more silent in yours after she left.

That evening, a dinner had been arranged. Not grand enough to warrant togas stiff with ceremony, nor quiet enough to be dismissed as informal. A gathering, modest in size but laced with the kind of expectation that only Rome could dress in such refined stillness. You had prepared for it without thought, your fingers guiding the clasp of your dress, smoothing the folds, pinning your hair—motions you had long since stopped attaching meaning to.

The seat at Marcus’s left awaited you, as it always did, and you sat there before the others arrived, your hands folded gently in your lap, your spine held by an invisible thread of composure. He was beside you already, not late for once, but silent, cloaked in the same guarded stillness he wore as naturally as his mantle of command.

He had not said much. Well, he rarely did. But for a moment, his eyes had lingered on you simply… observing. As if trying to remember something that refused to take shape. You could feel the weight of his presence more than you could feel the shape of it. And when you dared glance toward him, there was nothing in his expression that betrayed thought or feeling. Just distance.

Then she arrived.

Lucilla swept into the atrium with the poise of someone who had once belonged to the place and never truly left. Her dress was a muted gold that caught the light just enough to seem effortless, the shade almost the same as the skin at her throat. Her hair was gathered with a kind of calculated ease, too graceful to be accidental, too loose to be innocent. Her voice followed her, soft and warm, full of the kind of charm that made people lean in just slightly, as if wanting to catch a secret they knew she would not give.

You felt Marcus shifting beside you, so subtly it might have been nothing. But you knew his silences well by now. You knew the way his body tensed, not from danger, but recognition. His gaze moved—past the servants, past the senators already halfway rising in greeting—and settled on her. Not with shock. Not with longing. But with that heavy pause, the kind that stretched a single moment wide enough to fit years inside.

He looked at her as one looks at a place they have once been and both long for and regret.

It was not dramatic. No drawn breath, no visible stiffening. But it was enough. Enough for your own gaze to falter, your stomach to dip, your throat to tighten. And when at last he turned to you, his greeting quiet and courteous, it did not matter what he said. The pain lay not in the words, but in the ease with which he spoke them, as though you were no more than any other guest at his side.

Dinner passed like mist. The roasted duck, crisped with honey and thyme, the jeweled lentils, the pine nuts glistening with oil. You registered none of it. Their voices moved around you, threading together with the practiced smoothness of people who had spoken many times before in places you had not been invited. Lucilla never raised her voice, never pressed, well she did not need to. Her control was in the softness of it, in the practiced pauses, in the way her laughter folded at the edges of his words as if they had rehearsed the timing in another life. And Marcus… Marcus responded with a familiarity that asked for no explanation. One that told you enough.

You smiled when you had to. You answered when spoken to. But each movement felt like wading through something thick, something that clung to your skin. The wine was too warm. The candlelight too bright. The scent of pomegranate and spiced oils made your chest tighten. And when Lucilla laughed—that delicate, curved laugh—it was not jealousy that came. It was the confirmation of a quiet truth; one you had tried to ignore. That you were sitting beside him, but he was somewhere else entirely.

You excused yourself before the final course, fingers trembling slightly as you set your napkin down. No one stopped you. Marcus did not even turn, his shoulder already leaning, just slightly, toward hers. His hand rested near his cup, fingers curled in a way that invited the space between them to narrow. You stood slowly, brushing your fingers once more along the cool edge of the table before turning away to the gardens.

The night clung to your skin like silk, warm despite the breeze, the air heavy with something darker and unspoken. You did not look back as you crossed the peristyle, just moved, half-guided by the rhythm of your breath and the dull ache that now lived beneath your ribs, quieter than before but no less present.

Inside, the murmur of conversation spilled gently from the triclinium. You did not return to it. Instead, you lingered in the antechamber, half-shadowed beneath a tall candle, where the flickering light painted gold across the stone floor. Here, the house felt quieter. Removed. As though you had stepped just slightly outside the world everyone else still inhabited.

Then you saw her.

She rose from her seat with the same fluid elegance she wore like a second skin—unhurried, unannounced. There was no drama to it, no glance cast around the room. Only the subtle gathering of her shawl, the way her hand trailed for the briefest moment across the back of Marcus’s chair, and then—

She moved.

Out into the corridor, past the columns, toward the garden. You hesitated. There was no reason to follow her. No purpose, no justification. But your feet had already begun to move before your thoughts could intervene. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was guilt. Or maybe it was the simple, awful need to understand—her, him, or yourself. You did not knew anymore.

You told yourself that you only stepped into the garden because the air inside felt too thick, because your thoughts screamed too loudly within the echoing silence of your own restraint. So, then, you wandered past the stone columns, past the still water of the fountain, trying to find a breath that did not burn. At least, that is what you tried to convince yourself.

You caught her beneath the laurel arch—the same one you used to stand under at dawn, waiting for the first light—and it hit you all at once. The scent. Not the sweetness of garden herbs or fresh linen, but something richer. A fragrance you had noticed once on Marcus’s cloak, faint and persistent, clinging where your hands had never touched. At the time, you had told yourself it was a stranger’s, a passing trace from a crowded room.

But now, in the dark, under the stars, it wrapped around you again—and this time it had a name.

Suddenly, everything snapped back into place.

It was her perfume you scent on Marcus’ shadow.

The one she had worn the night you first met her, when she leaned in too close with a smile that was too sweet. You remembered it—the way it clung to her skin, expensive and deliberate, a scent that marked territory without needing words. She belonged in this house more than you did.

The garden exhaled cool air around her as she stepped into the night. Silver light softened the sharpness of her shoulders, catching in her hair like it had been placed there on purpose. You felt invisible, walking behind her. Like a ghost in someone else’s story. She reached the edge of the walkway and turned. Slowly. Not startled. Not surprised. As though she had already known you were there. Her eyes met yours, and she offered you a smile.

That smile—soft and polished, serene as temple marble. It held no suspicion, no tension. You had seen her offer that same expression to Marcus, across the atrium, when she thought no one was looking. Now, that same look was yours. Somehow that made it worse.

“You walk like someone carrying a secret,” she said gently, almost amused, but without cruelty. “Do you need something from me ?” Her voice was so gentle, and she looked at you with such tenderness. There was something kind, something genuinely good that seemed to radiate from her presence.

And yet, you did not know how to answer. Your mouth was dry. Your thoughts rushed forward too fast and tripped over themselves. Lucilla waited. She always waited—not with impatience, but with the calm of someone who had already played this scene before.

“I did not mean to follow you.” You murmured eventually.

“But you did.” There was no bite in it. Just a simple truth spoken without judgment.

You dropped your eyes to the stone floor and nodded, heat crawling up your throat. She turned slightly, looking toward the laurel trees that danced softly in the breeze. “It is quiet here at night,” she said, voice distant. “I like to walk when the house sleeps.”

“I do too.” You replied. “But tonight, I could not.”

Lucilla glanced sideway at you. “Why not ?”

You did not answer. You could not, at least not without unraveling. Instead, you asked the question you had not dared until now. “How long have you known him ?”

A pause. Just long enough to feel measured. “A long time,” she said eventually. “Before the wars. Before he learned how to wield silence like a weapon.” Lucilla kept her gaze fixed straight ahead when you finally reached her side. Her back was straight, her hands clasped neatly behind her, as if she was reciting something she had long since committed to memory.

The answer struck something in you. A note of truth so resonant it almost hurt. “He acts different with you,” you confessed. “Not soft, but… closer.”

Lucilla tilted her head without looking at you, as if she had not anticipated this. Suddenly, there was nothing soft left in her voice. Her brows drew together in a sharp frown, and even before she spoke, you could feel the irritation radiating from her, pulsing off her body like heat from sunbaked stone. “He knows I am not asking for more than he is ready to give.”

The honesty of it stung more than you excepted. “So you think he is cold with me because I expect something real ?” The words came out sharper than you intended. Not because you wanted to wound her, but because you no longer knew how to ask gently for something that kept slipping through your fingers.

She did not flinch, of course she did not. She titled, once again, her head slightly, like someone measuring a fragile object for cracks. Her voice, when it came, was smooth but laced with that certain knowing that made your spine straighten in defense.

“I think Marcus fears depth,” she said carefully, each word placed like a stone. “Not because he lacks it. But because he gave it once, and what he gave was lost. That kind of wound does not bleed anymore. It calcifies. It teaches you to guard what you love by never letting it be loved again.”

You stood very still.

She had been kind to you when you arrived—warm, even. The only one who had offered you a true smile, a soft touch of welcome when everything else had felt like ceremony and silence. You remembered how gently she spoke that first night, how it had made you feel seen for the first time since your arrival. But, that memory now flared like a sting against your skin, the contrast unbearable.

“So he lets you in,” you said, and it came out colder than you meant. “That is how you know.”

Her eyes narrowed, just a little. Not enough to seem angry, but just enough to make it clear she had heard what you were really saying. “I have known Marcus longer than anyone in this house,” she said, and though her tone was soft, it carried an unmistakable edge. “I have seen what he is like when no one is watching. What he hides from even himself. That sort of knowledge does not come from title or proximity. It comes from surviving with someone.”

You felt your stomach twist. “But you, are not his wife.” You replied, and your voice wavered between defiance and desperation.

Something flickered in her gaze then. Something proud, something ancient. But her smile did not falter. If anything, it grew fainter. Sadder. “No,” she said. “I am not. Which is why I can afford to be honest with him.”

You scoffed, unable to stop yourself, “Honesty… You two seem to treat it with a luxury, not a principle.”

The words settled like ice between you.

“Are you implying something ?” She asked quietly.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. When Lucilla finally took a step back, it was not with the grace of a victor. It was slower, smaller, measured perfectly to make you feel as though you had struck first.

“I did not realize that you thought so little of me.” Her voice trembled just slightly, just enough.

You opened your mouth—whether to apologize or defend yourself, you did not even know yourself—but she was already turning away, her posture tense with something between pride and sorrow. Her eyes did not narrow, and neither she raised her voice.

“I have only ever been kind to you,” she said, and her voice was maddeningly calm. “Even when I did not have to be. Even when others would not.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but no words came fast enough. She went on, her gaze never breaking from yours. “From the moment you arrived, I treated you with warmth. I welcomed you into a world that is colder than you realize. And still-” she shook her head lightly, not in anger, but something quieter. “Still, you speak to me like I am your rival. Worse—your enemy.”

There was no venom in her tone. That made it worse. Your pulse had risen seconds ago, chest tight with something sharp and defensive. But now that heat began to dull, giving way to something heavier. Shame crept in, slow and low, curling around the anger like a vine around stone.

“I did not mean to…” You started, your voice thin.

She stepped back half a pace—not retreating, just drawing a boundary.

“I have lived long enough to recognize fear when it wears the mask of cruelty,” she said, softer now. “You are not the first woman to feel lost in his silence. But you might be the first to take it out on someone who is only ever offered you understanding.”

It landed with the weight of truth. No accusations. Just… quiet disappointment. Your throat tightened. You had not expected kindness to be a weapon, and now it was turned inward, piercing something you did not know was vulnerable. All the words you had flung like stones—suspicion, jealousy, hurt—suddenly felt childish, small.

“I did not mean to-” You said, barely audible.

But Lucilla did not wait for you to finish. She turned, not in fury but in sorrow, and walked away with the silence of someone who no longer needed to defend herself. And as her figure slipped between the marble pillars and into the night, your anger left with her. Replaced by a quiet ache, dull and sinking. You stood there, hands clenched at your sides, and felt it bloom behind your ribs: you had wounded the only person who had offered you kindness in this house.

And somehow, that hurt more than any of the silence Marcus had ever given you.

And you hated yourself a little for it.

You breathed out slowly, the tension in your shoulders beginning to unravel, even as your chest remained tight. You had let suspicion get the better of you. Gods, you had followed her like a shadow, had spoken too sharply, had thrown barbed questions like someone preparing for betrayal. And she had not met you with cruelty. Now, in the silence of the empty courtyard, it was not anger you felt anymore. It was shame.

What had you done ?

Lucilla had smiled at you. That soft, slow smile she always wore like a veil, neither warm nor cold, simply practiced. And still you had doubted her. She was his friend. His oldest companion, maybe the only person who had known him before the walls went up. Of course they were close. And yet you had questioned it. Accused her, even if you had not meant to. Your voice had been edged with fear, your words too pointed, too raw.

She must think you are fragile, insecure, a jealous child playing dress-up in a home too grand for you. You sat down slowly on the fountain’s edge, fingertips brushing the cold marble. The night felt softer now. The air cooler, clearer. You told yourself it was relief. Still, something gnawed at you. Not doubt in Lucilla’s words… but in yourself. You had let that perfume, that glance, that silence turn into something else in your mind. You had let yourself spin shadows into stories. And now you were left with the sour taste of regret.

You stayed in the garden, head tilted to the stars you could not name, trying to gather yourself. You had wanted truth, but now that it was offered, it felt heavier than you expected.

You did not hear the steps at first.

The garden held too many sounds; the wind threading through the laurels, the soft ripple of the fountain in the dark, your own breath, shallow and uneven in your chest. But when the footsteps stopped behind you, not heavy, not urgent, just there. You felt it before you turned. A shift in the night air. A stillness pressing in.

Marcus.

Standing just beyond reach.

“Why are you still out here ?” His voice was quiet. Careful like a blade turned flat so as not to cut.

You did not turn to face him yet. Your fingers brushed the edge of the marble, grounding yourself. “I needed air,” you said softly. “To clear my head.”

A pause followed. Not long, but long enough to carry weight. You could almost hear him choosing his next words. “Lucilla seemed… upset.”

You winced. You hated how easily your body betrayed your guilt, how quickly the shame surfaced. “That is my fault.” You said before you could stop yourself.

He waited.

But you did not elaborate.

You could not. The words burned in your throat, too tangled to set free.

“I thought…” You shook your head, staring out at the dark curve of the garden. “It does not matter anymore.”

“I see.”

You turned to him then. Slowly. You did not know what you were looking for in his face, a crack in the calm, perhaps. A glimpse of something real. Or maybe just permission to say what needed to be said.

“She told me there is nothing between the two of you,” you said, your voice barely more than breath. “That she only knows the shape of your silences.”

Something flickered behind his eyes. Not surprise. Not guilt. Just the faintest withdrawal, like a man pulling his hand from a fire he had not realized was lit. “She is been a part of my life a long time.” He replied, and his voice held nothing but truth. Clean, uncomplicated. The kind that did not defend, but did not deny.

“I know.” You whispered.

And now you did. You should have the moment you saw them together; the familiarity that ran deeper than words. The ease of shared pain. There was nothing seductive in it, only something private. That was what stung.

“I think I was unkind,” you admitted. The words tasted strange in your mouth, raw and half-formed. “I let fear turn me into something cruel. I made her feel unwelcome. And she is been… kind to me. From the beginning.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. Not like someone observing, or assessing, or simply fulfilling the role of husband. But like a man seeing the ache that had no name. The hollow behind the eyes. The tired slope of your shoulders. You did not look away.

“You were not cruel,” he said, after a pause long enough for the wind to shift. “Just hurt.”

The word landed softly. Hurt. No embellishment. No dismissal. And somehow, it was worse than blame. Because it was true. Something inside you gave. Not entirely, not visibly, but enough to feel it: a slow loosening of the knot you had been carrying behind your ribs for weeks. Your throat tightened. For a moment, you thought you might cry. Not from sorrow, but from the unbearable relief of being seen.

But you did not.

Instead, you stood up. Your voice was steadier now when you said, “I am going to bed.”

He nodded once. You moved past him, your steps slow, your breath measured. But this time—this time—you felt it as you passed:

He turned.

Not to stop you. Not yet. But to watch. To follow not with his body, but with something else. With thought. With attention. And though nothing was spoken, you carried the echo of it with you into the darkness. Only when they stopped behind you did you sense him. Marcus, standing just beyond reach.

⋆.⋆༺𖤓༻⋆.⋆

Marcus' masterlist | previous part | next part

Tag-list : @negrita2345 @aretha170 @immyowndefender @suzysface @isabella-rose-trastamara @simpingforjoel @unmagically

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littlenerdybee · 14 days ago

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if i heard pedro whimpering like a slut in my ears, yall have to as well

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littlenerdybee · 14 days ago

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gonna love all of these

hi!! what wips do you have atm?

Hiii! Thank you for asking. Now I have a reason to do another WIP update post lol. So once again, thank you for giving me the opportunity to yap about my upcoming WIPs 💜.

These are all in the order I’m focusing on right now. It might change in the future if I get inspired for another WIP more than the other, but for now, this is the order.

A Glimpse Of Us | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: “Amnesia”. Noun. Meaning a partial or total loss of memory. You knew what the term meant, felt sad for people who had to go through it, felt for the people who were forgotten by the loved one that experienced amnesia. However, you never expected to actually know what it felt like to be forgotten by someone you loved, to cease to exist in their mind. Not until you were sat beside that bed in the ‘hospital’, seeing the man you loved looking at you like you were nothing but a mere stranger, not remembering a thing about the life you were building together. But a midst the heartbreak you felt, there was something else as well—determination.

Or the three times you tried to help Joel remember, and the one time he finally did.

Genre: Angst.

Era: Jackson.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, memory loss, blood, near death (Joel lives. He never died. I have no idea what y’all are talking about), extensive injuries, mentions of pregnancy, morning sickness, age gap (reader is in mid-late 30s, Joel is 60. Reader was in her 30s and a consenting adult when they met and eventually got together).

Sneak peek: Your eyes were trained on the empty spot on the bed beside you. Still covered with enough blankets to to build an entirely separate bed, your head resting on your tear-stained pillow, you observed the ruffled bed sheets with glassy eyes, your heart heavy and guilt-ridden at the realization of why the spot was empty. Of why Joel wasn’t there with his strong, muscular arms wrapped around you, his breath fanning across your neck, his body warm and solid against yours as you both ignored the responsibilities waiting for just five more minutes. Always just five more minutes.

Butterflies | Quarters Of The Undead

Summary: Following her initial meeting with Daryl, Georgie found herself spending more and more time with the crossbow-wielding archer. She started forming an unlikely friendship with the man who swore he preferred to be on his own, but for some reason sought out her company, despite trying not to. And somewhere along the lines of hunting trips and campfire conversations, the dynamic between them seemed to be changing at a steady rate—despite the denial.

Genre: N/A.

Era: Quarry.

Warnings: Swearing, hunting, more TBA.

Sneak peek: The smile that spread across Georgie’s face was bright, soft, genuine. It was the type of smile that Daryl found himself growing more fond of with each passing day, and he felt his heart skip a beat.

What the hell was that all about?

Yielding Isn’t My Middle Name—Chapter Seven | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Back in Alexandria, after escaping the Sunny Meadows community—that definitely did not live up to its name—you could not rest. Liam Davis—your captor—was locked up, Daryl was a nervous and angry wreck, and to add to the stress, you had no idea whether your baby had survived the torment and suffering you were put through. That all had to be determined with time—after Liam was finally taken care of for good.

Era: Alexandria, no saviour arc.

Genre: N/A.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of being captured and tormented, torture, more warnings tba.

Sneak peek: At the thought of the life that was growing inside of you, your hand trailed down to rest on your stomach, praying to whatever god was listening that your baby was okay. There was no determining if they would be okay for at least another day or so. The ultrasound machine that had been used back at Sunny Meadows would be brought back with the group that went out to gather the supplies there, as well as talk to and determine which people could be trusted enough to be brought back and join your close-knit community.

Summary: You knew exactly what you expected when you moved to Atlanta. You expected to get a 9-5 job, to live on your own in an apartment with your dog and live your life on coffee and instant noodles. Meeting a handsome guy at a bar one night was just an added plus. However, what you did not expect was for your life to change simply because of a guy you hooked up with. Pregnant? No, nothing like that. No, you became an overnight sensation for hooking up with one of the top ten most desirable bachelors in Atlanta—top 50 overall in the US.

• No apocalypse AU, potential multi chapter series.

Warnings: Swearing, smut, the paparazzi being the worst, gossip blogs also being the worst, internet bullies, more TBA.

Sneak Peek: “No, you listen! You’re this famous millionaire guy, which is fine, and I don’t care. What I do care about is the fact that you neglected to tell me about the likelihood of my face getting plastered across every gossip blog and article! For fuck’s sake, I can’t even go to the grocery store without getting bombarded!”

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littlenerdybee · 15 days ago

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trouble after a while - javier peña

-> summary: almost three years after javier leaves cali, he returns to bogota for a visit. what he doesn’t expect is to see you, in the open, sun kissed and holding a tiny child’s hand…

-> word count: 4k this is part one out of two!

-> (tags and warnings): spanish translations will be in parentheses at end of paragraph, flashbacks with be in bold and italics, uses of y/n, pregnancy related talks, some minor violence, uses of faint language, reader is and lives in colombia, pregnancy trope, angst and fluff, small insecurity, cigarettes and alcohol, if i missed any let me know! pls reblog, and give us author’s feedback! ❤︎

-> (credits): all pictures from pinterest!

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“congratulations peña! it’s good to have you back!” javier offered a small smile shaking a old friends hand as he passed the exit doors from the u.s. embassy. while he no longer worked there, he still needed verification and safety from them.

his reputation was still something a few didn’t forget in colombia. from escobar to taking down the cali cartel, he was involved in the good and bad. saw the real good up close and also the fucking bad from colombia. they were ruthless but nonetheless it got him the credentials one way or another.

colombia was always a rough and rocky topic for javier. it didn’t start well, and it wasn’t a pleasant journey through the years. the focus for him was to get the job done, no matter how clean or dirty it got to. and that’s what keeps him up at night.

javier had arrived early around 7am to bogota, he had left laredo late the night before and took a red eye flight to colombia. carrying a small suitcase and his infamous briefcase that he never left behind. he was exhausted and needed a cigarette before his nerves combusted. the rush of the familiar humidity, the smell, the people, it was a fever rush that he didn’t anticipate so soon.

javier looks down at his watch, just around noon. he sees old cars and motorcycles pass by, a few people walking or others joining each other in waves of laughter as they converse. he fixes his suit and walks down the familiar path to the market he once and always visited when he was here with steve.

he was here for a week max, needed for aid and help for a small mission that would take place just outside bogota. they needed his knowledge and strength, and javier couldn’t resist saying no. he never said no, no matter the consequences it left behind.

“javier! mijo! pero mira que guapo estás!” margarita, an old lady whom he knows, recognized him almost immediately. javier leaned down, hugging her tight, appreciating the warmth and motherly love she had. “como está? porque estás aquí?” (darling! look how handsome you are! how are you? how come you’re here?)

“estoy muy bien margarita! vengo por una semana a hacer un pequeño trabajo fuera de la ciudad, me necesitaban aquí, y aquí estoy,” javier explained, margarita holding his middle as she looked at him proudly and happily. “y usted? como está, se mira bella y elegante como siempre,” javier winked at her, seeing her cheeks grow pink as she stuttered. (i am doing well, margarita! i’m here for a week to do a small job just outside the city, they needed me so here i am. and you? how are you doing? you look beautiful and elegant as always)

“como siempre javi, viviendo la vida y estar en mi tiendita, ahorrando plata para mi muchacho porque pronto se gradúa y va ir a la universidad!” javier listened attentively, nodding along as margarita spoke about her life over the past years. she made him feel welcomed, and he loved to hear her small stories. she offered him fruits and a few empanadas for later in the evening, gushing over and over at how she was delighted to see him again. (like always javi, living the life and being here in my store, saving money because my son graduates soon and he will attend uni!)

after promising her he would comeback, he made a quick few stops for a few items. a toothbrush that he had forgotten, some 3in1 bottle of shampoo conditioner and body wash, a few cases of waters, a needed pack of cigarettes and a rich old bottle of whiskey. “will that be all?” the cashier asked, javier nodded handing him the cash as he picked up the brown bag and walked off.

he looked around at the familiar apartments he once stayed in, a quick race in his pulse as he walked into his temporary home, and set down the stuff. the ac air was still the same, new and more modern furniture then the one he used to have, new wallpaper, and better functioning appliances. he unloaded everything he had just bought and returned back to the rental car for his personal bags, throwing them into his room not caring.

he sat on the couch grumpy, taking out a cigarette and lighting it up, inhaling a huge amount before exhaling. he looked out the window, the skies now orange and golden colored, his fingers brushed his forehead where a small layer of sweat covered his skin, already knowing that it was a bad idea coming back here.

———————————— ❦. ————————————

“mateo porfavor! ven acá porque ya vamos tarde,” you slightly raised your voice at your moody toddler, who stomped his little foot and pouted. “si te apuras pasamos comprando un helado,” you offered, seeing his little legs run into your arms. you laughed and kissed his head fixing the curls he had and put his shoes on. (mateo please! come here because we’re already running late! if you hurry we can get a ice cream.)

you packed your purse with your wallet and gum, enough diapers and baby wipes, a change of clothes, and plenty of water and snacks for him, throwing in a small bottle of medicine just incase. you didn’t care how heavy your bag was, you were a first time mom and you wanted to be prepared for anything that could happened. you quickly placed your heeled sandals on, grabbing mateo’s hand and locked the door to your house.

the immediate colombian humid air hit your skin, your beige sundress flowing around and hair going everywhere as you walked to mateo’s daycare. he would only be there for a few hours during when you worked. not trusting anyone or any other places with him. you had seen and experienced the bad things and you never wanted your baby to go and experience the same.

for him to walk around with fear everywhere he went, to be unable to look at people or even trust them for their actions or words, for his heart to race when he heard familiar sounds and cries for help. your brushed the bad memories away, greeting the front desk receptionist and saying goodbye to mateo. “te prometo que cuando regrese, vamos por un helado en donde margarita. te amo mucho mucho bebé,” you say to him, mateo’s brown eyes looking into yours with a hint of sadness knowing you were leaving him. but he somehow always managed and understood. your smart baby. (i promise when i come back, we will go to margaritas for your ice cream, i love you so so much my baby.)

“cuídamelo porfavor,” you smiled nervously but with thanks to the caregiver, she hugged you and walked you out. you sigh deeply, a unease feeling spreading across your chest for an unknown reason. you hated feeling that way. not knowing what it could mean or what could happen. your intuition never lied, and you always went with your gut. how could you not after everything you suffered… (please take care of him.)

you wanted to make sure that mateo always had what he needed and desired. but it came with a price, it always did. it meant you wouldn’t see him as much as you desired, that you had to play both mom and dad roles. that you worried you weren’t doing enough or that you were overdoing it. that you would fear his resentment later on because you were constantly working. you were alone in this, and although you were proud of the little life you had built, the future scared you.

mateo was almost 2. he was healthy and the spitting image of his father. the soft brown eyes, his curls, the tan, the way he walked, and even stared. he had his father's attitude and the same ways of always wanting to help people. even at his little age, he already showed so many signs of wanting to help others. you felt so incredibly happy no matter what the circumstances were.

the positive pregnancy tests felt heavy in your purse, the breakfast wanting to make its way back up as you waited patiently in the lobby. you kept thinking and rehearsing what you would say to him. stressing how his reaction or what he would say. how he would take the news you were expecting his baby. but you couldn’t take it anymore, walking straight up to the desk and refusing to leave without seeing him.

“are you sure he isn’t here? i need to talk to agent peña please,” you pleaded, the soft thump in your chest growing by the second. cassandra, the receptionist shook her head, “i am sorry ma’am but he really isn’t here. javier peña left a week ago back to the united states.” you went deaf, staring at her in-disbelief, your eyes wide as your eyes burned with tears. “what?” you said softly.

“agent peña went back to texas a week ago ma’am… he placed his transfer about two weeks ago and left without saying why. i wish i could let you see him but he’s no longer here in colombia…” she said gently in a soft voice, noticing your state and body language. a small hand went to your belly as an instinct. “is there anyway i can talk to him over the phone it’s really important-” you tried coming up with different solutions refusing to give up.

“we’re not authorized to give any personal details about any of our staff. i sincerely apologize but there’s really nothing you can do,” you shook your head at her words, tears running down your face as you felt time slowly give up on you. “please i’ll do anything i just need to speak to him again, i-i was a informant for him and murphy, i worked with them, you can trust me!” you explained but she refused.

“i’m sorry but i really can’t help you,” cassandra frowned, you let out a sob, sniffling as you felt your body give up on you, legs and arm’s shaky, your blood running cold as you cried uncontrollably. the only thought in your head was how you were going to face this alone. without javier.

you kept thinking about your last interaction and how it ended so terribly. he had dragged you out to a mission by a finca, just outside cali. it went so sideways that it put you, javi, and other agents at a death risk. once you were back in bogota, harsh words and a heated argument tormented your head.

“you used me! i gave myself to you, and you used me javi! do you not know what that means? what it makes me feel? you had no right, not a single right to lie to my face like that. i’ve been nothing but kind and sincere to you, i told you things no one knows about, and for what? for information?” you yelled loudly, pushing his chest as he tried approaching.

“i swear it was only going to be a first time, but the agency needed you for escobar-”

“are you fucking serious?” you saw red, “this is all you care about? estas obesionado con el! he’s ruined you, javi, completely ruined you, are you hearing yourself? what if i had died out there? what if carillo or murphy died out there? you put me into such a high risk over an exchange of information?” you spat harshly. “i’m no longer safe, thanks to you…” (you’re obsessed with him!)

“please just listen to me. the u.s. will keep you safe, they can’t touch you. not escobar, not any of the cartels. you’ll be safe. i feel like a coward for using you, believe me, i didn’t want to, but you were so important. you were a key for us to be able to take down those organizations. you helped us! ” javi explained, seeing your teary eyes betray you over and over.

“but at what cost? i can’t trust you anymore javi, you broke me, you broke my heart. this whole time i thought we had something real… that it wasn’t just in my head, but it’s all a lie. you used me for revenge, and i can’t forgive you for that,” you said broken. your chin wobbled, your chest hurting with pain as javi looked at you defeated. “y/n please try to understand-”

“no. please just leave. i never want to see you again…”

you shook away the painful memory, walking to your workplace. you owned a small building that was a flower and plant shop as well as a cafe just close to where an animal sanctuary was. it made you good money and provided for both you and mateo. you loved your place, the windows and doors, the green colors, giving the place a telenovela style.

“buenos dias! ya llegue,” you joked, hugging your coworkers and clocking in for your shift. setting the tables, finishing up a catering order, placing the freshly baked pastries in the showing cabinet, placing new pots of coffee, and your favorite step was to water and fix your plants. they brought you a sense of peace and comfort, admiring how pretty and gorgeous they were, making sure they felt beautiful as they looked. (good morning! i’m here!)

days like today meant a lot to you. when you were busy, your mind didn’t drift off to him. it was hectic, tourists coming in and out, ordering your infamous coffee, conversing, laughing, buying your plants and flowers. it meant good income not only for you but also for your employees as well. when you had first opened you had feared that in a few months it wouldn’t bloom, but luck was on your side, and now you’re here.

“where are we going y/n?” javier chuckled, your hand tightening his by the second as you marched up eagerly. “i want to show my place, well, it’s not mine but it will be.” he and steve had just came from a mission in the city. one that didn’t go to plan, and had made javi feel uneasy and worried. the first thing he did was call you, quickly picking you up and asking to take his mind away from there.

a small building in the corner came to his view, it looked beat up, and needed a clear makeover. it was surrounded by a garden patch, flyers of missing people or events, and graffiti. “i want to show you a place i have walked by everyday, that now has become my dream…” you said shyly, javi kissing your knuckles and nodded.

“here it is! it’s a bit small but i already have so many ideas how to remodel and make everything fit. the doors for the entrance an windows will be green, the walls a being color, and the frames brown,” javier looked down at you, seeing your bright smile as you rambled off.

“have you signed the lease?” javier asked, seeing your lips frown to the side. “not quite, i still need a bit more money for the down payment,” you had saved up so much over the years, but you weren’t ready to quit easily. this place was yours, and you’d do anything to have it under your name.

“javi no-”

“you don’t even know what i’m going to say!”

“yo te conozco javi… no me puedes engañar,” you kissed his lips, his hand immediately grasping your waist and pulling you into his chest. “why don’t you ever let me help you. you know i can and will do it princesa,” he spoke gently across your lips. “because you’ve done more than enough the past few months, i can’t also accept your money,” you reasoned. (i know you javi… you can’t fool me.)

“haria y podria darte todo en el mundo hermosa, te mercedes todo lo mejor,” javier said, his heart pumping fast as his eyes connected with your. when he was with you, he could be anyone, didn’t feel the pain and hurt, rather just love and happiness. security. you made him forget the cruelty in the world, showing him how caring and loving it was. (i would and can give you everything in the world, you deserve the best.)

“tell me more about your cafe, will you also sell your plants and flowers?”

“su total es 23.34,” you smiled sweetly at the alex, margaritas son, who handed you the total. he was one of your frequent customers since his high school was close to your cafe. he always got a dark roast coffee and a piece of arequipe. “pasarás donde mi mami hoy? siempre se queja que ya no vas a visitarla,” he laughed. “de hecho, le prometí a mateo que íbamos a comprar un helado después que lo recogiera,” you explained, falling into a small conversation with him to check how he was doing. (your total is 23.34. will you pass by my mom’s today? she always complains that you don’t visit her anymore. actually, i promised mateo i would take him to buy an ice cream after i picked him up.)

the rest of the afternoon flew by quicker than you anticipated, quickly cleaning up the place, stacking the chairs, turning off all heat sources, and putting away any food left in the fridge. you grabbed the reusable bags for groceries, needing to buy the necessary items after running out on a few foods. margarita and other small market owners would have what you needed.

“mami!” mateo squealed, running wobbly into your arms and immediately digging his head into your neck, his tight hold ushering you with love. you melted instantly, so relieved to have your baby boy back into your arms, kissing his head and rubbing his back. “te extrañe mucho papito, te divertiste?” you asked, feeling him nod, his words all jambled in a mess as he attempted to explain what he had done and ate. you thanked the workers, placing the small box of pastries onto their table before saying goodbye. (mommy! I missed you so much baby, did you have fun?)

“marga, marga!” mateo ran to margarita, ‘marga’ was the nickname he called her since he couldn’t fully pronounce full words or names yet. it just stuck and she loved hearing it. “mi amorcito! llegaste! mm, mm, mm, porque no has venido,” she picked up mateo, hugging him tight before scolding playfully at you. she set him down kissing both your cheeks and hugged you. “mi cafe ha estado super ocupado últimamente, pero aquí estoy y con el niño,” you explained. (my love! you’re here! nuh uh uh, why haven’t you came. my cafe has been super busy lately, but i’m here and with the baby.)

“i have to tell you something, and it’s important because i’m speaking english so they wont hear…” margarita ushers you into her section, you quickly grab mateo, peeling a small orange for him to eat. “so who won’t hear? is everything okay?,” your head began to race with different scenarios. hating the uneasiness in your conscience.

“no matter how long it has been, there is still people who watch and listen carefully around here…” she pointed with her eyes to the other side by the corner where two men in silk shirts with tight pants looked out. you immediately knew and understood they worked in a cartel and did dirty work. “who are they? how long have they been here? are you okay, do you need anything?” you worry for her. she has no one but her husband, who fell ill last year, and her son alex.

“i am okay mija, thank you for asking. we have no clue, but it must be some sort of new crime group because we’ve never seen them here, they stand there all day waiting for someone or something. at first we thought they were undercover, but a shooting broke out the other day, and well…” she tilted her head to the side.

“do you think it’s me?” you ask, terrified, mateo sensing right away and hugging your leg, looking up.

“no, but just be careful, especially with mateo. one can forgive the past, but they won’t forget,” margarita stated, sighing deeply. you knew what she was referring to, just shortly after you found out you were expecting, a dangerous encounter had you fearing for your life.

your breath was ragged and short, his grip getting tighter around your neck. you felt the trickle of blood against your temple, watching with blurry eyes as he stuck out his gun and waved it around. “you don’t realize the damage your boyfriend put you in, huh? you lied to me, to us…”

“please i didn’t mean too!” you said staggeredly, seeing black dots.

“that’s what they always say. but its always too late, you’re going to be paying the price till your last breath. I fucking hate traitors, i let you into my family, pay you, give you a roof and this is how you treat me? you’re a disgrace!” he slaps you hard, the sting immediately burning your cheek, the impact so strong it knocked you down to your knees.

“please i’m-”

“i don’t care for your apologies or mercy. you made your choice the day you walked into my house. i wish i could kill you, make you feel just how angry i am with you, but you’re lucky since your dea property… you fucking whore, javier always gets the good ones…”

you didn’t leave your apartment for a month after that, fearing your life would be taken away. you had to provide and care for two. margarita always visited you, consoled you, and stayed till you fell asleep. you wish you could feel safe again, but every day was a reminder you were a ticking bomb. all because you messed with the wrong people and with javi.

“there’s another thing,” margarita pinched her finger, nervously shifting her weight. “someone came by yesterday… it was-” you shook your head in disbelief. “no, no, no, no! you’re lying to me,” you said shakily, tears already threatening your eyes. “he’s back for a week, he doesn’t know, i would never betray you like that-” she stopped speaking a loud gasp escaping her lips, making you squint your eyes confused before you heard him.

“y/n?”

you froze, unable to move in the slightest way possible. the blood had drained from your face, hands shaky, and unsteady breaths passing your lips. you could feel him, his eyes watching you as you morphed into a frightened person. it wasn’t till he was in front that you looked at him from down to up.

———————————— ❦. ————————————

there were only two times before now when javi forgot how to breathe. the first was when he saw you for the first time, innocent yet spirited, drinking from a glass cup filled with ice and whiskey. the second was when you kicked him out of your life almost three years ago, javi waiting outside your door, recollecting himself, and trying to tame what went wrong. the third was now, your dress hugging your curves in all the right places, your natural hair, your perfume, but mostly the small child that held your hand.

he tried so hard to forget you, but he couldn’t. he couldn’t after what he did. he couldn’t because you haunted him from the early day to night when he woke up shaking. he thought if he’d ever see you, have the chance to hold and speak to you. fix how things were left before he went back home to laredo.

but all he could feel was confusion. a mix of that, and a feeling of home.

“javi-” you said broken, your eyes scared yet filled with hope, he immediately knew.

“i can’t believe it, it’s really you my love, you’re really here,” one hand held you by the waist and the other coddled your cheek where he brushed away a small tear. margarita stood confounded and confused on what she should do. she couldn’t believe the sight in front of her, the family that was meant to be together but wasn’t due to lies and secrets.

you pushed him off of you gently, creating a barrier with him. as much as you wanted and craved his touch, for him to wish everything was okay, you needed a moment to figure out what would happen and be said next. javi immediately missed you warmth, his eyes roaming everywhere for signs but he looked down at the little boy with curls and honey brown eyes.

“javi-”

“who’s this?”

“mami? amonos,” javi couldn’t stop staring at him. at the small boy who immediately caught your attention, the small boy who you now held and looked at with pure love and happiness, promising him you would leave as soon as you were done here. the little boy who was your son. javi couldn’t mutter another word. he needed confirmation, he needed to know. (mom? let’s go.)

“javi… meet my son mateo,” you smiled painfully, your eyes teary as javi’s face softened, the small boy reaching out to him, where javi couldn’t refuse. mateo looked at him with a sweet grin, his nose scrunching, already loving being held by him. javi kissed his forehead, his lips lingering for a few seconds as he closed his eyes, wanting to keep him safe even if he wasn’t his.

he felt a connection. a bond. which made him even more and more confused with his thoughts and feelings.

“javi there’s a lot i need to talk to you about,” you muttered softly, grabbing mateo back. javi continued to stand silent, unable to tear away his eyes from you and mateo. “i want to explain everything,” you both said at the same time, locking eyes, feeling the old butterflies resurfacing after so long.

but before you could even reach that stage, the two men from earlier, who were standing in the corner, now stood behind him, their smiles sinister and up to no good. you tucked mateo’s head into your neck, not wanting him to see and remember them, your hands and feet shaky because they were here for you. you and javi knew this was trouble.

———————————— ❦. ————————————

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