I figured it would be easier to make a separate masterlist for this writing challenge. As always, thank you @clonexreaderbingo for hosting this. It's a treat and I am behind (as usual) but I am determined to get through it!!!!
Sunrise - Keep Your Religion (Commander Wolffe)
Warnings: Starts off angsty then gets to the smut. Softer than usual Wolffe because that man would be madly in love when he finds his special someone. Lots of Kissing. Possessive Behavior/Words. Dirty/Sweet Talk..but mostly Sweet. Exhibitionism Kink if you like squint! Oral Sex (female receiving). Penetrative, Unprotected Sex (wrap the shlong before you king kong my dudes). Slight Breeding Kink. Wolffe is insatiable yall!
Summary: You try to end things with Wolffe because you fear your relationship will end badly due to the rules set in place for the Jedi and the Clones. Wolffe convinces you otherwise.
Fire - Tell the Stars How Much You Want Me (Sergeant Hunter) Warnings:
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Blaster - For Your Service (Commander Mayday and Crosshair) Warnings:
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Kamino - Pluviophile (Tech)
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Massif - Almost Idyllic (Captain Rex)
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The Force - Permission Granted (Commander Wolffe)
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Outer Rim - Fahrenheit (Commander Mayday)
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"I Hate This" - Defenses (Captain Rex)
Warnings: Mutual Pining. Idiots in Love. Misunderstandings (that are addressed throughout). Overprotective Rex. Innocent touches turn Not-So-Innocent…Love Confessions. “Enthusiastic” Feelings. Dirty, Sweet Talk. Brief Oral (female receiving). Brief Hand Job. Pentrative, Unprotected Sex (wrap it up folks). Creampie. Cuddling.
Summary: Under the assumption that your friend’s Captain cannot stand the sight of you, you steer clear of him throughout the Life Day Celebrations. But when the diplomatic visit takes an unexpected turn, you’re forced to act as bait so Anakin and Rex capture the assassin chasing after the Prince of Dondri. An accidental encounter on the final night of the mission brings clarity to certain matters for you…and reveals some of your own secrets to Rex.
"I'm Coming with You" - To Keep You from Breaking (Captain Rex)
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Life Day - Playing with Fire (Commander Wolffe)
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"Leave Me Alone" - Wicked Games (Commander Wolffe)
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Royal - Before My Eyes (Commander Wolffe)
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"I Didn't Forget" - Fatal Dis|at|traction (Sergeant Hunter)
Warnings: Unrequited feelings (in more ways than one). Touch-starved characters. Lots of sweet/dirty talk. Hunter likes to tease a lot. Oral Sex (female receiving). Fingering. Squirting. Just a bit of a knife kink (it's not everyone's cup of tea so it's a very short scene). Pentrative, Unprotected Sex (wrap it up folks). Creampie. Cuddling.
Summary: You have feelings for Tech who is now taken. Hunter notices your little predicament and decides to offer you a solution, one that you take enthusiastically. Little do you know that this could be the start of something new.
thank you for the orthodox christmas wish! my family is rastafarian (my grandparents are most connected to it) and they celebrate it, i never seen another person acknowledge it before lol
Heyyyy ya of course! I celebrate my Christmas today because I'm Coptic 😁😁 but you're right, not many people are aware of the Orthodox calendar.
Wishing everyone who celebrates Christmas today a very blessed Feast of Nativity! May the joys of this feast bring peace, love and prosperity to your families and friends.
Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x Fem!Reader
Words: 1858
Warning: None. Necromancy and Witchcraft. Major Character Death.
Chapter Summary: A pair of sorrow-filled eyes greet him when he wakes, and only when he parts his lips to breathe does he realize where he is, or rather, where he isn't.
A/N: Watching this movie on the last day of the year was a life-altering experience! Side note, if anyone knows how to make tags work on here, please let me know. I am a little out of practice.
Previous Part // Series Masterlist
He does not know where he is, nor how he arrived at such a dark, empty place. He does not know why he feels a deep sense of loss, nor does he understand the cause of his heartbreak. But perhaps most frightening, he does not know when he will need to leave with the Ferryman.
The sun hides behind a cloud of smoke, the rays escaping the air of the heavens enough to beat down harshly on him. Yet it is as cold as war nights, and he is unable to move away from the shores. His feet carry him forward against his own will, and he surrenders all hope to the waves crashing against the sands. More than anything, he wants to speak, to cry out for the gods, beg them to offer him another chance, not for himself, but for those who depended on him, for Lucilla, for her son, for the promises he swore to keep.
But he knows better than to say a word, the gods were final in their decisions. He did not plead for his life when he still had a breath in him, and he would certainly not do so now.
When he reaches the edge of the boat, he looks to the hooded figure and nods in acceptance. Without hesitation, he steps into the wooden vessel, his heart remaining behind and leaving him to journey alone.
As he allows himself to finally submit to the will of the gods, a violent shift rakes through the sail and he furrows his eyebrow in curiosity, unsure of whether the Ferryman was simply unimpressed by his spirit and wanted to frighten him further.
Except the Ferryman does not attend to him and instead reaches out for the shores. He turns around and finds a figure standing at the edge of the sea, and as he attempts to understand what will become of him, the boat halts and slowly returns to land. He stands in wonder, his mind reeling with thoughts of what could be. A faint petition sounds in his mind, and he does his best to listen to it, but the waves crashing against the boat are far louder than the song.
The craft jerks at the sands and the Ferryman shakes his head in disapproval, turning his back towards the figure—the woman—who prevented him from carrying out his duties. He knows not what to do, but his feet carry him away regardless, and as he feels the grains of the sands below his feet, he is suddenly filled with a sense of hope, a feeling he did not know he can ever meet again.
Then he turns to look at his savior, and he is met with a faceless figure, one who reaches for his hands and pulls him away from the waters. The voice almost comes from within him now, and he stands in wonder, unsure of what to make of the prayer he was allowed to witness yet makes no sense to his heart.
“O Asclepius Medicus, deus salutis, Adiuva me ut sanitatem restituas, In nomine tuo et luce tua, salvum fiat! Claustra Tartari reclude, animam mihi restitue, Fiat hoc sacrum in pace et voluntate tua, Ut anima amata ad vitam redeat. Permitte animam hanc redire ad lucem, Non ut ordo frangatur, sed ut voluntas tua compleatur.”
He wishes to speak his gratitude, but his throat refuses to emit a sound, and as he tugs her hand in a gesture of appreciation, his eyes open wide and his lungs fill with a rush of air, one that leaves him heaving in desperation.
He does not know where he is, nor how he arrived at this bright, warm place. He does not know why he feels a deep sense of relief, nor does he understand the newfound cause of intent. But perhaps most frightening, he does not know when he will need to leave with the woman.
He attempts to glance to the side, but a warm hand clasps over his eyes and hides the room away from him.
“Acacius, heed my words carefully. Your wife is in need of you. Find her in the colosseum.” The strange, melodious voice washes over him as the waters of the springs, setting his heart ablaze with a comfort he has never known before.
“Who-” His voice is hoarse, and it occurs to him then that it may be because he was no more.
And now he was.
“Who are you?” Acacius attempts to ask again, but she does not respond, and instead passes a faint scent beneath his nose, one that pulls him away long enough for her to continue her requests.
“Divina Aletheia, Custos Veritatis, Tibi hanc hostiam offero, vitam meam pro eius, Ut veritatem tuam mihi largiaris. Gratia Veritas, largire mihi favorem tuum, Tibi supplex veniam peto. Ignosce mihi et benedictio tua maneat super me.” Again, Acacius is privy to the prayer, yet he cannot understand the depth of the words. He is between sleep and wake, but he pleads with his spirit to remain, afraid he would return to the world between worlds. He reaches for the hand above his eyes and takes it away to his heart, but he does not open his eyes, knowing whoever saved did not wish him to see.
He does not wish to see.
“Kind soul, I thank you.” He shakes with gratitude, his chest tightening at the prospect of what was to have met him had he continued.
Unbeknownst to him, you stand over his bloodied and bruised body, frowning at the slight tug of your heartstrings upon hearing his words. Had you not known him better, you would have thought him capable of things apart from cruelty. But you knew him better, and you knew he was not what he appears to be now.
“There is no gratitude.” You pull your hands away and raise him to his feet, and as his eyes flutter open, you move into the shadows, completely disappearing from his sight. He glances around in confusion, only to find his armor and sword beside him. Unsure of where he is, he tries to call for you, only to hear a faint voice speak within him once more.
“Find Lucilla.”
The praetorian hands Macrinus the longbow, and he expertly aims it at Lucilla, lying in wait until Lucius reaches for her. He is careful in his hold, knowing he will only have the one chance to exact his vengeance. The gladiators battle across the grounds of the Colosseum, and as Lucius ascends the wagon, his heart leaps at knowing there is a life he has a chance to save.
But the joy leaves his eyes when he looks upon his mother’s features and sees the fear etched upon her beautiful face. He follows her line of sight and notices Macrinus, and before he can step in front of the woman that birthed him, his hands shake at the vision that fills his eyes.
Before the arrow is released, a loud cry echoes through the walls of the colossal structure, and he ceases to breathe as his mind’s eyes register whom he is looking upon. Standing firmly between Macrinus and Lucilla is none other than the man he nearly beheaded two days prior. Lucius is in awe of the broad presence of the General, unbelieving of the spectacle until he hears the thunder sword as it crushes the longbow. But the shock of the gladiator does not compare to the disturbance clouding Macrinus’ whole body, and he runs away instantly, allowing Tegula’s men to come between him and the man he was no longer convinced was dead.
“How can this be?” Lucius breathes the question with shock and reverence, looking into his mother’s eyes and quieting at the flickers of truth swimming in them. He shakes his head, silently telling her he does not care to know, and when she is unbound, he brings her down from the wagon and returns to the cells.
“Remain here,” he cups Lucilla’s cheeks, smiling softly at the woman who watched over him from a thousand miles away. She shakes with fear, tears streaming down her tired skin when he moves away from him. Refusing to let him go, Lucilla asks him a question she knows the answer to.
“Where will you go?” Although she knows the truth of the future, she cannot help but worry, her heart beating wildly at the prospect of what is to come.
“I must face Macrinus, mother. Remain here, you are safe now.” Lucius waits until she nods in agreement, offering her one last, peaceful smile before running out towards the gate of the amphitheater. The sun beats down harshly on the dead bodies, and as he races to find a horse, he spots Acacius in the heat of battle, fighting the emperor’s soldiers as if it was his only task.
“Acacius!” He bellows through the grounds and watches as the man runs towards him, breathing heavily and glancing around to ensure no one is approaching either of them. Neither of the men are capable of acknowledging the reality they are faced with, and Acacius reaches for the young man’s shoulders, clasping them tightly and apologetically.
“You know what must be done.” His voice is hoarse, and Lucius shivers at the knowledge of what must have been done for the soul of this old man to return from the underworld.
“My mother, she is beneath the grounds.” Lucius offers as he runs away, unable to pull his attention from the man who should be dead but has undoubtedly come back to life.
The men concede to one another, and Acacius makes his way to the cells with the swiftness of Mars. He frantically looks around, and when he hears a sob echo from the corner of the rooms, he gulps anxiously and turns to look at the woman whom he offered everything in life, and death.
“My lady,” the words are not spoken for a moment before Lucilla races towards him, and he winces in pain when she wraps her arms around him in a desperate embrace.
“Thank the gods!” She cannot fathom how he is breathing and in her arms, but when she opens her eyes and finds you standing at the end of the hallway, she mouths her gratitude and watches as you bow in return, your steps calculated as you return to the shadows and allow her a moment with her husband.
Chaos erupts around you, but you pay the figures no mind as you move through the streets filled with a multitude of angry mobs. Only when you are in the safety of the domina’s home do you allow the facade to fall. You prepare for the months to come, praying that all unfolds accordingly now that the first piece has been set into motion. Making your way to the humble altar near the window, you kneel down and aim your eyes to the heavens, pleading with the gods to take no offense in the actions you have taken this morning.
“Tibi supplex veniam peto. Ignosce mihi et benedictio tua maneat super me.”
Translations:
-O Asclepius Medicus, deus salutis, Adiuva me ut sanitatem restituas, In nomine tuo et luce tua, salvum fiat! Claustra Tartari reclude, animam mihi restitue, Fiat hoc sacrum in pace et voluntate tua, Ut anima amata ad vitam redeat. Permitte animam hanc redire ad lucem, Non ut ordo frangatur, sed ut voluntas tua compleatur.
O Asclepius the Healer, god of health, Help me to restore health, In your name and your light, let there be healing! Open the gates of Tartarus, return the soul to me, Let this sacred act be in peace and your will, So that the beloved soul may return to life. Allow this soul to return to the light, Not to break the order, but to fulfill your will.
-Divina Aletheia, Custos Veritatis, Tibi hanc hostiam offero, vitam meam pro eius, Ut veritatem tuam mihi largiaris. Gratia Veritas, largire mihi favorem tuum, Tibi supplex veniam peto. Ignosce mihi et benedictio tua maneat super me.
Divine Aletheia, Guardian of Truth, To you, I offer this sacrifice, my life for his, That you may grant me your truth, Gracious Veritas, bestow upon me your favor, I humbly seek your forgiveness. Forgive me, and Let your blessing remain upon me.
-Tibi supplex veniam peto. Ignosce mihi et benedictio tua maneat super me.
I humbly ask your pardon. Forgive me, and may your blessing remain upon me.
a/n: I am genuinely obsessed with Marcus Acacius and the thought of him being a gladiator and wanting nothing but you? Imagine? Ughhhh I just want him so bad 😩, please feel free to send in thots, requests, even just musings about him 💕 not beta’d and barely proofread!
Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, special contraceptive tea, girlie and her bestie gossiping about Marcus and his skills, body / breast worship, Marcus and girlie are really fucking into one another, very possessive of one another in the best way (reader is a slave so there is a power imbalance but so is Marcus), gladiatorial violence, nothing graphic- let me know if I missed any!
Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader
word count: 3.3k
reblogs are appreciated
Masterlist series masterlist
She is short with you when you greet her back in the main house. There is a look in her eye, a nervous flitting about your form and it falls into place when she beckons you closer; it is worry.
“Did he hurt you? Was he rough in his taking of you?” She gestures to one of the other girls that attended her, calling for something while looking over the parts of you not covered by fabric.
“No Domina, he was very gentle, mostly.” Head bowed in deference, you turn and show her that you are in fact whole, albeit pleasantly sore.
“Gentle? Truly?” She frowns, shocked but shrugs it off, “that is good, I was worried his brutality would land upon you. Did he spill inside you? I have had the tea made to prevent any issue from your union.”
Memories flash through your mind as a cup of the aforementioned tea is placed in your hands of all the different ways he had filled you. Heat blooms in your cheeks at the feel of it drying on your inner thighs.
“Yes Domina, many times.”
“Drink, I imagine you must be exhausted.” She sighs, watching as you gulp down the bitter mixture. “Take a rest and come back to me once you have slept a while and cleansed yourself of his lust.”
“Yes Domina.” You bow again, and head for your chamber.
-
He felt invigorated, despite the fact that he had gotten barely any rest. Her arousal was still smeared all over his cock, all over his fingers and the thought of him carrying her with him into the ludus where he lived and trained kept the smile plastered on his face.
The other men were already up and training, honing their skills in hopes of advancing. He took his time making his way to his own training, taking a moment to himself to think about all the things he’d done to her, all of the sighs and whimpers he’d gotten out of her, the sweet moans that had burned themselves into his ears. Let himself imagine for a moment, the next time he’d win and ask for her, what other delights he could bestow upon her.
Most of his brothers ignored him when he finally went out to train, the ones closest to him gave him a nod and he nodded back. With sword in hand, and the sun on his back, he put the softness of her skin and her pink, honeyed tongue away and focused.
-
Cassia, your closest friend found you in the kitchens after having rested.
“You must tell me everything!” her nails dug into your arm, her excitement a visceral, violent thing and you laughed at the way her eyes were as big as an owls.
“Everything? What is there to tell? He took my virtue.” You smile to yourself, filing the tray with things for your Domina to eat while Cassia shook with excitement beside you.
“Oh, is that all? The fiercest Gladiator asked for you as his prize and this is the answer you give me? And I called you friend!” She pouts, indignant at your lack of candor. Your mouth betrays you and you smile before shaking your head.
“Very well, I will give you all of the details you desire. Ask me, and I will share.” With your full tray in your hands, you gesture for her to follow you and she does with a mischievous grin on her face.
“What was it like? Was it terribly painful?” She held onto your arm, careful not to jostle your tray.
“It stung, burned a little at first, but only at first. He made it quite enjoyable so by the end of the night it felt wonderful.” You sighed, remembering his face as you rode him just how he liked.
“Was it big? His cock?” She blushed prettily, her pale skin going pink as a flower.
“Yes, it was big, thick as well. I confess I did not think it would fit.” You laughed, and she giggled, going even more red. “He surprised me, for as much as we thought him a brute, he was very soft, sweet and affectionate. I enjoyed my time with him very much and I hope…” She raises her eyebrows, shocked at what you might say.
“I hope that he calls for me again.” You press forward, defiant, and honest.
“You wanton thing!” She laughs, delighted. “I pray to the Gods that my virtue may be taken by one as worthy, and as skilled since you are already begging for a repeat performance.” She laughs and you bump her shoulder with hers playfully, balancing the tray as she separates from you. She casts a wink your way before returning to her duties, and letting you tend to the Domina.
She says nothing when you bring her the tray, and you fall back into your usual rhythm of servitude easily.
Weeks pass, and the training in the ludus below intensifies as another game is lined up by your Dominus. There’s a craving within you now though, a new one that follows you around no matter where you go. That ache that he had built up in that stiff bed below with his fingers and with his tongue resurfaced every so often with an intensity you couldn’t understand.
Whenever you saw him below, whenever you caught his eye, visions of him above you, below you—inside you filled your mind like wine filling a cup. Heat flooded your body, arousal collected at the mouth of your cunt and it was hard to focus on anything beyond the ghost of his filling stretch.
-
When the games finally came, you found yourself paying much more attention to them than you ever had before. Silently cheering for him and praying to all of the Gods that he would come out victorious, while secretly praying that he’d ask for you once more.
There was yet another feeling now however, as you watched him make quick work of his opponents. A fear that settled low in your belly, deep in your heart as he took a minor blow that he would fall, that you would have to stand there and serve your Domina while watching him die. A shiver ran down your spine to imagine it.
“Victorious again!” Your Dominus laughed, collecting coin from those who had bet against Marcus. It angered you, that they would bet against him. There was a curious sense of ownership battling for dominance amongst all your newfound feelings. He felt yours, and you felt his. So strange, considering it has only been one night, and there was no guarantee he’d been speaking the truth.
You tried to put it out of your mind as you made your way back home, focused on the tasks at hand and suppressed the hope swelling within when the Dominus called him forth once more. He did not keep you in suspense, his eyes found yours instantly, staring with open desire and your Dominus was quick to catch on.
“Shall I send her down with you once more? Would you not care for another girl? One yet untouched?” The master of the house gestured to others that served alongside you, and you didn’t fail to note the gleam of hope in some of them, in Cassia.
“No Dominus. I desire only her.” He smiled, eyes focused on your form and his heat engulfed you.
“Very well.” He gestured to you and you obeyed, marginally happier than the first time.
There was no preamble this time, as soon as you crossed the threshold of that room he was on you. His mouth claiming yours hungrily, his hands landing heavy on your backside. You smiled into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. He smelled of blood, sweat and victory.
“Gods above, how I have ached for you my sweet.” His hands grabbed at you, pawing at every bit of you he could reach while he mouthed at your neck, building the fires of arousal within you.
“I must confess, I have ached for you as well.” He groaned, biting at your ear. You pushed him away for a moment, guiding him to the basin to wipe the gore away from his skin.
“Tell me.” His eyes were frantic, roving over you as though you might disappear if he did not watch you while he made quick work of divesting himself of his soiled armour. With a shy smile, you wring the cloth and set to cleaning the grime from his beautiful face.
“I have ached for you to fill me once more, to take me and give me the same pleasure as you did the first time.” You watched your hands as you worked, blood pounding in your chest and in your cunt to confess your secret thoughts. His fingers pinched your chin softly, guiding your eyes to meet his.
“Did you touch yourself, thinking of my hands?”
His gaze was so intense, filled with such fire that you could barely move, could barely breathe under the weight of it. Memories of your self exploration in the nights leading up to the games filled your mind.
“Yes, so many times.”
Silently he took the cloth from you, making quick work of cleansing himself before discarding it and now he looked so much like he did in the arena, stalking, hunting you down like prey but it did not scare you. If anything, it only inflamed your passion, made your cunt drool its arousal onto your inner thighs.
“Do you know that you have not left my thoughts since that night? Since before that, I cannot think of anything else. Just your face, your body, your smile—“ he pressed close enough that you had to tilt your face up to keep his gaze, swallowing thickly at his open desire.
With his eyes holding you still, he removes your tunic and his. His manhood is just as thick, just as heavy and stiff for you. It smears his own pearly want against the goose flesh spreading across your belly.
“How do you want me?” Tentatively, you caress his ribs, sliding up to feel the firm golden skin of his chest.
“I want you in every way there is to want a woman.” He cuts the whimper from your mouth off with a kiss, his words, his touch; it bolsters you and you guide him to sit at the edge of the bed.
“Then I shall ride you, just as you like.” There’s a pretty flush on his cheeks, spreading down his neck and despite your limited experience, you feel like nothing short of a goddess lining him up and sinking slowly onto his cock.
His unabashed moan of pleasure helps with the stretch of his manhood.
“It feels so much better this time.” Your voice sounds different, wanton, confident. It does feel better, the thick pillar of his sex stretching you enough to make you whimper into his mouth.
He groans from deep in his chest, a rumble that makes your body heat from the inside out. Ever since that night you’d been dreaming of this, of having him want you again, fill you again and it’s so much better than your late night fantasies. With trembling thighs you roll your hips, grinding yourself against him, holding onto his strong golden shoulders for purchase.
His hands grab onto your hips, squeezing at the flesh and guiding your movements. His breath comes out in small pants and there’s so much about him to admire it’s difficult to settle on just one aspect. His strength is obvious. Muscles honed with sword and shield ripple and cord under your fingers. The long line of his neck begs for your lips, beckons you to taste the salt that collects there and you do, drawing a surprised yet filthy sound from him. It spurs you on, your tongue traveling up to his ear to bite at the lobe.
“Your tight little cunt is going to milk me dry.” You cannot help but smile, a victory of your own shining brightly within at the knowledge of how much pleasure he gains from your body.
“I am ready, fill me again, I want to feel it deep inside me.” Your lips press against his, your arms wrap tighter around his neck to press yourself closer as you ride him quicker. His arms wrap around your ribs, holding you just as tightly, your nipples hard as pebbles against his chest as he all but bounces you on his cock.
Sweat beads at his hairline, the effort of using you to fuck himself evident in the gorgeous flush in his cheeks. Your tongue slides across the plump of his bottom lip and he almost growls before offering his own. It’s vulgar, the way your tongues meet without actually kissing, the wet sounds of your joining, it all adds to the heat blooming in your spine. The tingling in your breasts, in your core and when he spreads his legs a little wider something shifts and he’s deeper. You cry out, begging, babbling at him to keep going, just there, please and he obeys.
The pleasure is a hot dagger through your being, making you seize and squeeze him all the tighter, it is the catalyst for his own release and the spurt of him only adds to your experience.
You catch your breath, panting while your body feels like a raw nerve, pulsing, clenching, pounding in sync with with your heart. His lips press against your neck, from the sensitive spot just below your ear down to the curve of your shoulder. His calloused hands rub at your back while your muscles loosen.
You pulled his face up to kiss him once more, enamoured with the taste of his tongue and felt him smile into it.
He needs time to recover, and so you lay in the bed next to him. Both of you naked as the day you were born. Your fingers trace mindless shapes onto his chest while his hands travel from the slope of your shoulder, down to the swell of your ass.
“Why did you choose me?” His head turns at your question. “From amongst all the slaves, all of the women who serve in this house… why me?”
“Why? Because I desire you.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, you frown.
“You desire me? That is all? Do you not desire any other?”
“No, I do not. I have been in this house for years and while my body desires this-“ he grabbed at your ass, “it is not something I indulge in very often. I have watched you grow from a girl into a woman and you have wormed your way into my brain. I do not know why, but I desire you above all others.” He pulls your face up, pressing a kiss to your mouth.
“And then once you had me? What did you feel then?”
“I felt joy, that you are sweet as well as beautiful. I felt gratitude that you feel desire for me as well, that you make me laugh, that you feel so good here in my arms… shall I go on?” He grins at the way you cannot hide your happiness, that the shy smile grows on your lips as he confesses and when you nod he pushes you onto your back and slips to slot himself between your legs.
“I feel confident that I please you, I feel pride when your cunt gets wet for me. I love that you are adventurous and brave and willing to try all of the filthy things I want to do to you.” Your fingers twirl the strands of his hair as he dips his head to lick at your nipples.
“I feel possessive of you, to know that no one touches you like me, no one else gets to taste your breasts, no one else gets to fill you the way I do.” His cock glides through the combined mess of your joining.
You hum as he worships you, smiling and preening under his words.
“I confess, I enjoy it, being the object of your desire. I was scared you would pick someone else.” Your legs hitch high on his hips, wrapping around to press against his lower back.
“Hmmm, did you now? Did it make you jealous? the thought of me giving this—“ he knotches himself at your entrance, pushing inside with a slow thrust, “—to someone else?”
“Yes—especially with how excited the other girls were for you to choose. One of them asked me what it was like, what you were like.” It’s slow, decadent the way he fucks you. He presses deep enough to kiss your womb before pulling almost all the way out, then presses deeply again. He does not speed up, he does not vary the pressure.
“And what did you tell her?” His arms bracket your skull, anchoring himself so he can keep up his stamina.
“I told her the truth, that you made it feel so good, that your cock is so big, so thick, that I hoped you called for me again.” You moan the words into his mouth, meeting his thrusts with your own slow roll.
“Not too big for you, nothing you cannot handle hmm? Nothing this perfect cunt cannot handle, my cunt—“ his words affect even him, his hips speed up, a wet, vulgar sound with every plunge ringing through the room.
“Is it mine?” He asks with a grin but all you can do is focus on how good it feels, how he hits that sacred spot within with every press.
“Answer me, whose cunt is this?” He slides one knee up for purchase pulling inhuman moans from you.
“Yours, it’s yours, Gods above, don’t stop—“ your hand slides down to glide your fingers against your achy clit, slipping down first to feel yourself spread wide around him.
It only takes a few delicious swirls before you’re clenching around him, fluttering with your orgasm while his hips move faster, groaning around the tightness of your climax while he chases his own end.
“Going to fucking fill you to the brim, going to be leaking out of you for fucking days—“ he crashes into his own pleasure, barely getting his words out before grinding himself deep enough to hurt, moaning unabashedly, loudly enough that half the house must have heard him.
He collapses onto you, his face pressed into the damp crook of your neck—his sweat soaked skin slipping against yours while you both catch your breath. Your legs wrap tighter around him, holding him inside. The sunkissed, freckly skin of his shoulders is warm under the press of your lips. His voice in your ear is soothing, the low hum of appreciation for the affection you freely give him, something you’re sure he hasn’t received in years.
It takes him a few minutes to move but you don’t mind. The weight of him is welcome, he isn’t the only one starved for touch and he gives it just as freely as you do. He does not let you separate from him. Even as he falls asleep, you are wrapped up in his embrace.
You admire him as he rests. The dark fan of his lashes, the silver strands of his hair, so fine between your fingers, the almost boyish purse of his lips. He does not wake when you press your mouth to his, he only tightens his grip, pulls you closer to him. You smile despite the conflict within, you want him to rest. His efforts in the arena are no small thing and with the way the night has gone he must be exhausted.
Another desire burns within you as well though; that he’ll wake because of you, that before morning comes you will be just as full and pleasantly sore as the first time.
a/n: Something a little different, I am obsessed with General Marcus and the idea of him becoming a gladiator. Hope you enjoy this other world I want to live in lol, no beta and barely proofread!
Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, body / breast worship-Marcus gives it so right🤤, hand-stuff - female rec'g, taking of virginity, (reader is a slave so there is a power imbalance but so is Marcus), gladiatorial violence, nothing graphic- let me know if I missed any!
Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader
word count: 3.4k
reblogs are appreciated
Masterlist series masterlist
--
The crowd roars loud enough to deafen, the sound of it like a great wave threatening to wash you out to sea but it's nothing new, you’re used to it. The house you serve, have served since birth, has done well for itself in recent years, all thanks to one Gladiator.
Marcus Acacius, the champion of the house of Romulus.
You’d seen him come in years ago and although you had been little more than a child, even then you could see what he had been reduced to, disgraced and defeated and practically at death's door. He had fought though, Gods knew he had fought. And just as you grew and flowered into a woman, he honed his skills anew, won matches throughout the city and had transformed from the disgraced General of Rome, to a true champion of the people.
You could see it even now, watching him make quick work of the paltry opponents sent to fight him in the arena. He swatted them away like troublesome flies, and the crowd loved him for it. The cup was held out to you, just as the man in the sand raised his sword.
“He really is of a form.” One of the hosts of the games remarked about the man fighting below, and your Domina smiled proudly.
“My husband has taken him and honed him, I dare say none in Rome are his equal.”
“We shall have to see about that.” The guest chuckled, not quite convinced but your Dominus laughed, unperturbed and unconvinced.
“My wife speaks truth, my Ludus has shaped him into a God of the arena.”
They continued their friendly bickering, while you watched the man below, you couldn’t deny his allure despite being more than a few years older than you. He looked up to the pulvanis and saluted to his Dominus, to his Domina, and for a heartbeat it felt as though his eyes locked with yours.
Lightning struck in your belly, the intensity of his gaze, even so briefly made your heart race. Ghostly fingers squeezed at your heart when the opponents fell on him, cornering him until he was surrounded. Attention locked on him despite your station, the laughs and doubts of his victory wreathing through the guests you served turned your stomach.
Deaths in the arena were a guarantee, that was to be sure. Every time your Dominus secured spots for his gladiators in the games it was expected that not all would return, this felt different though. He had to survive, why, you could not be sure.
“Aha! There we are. The legend of him is proved. He is victorious, and my wife’s words are true, as always.” Your Dominus smiles, kissing his wife’s hand as the doubters grumble about luck and ill-trained opponents.
The words flow over you, the only thing that draws your attention is the man standing below you, victorious and whole.
–
“The good wine, fetch it for me girl.” The sun shines through the balcony as your Dominus congratulates the gladiators who returned to the villa victorious. His wife, your Domina, sends you for the wine while he speaks at length of their virtues, stoking the fire of survival and vanity in them.
In truth the games hold no interest for you, never had you particularly enjoyed watching men fight to the death, it was a waste and had you the choice, you would never attend another.
They cheer louder than before when you return with the heavy jug, narrowly avoiding dropping it when he turns and catches your eye once more. Marcus has been invited out of the ludus below, and up into the main house.
He is much bigger than you expect. Tall and broad enough to intimidate anyone but the most surprising thing are his eyes, they are the softest thing about him.
“I would reward you, for your victory, for the honour and wealth you have brought to this house. Name your desire and I shall see it done.”
You pour for your Domina, ears straining to hear his voice.
“You honour me Dominus.” It’s so rich, deep and full of smoke. Your main focus is on not spilling the wine.
“I confess, I have felt a desire of late.” Your ears perk up, eyes following suit and when they meet his, they’re already set upon your face.
“You want her?” Your Dominus looks to you now as well, and you feel like a piece upon someone else’s board, to be moved around at their will.
“Only if she desires me as well.” He bows his head, and despite the tiny bloom of gratitude in your chest, your Dominus laughs.
“If she is what you desire, take her. The guards will lead you to the private quarters below and you may keep her there until the morning. I will have wine and a meal brought for the both of you.” Your Dominus waves a hand and it is done. Your virtue has been gifted to a Gladiator.
Your Domina frowns, but says nothing. She merely watches as you are led away, to spend the night with the former General of Rome.
-
The quarters are indeed private, but meagre. A lumpy bed, a small table with two chairs, an even smaller table with a large basin full of fresh water and clean linen, and a window. The door closes and your heart jumps into your throat.
“Shall I disrobe and lay on the bed?” You reach for the hem of the tunic, silently praying that he would not be too rough. The prudent thing to do, is to get it over with.
“No, wait-“ his hand engulfed yours, stopping you from reaching down and pulling off the fabric that hides your nakedness from him.
“I would speak a while, come.” He gestures to the table and you frown.
“Do you not desire my virtue? Is that not why you asked for me?”
“Yes, well, in truth I desire your company, as well as your body. I have noticed you of late, you have grown into a beautiful woman and I find my thoughts drifting to you often. Of your voice and of your touch. I dream about you.”
Your eyes widen, shocked into silence by his confession.
“I would have you enjoy our coupling, rather than simply enduring it.” His eyes dart away from your form when the guards bring a platter laden with food and drink, and when he gestures again, you finally sit.
He takes his time cleansing himself of the grit and grime of the arena, scrubbing away until a handsome, lined face appears underneath. Once clean, and armor free he sits with you, and urges you to eat.
It is a silent, slightly tense meal. Your fraying nerves had you mostly picking at the fruit and cured meats. The flutter in your belly kept you from overfilling it.
“How long have you served in this house?” His eyes are bright, curious.
“All my life. I was born in this house.” Your fingers fiddle with the edge of your tunic.
“Are you treated well?”
“I mostly tend to the Domina, she is very kind.” Your eyes drift to the bed, and the bottom of your belly falls again to imagine what he’ll ask of you once his own belly is full.
“You spoke of your virtue, you are as of yet untouched?” His voice lowers, almost apologetic.
“Yes. Well, untouched by anyone, except myself. There have been covert kisses here and there, friendly ones with others of my station.” He says nothing, but his gaze travels the expanse of your body. The slide of them is heavy from your breasts down to the slit in your tunic. His food sits forgotten on the small plate in front of him, and now there is hunger of a different kind on his handsome face.
“Do you find me desirable?” He leans back in his chair, broad and golden from the sun. Heat blooms in your chest, filling the corners of you.
“You are kind upon the eyes, I will not lie.” He smiles at this, and the heat spreads to the place between your legs, the place he will fill soon and a shudder travels along your spine.
“Have you enjoyed my victories in the arena?”
“I confess, I do not favour the games. Watching men kill each other holds no interest for me.” He laughs, surprised yet delighted.
“And yet you live and serve in a ludus, watching gladiators come and go your whole life.”
“The Gods have their reasons, I do not presume to question my place.” You shrug, unable to stop the corners of your lips from pulling up into a shy smile.
“Perhaps it is I who is blessed to end up here, in your company.” He muses and for a moment you cannot face his direct stare. “Come, lovely one. Let us to bed.” He rises, holding out his hand for you, It engulfs yours when you accept and join him.
Butterflies swarm as he guides you to the edge of the bed, the fine hairs all over your arms and legs standing on end when those rough, calloused palms skate softly over the curve of your shoulders. His breath fans over your face as he reaches the bottom of your tunic, pulling it up and off. The urge to bring your arms up over your breasts, to reach down and cup your sex makes your hands shake.
“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” His hands settle on your hips, squeezing at the flesh for a moment before removing his own layers. The sight of him, naked as you, with his heavy sex hardening before your eyes makes you shiver, part nervous, part exhilarated.
When he lays you down, you part your thighs to make space for him, once again praying the pain won’t be unbearable. The confusion paints your face in a frown as he lays beside you, and not directly on you.
“I would have you wet for me before I slip inside.” His tone, his words send another shiver down your spine before he presses his mouth to yours.
You have kissed before, a soft press of your lips to another, the barest taste of their tongue between rebellious giggles in the dark. Marcus’ kiss is nothing like that. He pulls you close, turning your body to press it to his, the stiff peaks of your breasts meeting the solid wall of his chest as his tongue slips past your open mouth and tangles with your own. For a moment, it is a little awkward but he guides you, pulling away before pressing forward again, leading you in his rhythm.
Your heart races, a curious excitement pooling low in your gut, in the yet untouched place between your thighs. You press them together while he claims your mouth.
When he pulls away, his breath comes out in pants and his sex presses hot and heavy against your belly.
“Lay on your back my sweet.” He kisses your shoulder, and you obey. Now, you think, now he will shove that thing inside me and rip me in half. You swallow thickly at the thought, it is so much thicker now, too big, surely.
He presses kisses to your shoulder, trailing them down to your arm, then the side of your breast before he pulls your nipple into his mouth. The steady suck of his mouth at the hardened peak forms a direct line to your cunt, the ache in it pulling a whimper from your mouth and a huff of self-satisfied laughter from him. Your skin is shiny with his spit when he lets it go.
“Does that feel good?” His hand holds the plump of your breast, tongue flicking against the peak while you nod, mouth-open in a silent stare. “What do you feel?” He sucks at it again, harder this time and a gasp leaves your mouth.
“I feel, hot. Warm all over, and an ache–” You pull in a sharp breath when his teeth pull teasingly at the bud. He soothes with his tongue, pink-cheeked and focused.
“Where do you ache?” He lets go, smoothing his palm in the valley between before holding the other one, and worshiping it just the same.
“I ache–oh, I ache–” It’s hard to focus when he sucks at the other nipple, your thighs pressing together without your permission. He stops, eyes flitting about your face.
“Where do you ache, tell me.”
“I ache here.” He follows your hand as it cups your cunt, the soft, fine hair there soaked in arousal like you have never known. He groans to see it, and then his hand pushes yours away, slipping between your thighs to pull them apart. He leans on his elbow, muscles glinting in the soft candle light as his fingers spread open the lips of your sex, exposing your dark pink insides to his gaze.
“Your pretty little cunt is so much better than I dreamed, spread your legs for me my sweet, I would work her open to take my cock.” Your heart races, your cunt clenches and then his fingers find the crux of you. They swirl slowly around the pert, sensitive pearl of your clit. Your mouth drops open in a silent ‘O’ at the way he manipulates you.
“So wet already.” He lowers his head, lips wrapping around a nipple again as he keeps his slow, maddening circuit. Your hands grip the threadbare linen beneath you, whole body clenching as he shoves you closer and closer to a shattering climax with his slow, delicious circles.
“Doesn’t that feel good? Doesn’t that feel so good, my sweet?” He presses his lips to your neck, whispering into your ear and you nod, frantically, clenching around nothing while the edges of everything blur with the threat of pleasure. Around, and around, and around he swirls, consistent, devastating until you can almost taste it.
Your mouth forms a steady chant of yes, yes, yes, as he continues his gentle exploration between your legs, fat pearly drops of his own arousal slipping against your hip but he is in no hurry.
The ache intensifies, the slick pools at the mouth of your cunt, and it's with a final, wet swirl that your climax washes over you. Your legs clamp shut around his hand, your body folds in on itself with the strength of it but it does not stop him, two thick fingers spear into your fluttering entrance, stretching and drawing out the pleasure of it while you gasp into his kiss.
“Gods above.” You whisper to yourself as the blood pounds in your ears, the warmth of his skin, the slick, rhythmic sound of his fingers working away between your legs stoking the fire once more.
“I could spill just watching you.” He pulls his fingers out, dripping in your lust and shoves them into his mouth. “Sweet as summer wine.” He licks them clean, vulgar and sweet all at once.
Again he reaches between your legs, slipping his fingers inside once more but with his thumb swirling around the crux of you.
He brings you to climax again, more intense with his fingers inside, petting at a divine spot you’ve never touched, and again, he doesn’t stop. He repeats his movements, his tongue flicking at your nipple, or licking into your mouth, until it’s too much and you push his hand away.
“Please, no more–I cannot.” You gasp for breath, skin shiny with sweat, the spot beneath you wet where your arousal has dripped down and soaked through the linen.
He laughs softly, proud and cocky at how many times he made you fall apart under his hand.
“If you would let me, I would do that for days.” He presses another kiss to your shoulder before moving up and settling between your thighs. The nervous flutter intensifies as his cock slips between the mess he’s made of your sex.
“I think you are open enough to take me now, I will try to go slow.” He kneels back on his haunches, lifting one leg up to hold. His fingers curl around the top of your knee, your calf resting on his shoulder as he grips his cock in the other hand.
Your belly trembles, part embarrassed, part excited to be so exposed to his gaze. The blunt end of it slides through your swollen folds, coated in your slick before he notches it and it’s with a slight burn that he slips it in. Inch by inch he presses forward, molding you to accept him, shaping you to fit him like a glove.
“Gods above.” He curses low as he bottoms out, so deep you feel him in your lungs.
Your hands ache from how tightly they grip at the fabric beneath you.
With a shuddering breath he holds himself still, allowing you a moment to get used to the intrusion of him, only a moment.
A sharp thrust pulls a gasp from your lips. His grip on your leg tightens, the other hand slides up and holds onto your hip, steadying you to accept the snapping of his hips.
The flex in his arms, the strong, firm muscles of his thighs pressed up against yours, the sheen of sweat glinting on his face and on his chest, all of it only makes it better, his beauty and his obvious desire for you serve to make you leak around him. You can feel it, dripping down your ass to add to the damp spot beneath you, it collects at the base of him too, drenching the curls there.
Your pants, his heavy breathing, and the vulgar sound of his skin slapping against yours is the song of your coupling. The burn is replaced with a pleasant feeling of fullness. It is not as good as his fingers at your clit but his obvious pleasure adds to your own.
“I’m going to come, going to fuck it deep inside of you.” Sweat drips down his nose and the vision of him, so like when he’s in the arena might push you closer to another climax.
“Here it comes–” He presses your legs up, opening them wider, folding you in half while he fucks into you hard enough to make the bed shake. With a low groan, and a thrust deep enough to hurt, he swells impossibly thicker for a moment before emptying himself inside you.
He shudders, grinding himself deeper as you wince, milking himself inside your body before pulling out and falling onto the bed beside you.
You catch your breath for a moment. Surprised, and grateful that despite there being the edge of violence to his taking you, it wasn’t the brutal, awful experience you were afraid it would be. Considering your station in life, it was quite nice.
“Give me a little while, and I will be ready to take you again.” He turns and presses his lips to your shoulder again.
“Again…? You wish to take me again?” There is clear confusion threaded through your voice, but he laughs, goodnaturedly.
“Oh yes, I have you for this one night, I plan on taking advantage. Did you not enjoy it?” He rests on his elbow, head held in his palm while his other hand skates over your skin, raising goosebumps in its wake as it palms one breast, then the other.
“I enjoyed your fingers, you brought me to climax more than I ever have on my own in a single night.” You curl onto your side towards him, soaking up the warmth of his skin.
“But you did not enjoy my cock?” His hand lands on your hip, holding you there and it’s curiously exciting how much skin he can touch at once.
“It was… a lot.” He laughs, nodding for you to continue. “I liked the fullness of it, but you were very deep. I could feel you in my belly and when you spilled it was intense.” He lets out a groan before pressing forward and stealing another kiss.
“It will feel better, we have to find which position you like best. Which angle you enjoy more.” He pulls you closer, tilting your chin up for another kiss, softer this time.
“What position do you enjoy most of all?” Your hands gravitate to his chest, pressing against it to feel his heart thumping against your palm.
“I am partial to being ridden.” He smiles, lip caught between teeth and heat floods your body to know he is imagining it.
“Why do you favour it?”
“Because I like when a woman takes her pleasure from me, It pleases me, to please her.” You could see it then, his soft eyes staring up in devotion as some faceless woman rides his cock. The longer you think on it, the more that faceless woman starts to resemble you.
“I would have you like that next.” He smiles, and you smile back, nodding.
By the time the sun rises, he has taken you every way you can imagine and your sex is so sore you don’t think you’ll be able to walk without wincing.
When the guards come to take you both back to your respective places, they have to physically pull him away from you, his lips pressed against yours in a goodbye kiss.
“You are the only prize I will ever ask for.” He calls over his shoulder as you smile at him.
For the first time in your life, you are excited about the next games.
YESSSSSSSS SPOILS OF WAR BABYYYYYYY, what am I if not a sucker for trophy sex!
“I confess, I have felt a desire of late.” Your ears perk up, eyes following suit and when they meet his, they’re already set upon your face.
Oh here, we, fucking, GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
“Only if she desires me as well.” He bows his head, and despite the tiny bloom of gratitude in your chest, your Dominus laughs.
Ever the gentleman.
“You are kind upon the eyes, I will not lie.” He smiles at this, and the heat spreads to the place between your legs, the place he will fill soon and a shudder travels along your spine.
That's certainly one way to put it.
“I ache–oh, I ache–”
SO DO I FAM, SO DO I! I HAVE BEEN ACHING SINCE BEFORE I WATCHED THE MOVIE AND I HAVE ACHED EVEN MORE AFTERW ATCHING IT AND READING THIS.
“It was… a lot.” He laughs, nodding for you to continue. “I liked the fullness of it, but you were very deep. I could feel you in my belly and when you spilled it was intense.” He lets out a groan before pressing forward and stealing another kiss.
My brother in whoever you believe in, have mercy on me!
“I am partial to being ridden.” He smiles, lip caught between teeth and heat floods your body to know he is imagining it.
Well suddenly I identify as a cowgirl!
When the guards come to take you both back to your respective places, they have to physically pull him away from you, his lips pressed against yours in a goodbye kiss.
My heart cannot afford to be attached to another version of this man. here we go I guess.
Hi, thanks for continuously expanding the story of The General. I like reading it. :) I'm just wondering if you might feel like writing kind of like sci/fi time travel troupe where a woman (willfull and stubborn) from the present gets transported back to ancient Rome and meets Marcus Acacius. How would their dynamics be?
Obsessed with this, genuinely—I started a little something 👀
Not sure if I’ll continue it or make it into something big but I loved the idea of them not even understanding one another.
Hope you enjoy! 💕
(Not beta’d, barely proofread)
—
Warnings; threat of violence, language, shifting POV, plenty of historical inaccuracies I’m sure lol
Pairing; Marcus Acacius x Modern F!reader (time travel shenanigans)
Word count; 1.4k
-
The sigh doesn’t fix anything, but it helps with the frustration. So you let out another one, deeper than the original while you gather your wits. This was Rome, a massive city with millions of tourists trekking through it just like you, surely if they could do it without getting hopelessly lost, you could too.
The ruins were a maze, incredibly easy to get mixed up and turned around in. It was just a matter of retracing your steps and rejoining your group. Easy peasy.
With renewed optimism, you follow the sounds of people ringing through the remnants of the temple, or bathhouse, or gladiatorial training rooms… where the fuck even am I again?
You backtrack through the doorway, turning left into what must have been an antichamber, or dormitory? The mosaic under your feet isn’t familiar and a sense of dread creeps along your spine, should you have turned right? There’s a giant arch in the distance, one you distinctly don’t remember walking through. It doesn’t look as aged as the rest of the structure, most likely preserved when the site was excavated.
Walking through the arch fills you with a foreboding dread, like being dunked in ice water. It leaves you dazed, stumbling into the light of the sun almost drunk. An open door all but manifests and it’s with a relief so great it almost pulls tears from your eyes that you finally exit the building and step into the open air. You cannot help but laugh at yourself, embarrassed by your reaction, by the silly fear of getting lost.
The sun is hotter than you remembered it being when you left the hotel that morning and all at once the desire to explore and take in the culture all but evaporated. Resigned to abandon the tour, you decide to make your way back to the hotel. The new goal, the new prize for the day is a shower and an ungodly amount of pasta.
The road is nowhere to be found. The tourists have disappeared, and have been replaced with what looked to be actors. A fresh horror spreads through your veins, the exit you came out of must have led somewhere you were definitely not supposed to be.
-
He’d been called forth to deal with a strange situation. A woman had somehow infiltrated his camp. He frowned at the news, scoffing at the sentinel who’d brought it to him.
“A woman? Solitary? One woman snuck passed you and made her way into my camp?” He all but sneered at the soldier, anger pulsing in his head to learn that his guards were not as observant as he would have thought, as he trained them to be.
“General, by the Gods, we did not see her. One moment there was no one and then the next she was there, like some apparition.” He seems rattled, Acacius didn’t blame him. A lapse in protection meant death and dishonour. It meant his army was not in the shape it should be. Rome was not safe, not protected.
“Well, what has she to say for herself? What explanation did she provide for her miraculous presence here?”
“We do not know, we cannot understand her.”
He sighs. Anger bleeds into his tone when he orders her brought to him, dismissing the useless soldier in the process.
When they bring her to him, he frowns. Her robes confuse him, the fabric almost painted in the strangest shades, some he’s never even seen. She clutches at a bag, at a strange jar and although her voice is clearly agitated and angry, he cannot understand the words she speaks. Her face is painted, eyes darkened with some sort of kohl, lips shiny with oil and for a moment he thinks she might be one of the women who sold herself.
“Peace, woman.” He puts his hands up and speaks slowly, “I need to know where you come from, and why you are here. What is it you seek?” She twists her face in confusion, anger colouring her voice more still. She screams at him in more words he doesn’t understand until the soldiers that had brought her approach to no doubt silence her. At the sound of their footsteps her eyes widen with what he knows is genuine fear.
“Don’t.” He commands them, and they stop in their tracks. “Leave her with me. Go about your business, and tighten up the borders of this camp.” He sends them away with daggers in his voice.
“But General-what if she attacks?” They hesitate for a moment.
“I can handle her. Go.” They leave, her eyes follow them before turning back to him. She speaks again but he shakes his head.
“What am I to do with you then, hm?”
-
If you had known that you’d land in some insane fucking ancient Roman reenactment, you would have stayed in the hotel.
The older man is really into his role, some high and mighty soldier or general on a power trip or God fucking knows what, holds you in his tent. You try to explain to him calmly and then not so calmly that this is a mistake, that you didn’t mean to crash their party and that you just want to make it back to the hotel. He frowns, and shakes his head with confusion. He responds in his own language, what you imagine is Latin and the frustration floods you once more.
“If you cannot help me, I will leave. I’ll just go back through the stupid building and see if I can catch up with my tour group. If they haven’t already left, God if I missed my shuttle I will lose my fucking mind.” With a sigh you clutch at your bag and turn towards the entrance. You don’t make it three steps before he grabs at your arm, holding you in place with what sounds like a stern warning.
“Listen, I appreciate the realism and everything here, but let go, I need to leave.” You try to shake out of his grip but it’s iron, his big hand tightens enough to hurt.
“You’re hurting me, let me go!” With a growing fear, you try harder until he pulls a knife from a hidden pocket and presses it to your throat. He points to the entrance, to you, and then presses the tip to your neck once more.
You cannot understand his words, but the warning is crystal clear. If you leave, he will kill you.
“Intellego?” You can infer what he must mean, and so you nod. He returns the gesture and puts the knife away. He moves about the tent while you stand there, arms aching from clutching at your things, body trembling with fear and adrenaline at his threat of violence. He continues speaking, his deep, clear voice filling the space while he moves things around and gestures to a giant scroll.
Stuck like a fly in honey, you watch him pointing and talking, half listening while you try to formulate an escape route.
He comes close with a huff, pulling you gently towards his table.
It looks like a map, but it’s not like any map you’ve ever seen.
“What the fuck am I meant to be looking at here?”
He continues speaking, pointing at the map, and then gesturing outside. He points again, at a different spot and then to himself.
“Oh.. okay you’re from here?” He nods, then he takes your hand and puts it on the map, repeating his words and you can assume he’s asking you to point out where you come from.
“Dude I don’t know, this map is wild as hell and about a thousand years out of date from the looks of it.” You move your hand away but he persists, a bulldog with a bone. He takes your hand and puts it on the map, then taps your chest, asking his question once more.
“I’m not on this map!” You tap your chest, and then to the edge of the map, “I’m not here, we’re not on the map yet. Understand?” You gesture again, pointing to an empty edge, and point to yourself.
The look on his face is almost funny, he’s either really committed to his role, or this is the weirdest fucking dream you’ve ever had.
He’s quiet after that, ruminating, studying you with a critical eye and after the day you’ve had you don’t have the patience. You sit in one of the chairs, resigned to endure the ride until you find an opportunity to get off, and away as quickly as you can.
I am a sucker for time travel and this, this right here was perfect. And the way it begins with a maze, in true ancient fashion. Yessssss, and the instant bickering is truly a cherry on top. And boy am I looking forward to where this will go if you decide to write more. If no, I just love hte confusion regardless because it's kinda funny in an anxiety inducing kind of way.
a/n: I still have so many asks for this man, and I have not forgotten them! Thank you to everyone who voted, to everyone who takes the time to comment and reblog on my posts. You have no idea how you all have reinvigorated my love for writing, a million hugs and cuddles for all of you. I always welcome any and all comments and questions or deep dives! This isn't beta'd, barely proofread. Hope you enjoy 💕xo
Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, let me know if I missed any!
Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader
word count: 2.3k
reblogs are appreciated
Masterlist series masterlist
The sun was oppressive. It beat down with a vengeance and the fan in your hand did nothing to alleviate the waves of heat permeating the market. You had half a mind to head right back to the villa, to ask Marcus to bring you on another day when you could focus on anything other than the drops of sweat sliding down your spine, making your new robes stick to your skin. Or the way the stiff leather sandals on your feet rubbed your ankles raw.
Running back to the villa didn’t seem right however, it tasted too much of defeat, of a refusal to accept your new place in this world and the thought of your General, your husband being disappointed in your inability to shop for yourself put eels into your belly. Gritting your teeth, you continued your hunt for the things you needed.
“What about this Domina?” Your new attendant, a girl a few years younger than you had been when you’d first joined his house pointed at a blessedly covered stall, golden trinkets glittering where the sun poked through gaps in the covering catching your eye.
“Let us look.” You smiled, making your way over. There you found a lovely perfumed oil for your skin, at a fairly reasonable price. You also found some of the incense Marcus liked, and a new brush for his hair. You bought them, even though he had sent you with the intent to buy things for yourself. With your purchases made and in the hands of your guards you decided to finally return home, when another stall caught your eye. Gauzy sheer linens covered most of it but when the warm breeze blew them aside, glittering jewels flashed.
The woman running the stall smiled when you entered, she had streaks of grey in her hair, lovely oiled skin and eyes as dark as night.
Opals with fire caught inside them hung on golden racks, rubies the size of walnuts, emeralds as green as fresh laurel leaves glittered, all of them entrancing you enough to pull your hands out to touch them.
“With your skin, those would look lovely.” She walked over, pulling dark blue sapphire earrings from their place on her wall and holding them to your ears. “Beautiful.”
“They are gorgeous, I must admit.” Marcus had told you to buy whatever you wanted, had given you enough coin to splurge but you hesitated. Your eyes fell to a small book on a shelf, a picture of a man and a woman on the cover.
“That is… very educational. Especially for a married woman.” She pulled the book off the shelf, placing it into your hands for you to peruse. The contents made you gasp. It was a guide book, a guide for the art of love. The art of copulation. There were diagrams, positions to try, all manner of things you’d never even thought of.
Heat rushed to your face, the thought of showing Marcus, of trying them with him made the heat grow and spread to the place between your thighs.
“You must have it, I have no doubt your husband will enjoy it, you as well.” She winked and you laughed a nervous little laugh, nodding conspiratorially.
“You should adorn yourself for him, something glittering, something precious.” She gestured to the jewels once more and you bit your lip, wondering what to choose until you saw what looked to be a belt of different coloured gems.
“I like this–is it for my waist?” You slid your fingers across it.
“That would be perfect, not just your waist my lady.” She undid the clasps and arranged it, draping it onto your body. “Usually the ladies wear them over a simple robe to elevate it, but I think it would look just as beautiful against the skin, if you take my meaning.” You could see it, the top part of it like a necklace, with a long line of gems between your breasts leading down to connect with another line of it like a belt.
With an ache for him, and a considerably lighter purse, you left with your purchases and made your way home once more.
-
He was occupied, held up in his study with representatives from the Emperor, a senator and a whole host of others taking up his time with important matters. You left him to it, and busied yourself with your own preparations.
The tub was steaming and fragrant when you submerged yourself. Dried flowers and sweet smelling oils swirling with every movement, all manner of different elements coming together to soften your skin and make you shine for him. Thoughts of what he would think of your book fill your mind as you cleanse yourself of the day, musings about what he might choose pull at the corners of your lips as you run the clean washcloth across the expanse of your chest and thighs.
You oil your skin once out of the tub, arrange your hair and adorn yourself with jewels. Golden bracelets and anklets he’d gifted you on your wedding night, an armband shaped like a snake, earrings that dangle and trap the light when you move, the special body chain from the stand. You feel like a goddess, like a priestess readying yourself for worship.
By the time he comes to bed the need, the arousal is fierce enough to make your hands shake.
“Apologies my love, I was hoping to have been done sooner but—“ he catches sight of you then, sprawled out on the bed, an airy robe leaving nothing to the imagination, the small book in your hands. His eyes devour you, robbing him of his words, making your heart race.
“I have something for you, something for us.” You rise, exaggerating the swing in your hips with every step you take towards him. Your adornments jingle, a pleasant sound rings with every stride.
“Do you now?” He licks his lips, and presses his palm to his growing bulge at the sight of you. “I have something for you too, growing stiff and aching.” His hand reaches for you as you get closer, pulling you into his embrace.
“I do not doubt that.” You laugh, pressing your palms to his chest to keep him from pushing you onto your bed.
“I would very much like to give it to you, nice and deep.” His eyes are so lust blown that the warm brown is now a cold black. A moan escapes at his words, at the feel of his kiss on your throat.
“First, I would like you to look through the book I bought today.” He frowns, confused at the apparent shift. “I believe it could be very educational for us.”
If you weren’t so aroused, so excited to experiment you might have laughed at his expression. Naked shock was all you could see on his face. Never, in all your years within the villa, within his presence had you ever rendered him speechless before. The effect is titillating.
Wordlessly he peruses the pages, cheeks flushing, attention rapt at the diagrams and instructions shown within.
“Gods above.” Your smile deepens at the low whisper of his voice, nerves fraying with anticipation.
“I am particularly curious about this one.” With trembling hands, you flip the pages to a certain diagram, where the woman is sitting on the man's lap but facing away, her legs closed tightly between his legs underneath her. The thought of Marcus having you that way floods your body with heat. His mouth at your ear, his hands free to slip between your legs or hold onto the weight of your breasts.
Silently he studies the book, eyes intent. His quiet intensity fills the air between you, it makes you wring your hands with nervous anticipation, almost makes you wonder if you’ve gone too far. Your nerves fray the longer he stares, the old fear of disappointing or upsetting him creeps up your spine, until he smiles and licks his lip.
“You, my love, continue to surprise me.” He closes the book and sets it aside.
“Do I?” You take his hand in yours, and press it to your lips, desperate for his approval and for his love.
“Oh yes. Just when I think I cannot be any more fortunate, you spoil me and show me another facet of your love.” He pulls you forward, guiding you to stand between his spread legs at the edge of your bed, pulling the robe off to expose your nakedness.
“Look at you.” His palms slide from the sides of your thighs past your hips where they touch the jewels that adorn your waist. Up, up, up until his thumbs flick at your nipples.
“You are yourself, my most precious jewel. So beautiful–” He presses his face to your breast, his lips gliding across your skin between words, “-kind, adventurous and brave, sweet as summer fruit,” he skims his nose over the top of your breast before licking at the stiff peak. With a sigh you hold him close, fingernails scratching at his neck, slipping through the fine grey waves, cradling his head close.
Your heart races as he pours his love onto you, any and all fears are quieted to nothing under the silky slip of his palms against your back. His mouth forms a tight seal around your nipple, enough that it makes you gasp. His smile is predatory, confident and it makes you laugh; half nervous, half exhilarated.
Your breasts shine with the oil, and his spit when he lets go. You take the opportunity to pull his robes up and off. Your mouth waters at the sight of his manhood, hard and leaking for you.
“Turn around.” His voice sends a shiver down your spine, deep and commanding, irrefutable. His lips press to your shoulder, moving down to your lower back, you squeal in shock and delight to feel his teeth on the meat of your ass.
“I could devour you whole, do you know that?” You can hear the smile in his voice.
The arousal is enough to choke you, enough to ease the glide of himself against your sex. Butterflies swarm as he pulls you back, guiding his own weeping tip to the tight fist of your cunt until you sink, slowly onto him. You gasp at just how deep, just how full you feel like this.
“Gods above, woman.” His grip on your hips is tight enough to bruise, his voice strangled in your ear.
It is so much better than you had imagined.
His thighs bracket yours as you adjust to the fullness, slick dribbles out of you and drenches his lap when his hands do exactly as you hoped they might. With deft fingers he pinches and pulls at your sensitive nipples, teasing the peaks mercilessly as you begin a tentative bounce on his lap.
“Is this how you wanted it?” His breath tickles your neck, painting your skin in gooseflesh.
“Yes, yes Marcus, just like this-“ your head falls back onto his shoulder, the arousal so fierce it burns through you, sets your heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird, trapped in the cage of your ribs.
“Take it, take your pleasure from me my love, ride this cock—“ he bucks up, pulling a pained moan from somewhere inside you.
“That’s it, you can do it, milk my fucking cock.” His arm tightens around your middle and you can feel the jewels pinching at your skin, the edge of pain only heightens the pleasure coursing through your veins, ripping a swathe through your body in the shape of him, always him.
Thick fingers force their way between the tight press of your thighs, pinching at your swollen clit and it’s almost too much. Sweat beads in your hairline, slips between your bodies as you roll your hips harder, clenching around him with every tight bounce.
There are no more words, only the harsh pant of his breath in your ear, the slick, vulgar sound of your wet arousal; the whimpering heralding your climax.
His fingers leave your clit and you whine, the demand for them to return on the tip of your tongue but he quells it, pressing those same fingers into your mouth. He takes the saliva from your mouth, and returns his fingers to their task. The slip is just right and with a silent scream you freeze, squeezing him tight enough for him to hiss, tight enough to do just as he wanted and milk him for all he’s worth.
His grip around your middle softens, the jewels have left indents in his skin as well as yours, you pull his arm up to press your lips to it.
Once the blood has settled and you’ve caught your breath, you pull away from him, turning to settle in his lap again only this time facing him.
His expression is pure bliss, flushed with exertion and smiling with the ghost of his climax still painting his features.
“I must send you to the market more often, spoil you as you spoil me.” You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck just as his wrap tightly around your waist.
“So you are pleased with my purchase then?” Your lips press to his mouth, his cheek, the little hairless spot on his chin, your favourite constellation to map out.
“I am more than pleased with it, but I must study it in depth. So many things to try, so many lessons for us to learn from this book, hmm?” He skims his nose across the column of your throat, smiling into your skin as your heart races for him even with your pleasure still coursing through you.
“…And you know that I am a quick learner, my love.”
Oh babes. ohhhhhhhhhhh babes. Shit's getting hot again.
“Do you now?” He licks his lips, and presses his palm to his growing bulge at the sight of you. “I have something for you too, growing stiff and aching.” His hand reaches for you as you get closer, pulling you into his embrace.
I love that he does not beat around the bush. Mans is just wanting to fuck all day every day and frankly, so do I.
“Turn around.” His voice sends a shiver down your spine, deep and commanding, irrefutable. His lips press to your shoulder, moving down to your lower back, you squeal in shock and delight to feel his teeth on the meat of your ass.
Yes. Sir!
“That’s it, you can do it, milk my fucking cock.” His arm tightens around your middle and you can feel the jewels pinching at your skin, the edge of pain only heightens the pleasure coursing through your veins, ripping a swathe through your body in the shape of him, always him.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
These two kinky fuckers are giong to be the death of me. Seriously.
a/n: The premiere look was a literal gift from the Gods, truly fantastic stuff. With that said, of course I had to work on the next chapter of The General and his Girlwife. This isn't the end for them, there is still so much life for them and I have a whole inbox full of amazing asks (I promise I haven't forgotten about them!) to get through, and I always welcome any and all comments and questions or deep dives! Hope you enjoy 💕xo
Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, Marcus eats pussy because he's a KING, lactation kink, creampie, Marcus gets emotional, pregnancy and baby stuff, childbirth and some graphic descriptions of pain, talks of infertility, **FEELINGS** let me know if I missed any!
This is the fic I referenced in this preview
Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader
word count: 5k (whoops!)
reblogs are appreciated
Prev chapter Masterlist series masterlist
The ritual had been completed, and a week later–life had gone back to normal. The two of you had vowed to put it out of your mind until the Gods made their intentions for you clear.
Marcus, however, was leaving; he'd been called on by the Emperor for a tour, and he had no choice but to accept.
You pouted, and he smiled.
“It is only for a short time, my love. Barely a moon's turn and I will be back in this house, and your arms.” He smiled despite your obvious displeasure, giddy with the way you clutched so greedily at him.
“I wish to follow you Marcus, I do not wish to stay here without you.” You buried your face into his neck, taking in his comforting scent greedily. Your nails dug into his shoulders, holding him close while his own wrapped tightly around your waist.
“And I wish nothing more than for you to be with me, but you cannot. It is not a place for women and I would not have my beautiful,” his hands cupped your cheeks, pressing kisses to your mouth between words, “lovely, tempting wife there pulling at my attention, as well as that of the bolder men in my company.”
You sigh, knowing he would not change his mind.
“Very well. I will content myself alone.” Your tone made him laugh, and you smiled into his skin, well aware that you sounded more akin to an unruly child than a grown, married woman.
“You are spoiled, terribly misbehaved and spoiled.” His hands slipped down and grabbed at your backside, “and it is entirely my fault.”
“Yes it is.” You jut your chin out and he pressed a kiss to it. “When do you leave?”
“Preparations are being made and I depart in three days time.” He pressed another kiss to the back of your hand, smiling as he led you to sit with him. “Once I am back, I shall plan something for us. How does that sound?”
“And what shall you plan?”
“We could travel, we could go to the sea and take in the fresh air, we could do anything my love. Whatever makes you happy.” His eyes shone with the same love you felt in your very bones for him.
“I only need you for that.”
-
The intensity of the craving made you frown, pulling your attention from the task of refilling the cellars of your house. One minute you had been taking note of how much grain there was, how much olive oil and wine was in your stores and the next, the desire for figs and honey and fresh, ripe pomegranate was so strong it almost moved your feet towards the kitchens. You stopped yourself though, running through your mental tally of days since your last blood and willing yourself to stay calm.
“Girl, be a dear and fetch me figs and honey if you would.” You pat her hand softly, unable to stop yourself from softening the imagined blow of asking for something instead of fetching it yourself. Her eyes widened for a moment, before nodding.
“Yes Domina.” She ran off, and you ignored the looks of the women who were helping you with your accounts.
“Shall we call for a Medicus, Domina?” The eldest of them whispered in your ear, one who has always treated you with a softness that at times felt motherly, her work roughened hand landing soft on your shoulder. Nerves fluttered in your belly, a deep seeded fear threading through your very being as the memory of your loss filled your mind's eye so vividly it set your hands to shaking. But another emotion emerged, a fragile thing coloured with a hope so big it didn’t fit within your body. Without Marcus, it was difficult to navigate the swirl of different feelings fighting for dominance.
“Domina, let me call for the Medicus.” Gently, she guided you to sit, silently dismissing the staff tending to you. “I think it best you rest while we wait, I shall have him brought here to look you over.”
“Yes, yes that is what we must do. I—yes I should rest a while.” With a shaky breath you smiled a smile that did not reach your eyes, and headed towards your chamber.
When the medicus finally did arrive, the older woman held your hand, doing much to calm you in the absence of Marcus. Silently the man went about his business, checking and prodding and looking for the signs that you tentatively prayed were there.
When he raised his head and smiled with a nod, both you and the woman cried with joy.
-
He was eager to step foot in his house, eager to be reunited with his heart.
His blessedly peaceful campaign had gone well, the Emperor was in good spirits and for the first time in years, there was peace. He couldn’t wait to tell her how it had gone, couldn’t wait to press his kisses upon her skin.
The house was surprisingly quiet when he finally arrived, the guards were hushed, his usual attendants were nowhere to be seen and his love was not where he thought he’d find her.
When he reached their shared room things were stranger still, the gauzy linens were drawn across the windows, blocking out most of the sunlight. Incense was burning, and for a moment he feared she’d fallen ill while he’d been gone.
“My love? What is the matter?” She reclined in their bed, propped up on a nest or pillows, and her face lit up to see him. She was glowing, a soft sheen shining on her brow and for a moment he thought it might be a fever but she looked well, she looked beautiful.
“I am well Marcus, truly.” She beckoned to him, arms outstretched and he all but ran to her side, sitting close to hold her hands. “We have been blessed, my love, truly blessed.” Tears shone in her eyes, he frowned for a moment until she placed his hand on her belly, and then it felt like his heart would jump out of chest.
“You are sure?” He brought his face to her womb, pressing his lips to it while trying not to fall apart with joy. “Truly?”
“It has been confirmed, I am with child. You are to be a father, Marcus.” She shone with life, with vitality and was as beautiful as a Goddess, he couldn’t handle the joy in his heart. He wept into her belly, thanking the Gods, and praying for the health of the love of his life, and the child inside her.
-
Every single day of those first few weeks greeted you with fear.
Every free minute, every spare thought was filled with silent prayer, offerings were made to appease the Gods, you ate only the foods suggested by the Medicus. Marcus let you do nothing except rest, and take short, slow walks throughout the house. He was thorough with the instructions given to him, he rubbed the special oil onto the skin of your belly to help with the growth, he never left your side, he was gentle in all things.
Once you started to show, and the most dangerous period had passed, even you started to shed some of the fear. Hope, and joy filled the house and everyone shared in it. The women were eager to have a little one running around, Marcus grew more and more excited at the prospect and filled your house with things for the child. Toys and a special chair, robes and little tunics to dress them in.
“Have you thought of a name?” You asked him as he rubbed at your tired feet, easing the ache as your stomach seemed to grow before your very eyes.
“I have, but I haven’t really given any option much thought. It is best to wait until the child is born I think. And you? Is there a name you favour?”
“Well, a boy would definitely be named Marcus after you.” You smiled, imagining a miniature of him.
“And for a girl?”
“We could honour the Gods, name her Diana, I also think Aurelia is quite pretty, or Acacia and name her after her father.” Your smile grew, imagining a little darling with his soft waves, his square feet.
“Fine choices.” He smiled, moving to the other foot and you sighed, soothed by his touch.
“I will pray for a boy, to carry your name and carry on your legacy.” He shook his head.
“Give me a clever girl with your eyes, and your smile and I shall be happier than any other man alive.” He pressed a kiss to your shin. Tears sprung to your eyes, it was happening a lot of late, the baby made your emotions run rampant, his sweetness didn’t help.
“There there my love, no tears.” He soothed with gentle tone, well aware of your sensitivity, yet still as patient and loving as always.
“I cannot help it, the joy is overwhelming, the love for you, for this little being is too much to fit inside me.” You held your belly, tears falling to dampen the skin of your chest. He moved to sit beside you, and gathered you into his arms, once again soothing you beyond words could explain.
“I understand, I have been so blessed in this life it is difficult not to dwell and fear the worst. Let us just enjoy our good fortune, no more tears, it pains me to see you cry.” He pressed his lips to your forehead and you nodded silently, throat aching with emotion.
With a tenderness that only made the ache stronger, he kissed the tear stains on your skin, smiling softly. When he got to your mouth, it was a reassuring press, a silent promise to you and to the life growing inside. It helped, but your mood, your appetites changed like the winds these days and the tears turned to desire for him so fast it made your head spin.
Your tongue breached his mouth, corrupting the softness of his kiss and pulling a groan from somewhere in his chest. His hand pressed softly to your womb, while his mouth claimed yours in the softness of your shared bed.
“Marcus-” It came out half moaned, half pleading.
“Yes my love?” He breathed the words into the skin of your neck, his tongue mapping out the lines he liked to travel with his kisses, unsurprised at how quickly your passion for him was stirred with the child inside.
“Do you desire me? Do you wish for me to give you my cock?” Slowly, he exposed you, pulling the special tunic made to accommodate your belly off. The large swell, the heavy weight of your breasts, the swelling in your feet–all of the changes in your body had made you fear he would no longer find you desirable. He’d been quick to correct that assumption however.
With your lip caught between your teeth, you nodded.
Carefully, he turned you on your side, supporting the weight of your belly with pillows and linens before divesting himself of his own layers. The sight of him, skin golden and cock hardening turned your cunt to liquid. He smiled at the open desire on your face, positioning himself so he straddled the thigh resting on the bed, while lifting and holding the other, lining himself up at the mouth of your cunt.
“Are you comfortable?” Your heart swelled for a moment, smiling at him before nodding.
He took himself in hand, stroking a few times to bring himself to full mast before finally sinking in to the hilt.
“So wet.” He whispered almost to himself, eyes focused on the way your cunt swallowed his length whole, coating it in your arousal. “My pretty little wife, with her pretty little cunt.” His fingers gripped at your thigh while he found his rhythm, angling himself to find the spot–
You keened, gasping as he huffed out a satisfied laugh.
“There it is, that is the spot, yes?” He focused, hitting it like a bullseye while you clutched at the linens, too blissed out to answer but it mattered not, he knew. Sweat beaded on his brow, the muscles in his arms gleamed in the low candlelight as he panted out his exertion. His beauty so obvious, so highlighted there as he loved you that it filled the little space in your belly not filled with his child with the beating of butterfly wings.
Your fingers reached out to him, needing to feel him surround you and he smiled, leaning forward to catch the tips of them with his lips while his hips moved faster. Your arousal pooled at the base of him, soaking the fine patch of hair between your legs, as well as the curls at the base of his cock.
With a crooked grin, he reached between your legs to swirl his thumb around your swollen clit and the climax is so close your legs start to tremble.
“Don’t stop, please don’t stop Marcus–” It was so close, building like a fire in your hips, spreading like lightning throughout your veins, dripping from where you were joined onto the linens of your bed. Your hand crept down, joining his to press his fingers closer, to guide his movements faster until you burst around him, squeezing him so tight he groaned and slowed his steady thrusting to a grind, his groin pressed tight. Your cunt fluttered around him, pleasure blooming and flooding your body like good, strong wine and it only intensified when he started moving again, chasing his own end while you floated on your cloud. It only took him a few thrusts before he filled you, fucking his seed deep.
His chest rose and fell with each rapid breath, smiling and laughing softly as he pulled himself out.
Your combined passion smeared against your hip when he surged forward to claim your mouth in a kiss. His big hand curled around the curve of your neck softly, such a contrast to how it gripped your thigh. It slid down, smooth as silk before squeezing at your breast.
“Oh!’ The warm drip shocked you, the milk beaded at your nipple before dripping down the valley between your breasts. The bigger shock though, was how quickly he chased it with his tongue. The arousal only flared again, sharp as a knife at the moan he let out. With an almost drunk expression, he wrapped his lips around the peak, and tasted your milk straight from the source.
“Good?” Your fingers threaded through his sweat-soaked waves, cradling him close while he drank deep. His expression was almost sheepish, almost ashamed when he pulled away.
“I do not know what has come over me,” He licked at the tip, staring at the other breast longingly, “I had to taste you, it’s so sweet.” He dipped his head again, drinking from the other breast, deep, strong pulls that only made the red hot coal of desire within you burn even brighter than before. When he pulled away he was breathing hard, shocked at his own reaction.
“Did I hurt you?” He licked at sensitive peaks again, filling your brain with a fog of lust so strong you could barely think.
“No, not at all, it feels really good.” You pulled him closer, urging him to drink, while guiding his hand between your legs. With a knowing grin, he obeyed.
-
You knew from the moment your eyes opened in the morning, that the baby would come. There was an ache, a pulsing, a violence to its movements within your womb. The child was as impatient to emerge, as you were to give birth and finally have it whole and healthy in your arms.
With a sigh, you tried to adjust yourself, smiling as Marcus pressed himself closer in his sleep, his big hand holding the swell.
“I think today is the day, hmm?” You whispered to your belly, it kicked hard enough to make you wince.
“Gods above, I felt that one, this child will be strong.” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, pulling another sigh from you. “How are you feeling?”
“I think it will be today, it feels like the baby has moved lower.” You did your best to rise, groaning before he all but lifted you to sit upright.
“I will make the preparations, the midwife is ready and waiting for our summons.” He rose quickly, making you laugh with his urgency.
“Peace Marcus, it will not be right this second, but I do feel it mightl be today.” You stood, gingerly padding towards him, waving away his frown of concern. “Walking is good for me, it will help me with my labours.” He still frowned, meeting you halfway and squeezing you as tightly as he could without causing you pain.
“I will be with you, at your side the whole time.” There was a small tremble in his voice you did not recognize, a nervous aura about him that seemed to bolster you. How curious, you thought, that his moment of fear, is my moment of courage.
“The midwife and her attendants will be there, most men wait until the child is born–”
“I am not most men. I will be with you, holding your hand and wiping at your brow. This is a battle I cannot fight for you, but no one will keep me out of that room.” He pressed his face into your neck and you softened, his fear was justified. Many children did not survive their coming into the world, many mothers died alongside them. You said nothing, nodding softly as his fingers dug into your robes.
The sun made its way across the sky and as it did your pains grew stronger. Cramps painful enough to steal your breath would squeeze at you like a fist for a few minutes before releasing you. The midwife walked with you, she took note of how much time passed between each attack, readying the birthing stool as well as her oils, her sponges and enough water and linens to be able to tend to both you and the baby.
The sun was kissing the horizon when the water came, spilling all over your feet like a tidal wave and sending Marcus into a cold panic.
The midwife did her examinations while your body ripped itself in two. With barely contained screams, and sweat dripping down your brow you got into position, doing your best to focus on your breathing while Marcus kept his word, silently wiping at your brow, and letting you squeeze his hand as hard as you could.
“It must be now, push.” The midwife and one of her girls were in place, moving your robes aside to have access and you did what you had to do. You pushed.
It was agony.
It was liquid fire burning its way through your body, this baby wasn’t being born, it was clawing and tearing its way out of you.
Marcus whispered into your ear, encouragingly, lovingly, patiently guiding you to breathe, to not give up. He reminded you how strong you were, how loved and how soon it would be over. How could it be over soon? It felt as though this pain had been with you at your own birth, all of your life this pain has been here, it had to be. Hours, days? You could not tell how long it had been.
You cried, you begged for it to end, you willed it to be so; shouted and screamed that it hurt too much, that it was too hard and that you could not do it. You told them that the baby would not come, that you could not do this, you were not strong enough. You screamed that this would surely kill you, you would tear in two and die.
“You will not die, you can do this, my love. Bear down, and push.” His gaze was steely, focused and firm and it filled you with courage.
With a sob and a scream you pushed, and pushed. You pushed so much you thought you’d burst and then pushed more still. Until finally, blessedly, the baby came out.
“You have done it! You have done it my love, my beautiful, strong, courageous girl, you have done it!” Tears were in his eyes as he held onto your limp form, but he was not looking at you.
“Why does the child not cry?” It felt like you’d drunk too much wine, the relief from the pain so great you would faint soon, yet still, silence. There was a lot of movement, a terrifying moment that seemed to stretch on for an eternity and despite Marcus all but carrying you and laying you back to rest, no one met your eye.
“Answer me, Marcus, why does the baby not cry? Give it to me! Is it a boy? Is it a girl?” Tears flowed and fear swelled like bile crawling up your throat until a cry loud enough to hurt your ears sounded and the entire room breathed a collective sigh of relief.
“She is a beautiful, healthy and whole baby girl.” Swaddled and screaming, the bundle was placed at your breast. Marcus sobbed, openly and loudly into your shoulder, his big hand covering her tiny head while you looked at her in awe. She had so much hair, such strong lungs, such a force that you laughed, still crying.
“Yes my little love, I know, you fought so hard.” You pressed a kiss to her little brow, doing your best to soothe her.
She took to nursing your breast quickly, a good sign the midwife said and while she and her girls set everything to rights, you could focus on nothing but her. Her little hands clutched at you, taking a few greedy pulls before falling asleep, milk smeared all over her perfect face.
“She is utterly perfect, she has your hands.” Marcus lay beside you, his gaze on her as though entranced.
“She has your hunger.” You smiled, the euphoria eclipsing everything. It was so hard to stay awake though, the birth had taken so much out of you.
“Give her to me and rest. I will be here with you.” With gentle hands, he took her, managing to put her onto his chest without waking her and before he’d even fully settled, sleep had claimed you.
-
She had fought, both of them had.
His girls had battled, fought tooth and nail and had come through victorious, though his love had paid a price. She’d bled, bled enough that it had frightened him, chilled him to the bone and when the midwife pulled him aside he already knew what she would say. There would be no more children, another birth might kill her.
He mourned the fact that his daughter would have no siblings, no other children to fill this house alongside her but his wife would live. That was all that mattered.
He watched her as she slept, glowing still, if a little wan, weakened by her labours but beautiful all the same. He could no longer imagine living this life without her, he could not see the joy in anything without her there beside him and now his daughter held the other half of his heart. She was the fruit of their union, she was the parts of them that would live on, the living embodiment of his good fortune and just the sight of her filled his eyes with tears.
He pressed his lips to her little brow, smiling at the furrow in them when he jostled her, so like her mother it made him cry all the harder.
This was all that mattered, his entire world was in this bed and he was loath to ever be separated from them again.
He didn’t know which name to call her, they’d never settled on anything. Acacia didn’t seem right, how could he name her after himself when she so resembled her mother already? Aurelia, that was pretty, Diana too. He would wait though, let her have the last say. He basked in the glow of the candles, in the comfort of his wife’s warm weight beside him, in the small weight at his chest and said another silent prayer in thanks.
-
She was so big already, three whole months and her growth never ceased to amaze you. She still looked tiny in her fathers arms, his broadness compared to her small body always made you smile, especially because for her he was less the brutal Roman General, and more of a soft, lump of honey. She ruled him implicitly, her every cry, her every happy sound was the reason he breathed.
“My love, I need to change her, those little robes are covered in milk.” There was no bite in your words, there could be no anger or annoyance in you at his adoration of her.
“Yes, yes you are right, she must be changed.” He smiled, bringing her to you. She was tired, yawning and fussing, fighting off her midday slumber with a fierceness that made you laugh.
“Yes yes I know Diana, one moment and then your father will rock you.” You cooed at her, making quick work of the change and taking the opportunity to wipe her down with a damp cloth before returning her where she slept the best, her fathers chest.
Once he took her and sat at his favoured chair, she was out, little fist curled under her chin. This was his favourite, and yours. Watching her sleep peacefully, safe and loved within your arms, or his.
“I never grow tired of studying her, already her little face is changing.”
He pressed his lips to her head, breathing in the clean, baby milk smell of her.
“She will have your hair, already it curls when I wash it.” You thread your fingers through the fine wisps of it softly, smiling to imagine her older with curls flowing down her back.
“She has your look, your look exactly. I am still in awe that we have created something so perfect.” His hand took yours and brought it to his lips, you bent to press yours to his forehead.
“As am I, how blessed we are to have her, to have each other.”
-
When he slipped into bed, you pressed your fingers to your lips, eyes wide to warn him.
“She is finally asleep, we must not wake her.” Your whisper was frantic, and he nodded.
“Yes my lady, I will be silent as the grave.” He pulled you close, whispering in your ear before pressing soft kisses to your shoulder.
“So long as you can keep your voice down when I love you.” His hands pawed at you but you were so tired, it was hard to reconcile the intense want for him, with the ache of the day settling heavy on your bones.
“My love, my mind desires this, but my body is so tired.” You pouted at him, mildly upset to deny him.
“Shall I use my mouth? You can lay back and relax, I can take care of you—my lovely girl deserves pleasure, and rest.” He smiled, undeterred and you could not help but smile.
“And it does not bother you that I will just lay here? Most likely asleep before you have come up for air?” His grey waves were so soft when you raked your fingers through them.
“It pleases me to please you, you are the mother of my child and the love of my life, I would do anything for you.” He kissed your fingers before spreading your legs wide with the breadth of his shoulders. “Do you wish for me to stop?” He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and then the soft patch of hair at your mound, before kissing the lips of your sex.
“No, I do not wish for you to stop.” You spread your legs a little wider and his smile grew bigger, letting a big glob of his own spit fall onto your sex before chasing it with his tongue.
He is focused, honed in with his gaze and with his tongue on your clit, flat wide licks from where your arousal drips up to the bundle of nerves and it’s like a spike of arousal pierced the very heart of you every time he swiped his tongue over it. Warm, wet and perfect, he swirled around it in time with your heartbeat, fanning the embers burning in your belly for him.
The fingers that softly scratched at his scalp, now curled into the waves holding him in place as you struggled to keep your mouth shut, but he made it so difficult. The ache building as his brow creased with concentration and his own excitement. His own hand crept down and grasped his cock, stroking at it in time with the delicious circuit of his tongue. That he gained so much pleasure from this only heightened your own, and soon the knot tightened.
Muscles clenched, all of your body a taut string waiting to snap with every pass, every strong lick. You pinched at a nipple, pulling his eyes up to find yours and he let out a low groan, the vibration of it pushed you over the edge with a silent gasp, and empty rhythmic clenches around nothing. He bestowed a final, filthy kiss to your overstimulated clit before moving quickly to get into position. With the shine of exertion glinting on his golden skin he knelt between your legs, pumping at himself furiously before silently, violently spilling onto your still fluttering sex. Hot, milky splashes of him covering it while he gripped at your thigh hard enough to bruise.
He caught his breath, smearing himself in his own mess between your legs past the point of discomfort. He was so beautiful like this, with the flush of passion lighting up his cheeks and his ears, spreading down his chest.
He smiled, winking at you before he grabbed the cloth from the basin and cleansing the mess he had made. You wanted to hold and be held by him, but by the time he was done, you were already asleep.
My heart can't take it if there is heartbreak again!
“Give me a clever girl with your eyes, and your smile and I shall be happier than any other man alive.”
AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW WHAT THE FUCK MAN
Jeez man they're so horny....so am I tbh
O.
MY.
GOD. YOU DID NOT GIVE ME THE KING OF ALL KINKS!!!!!!!!
@juletheghoul WHAT HTE FUCK DUDE YOU CAN'T JUST LAY THIS SHIT ON MY ALL OF A SUDDDEN AND EXPECT ME TO BE NORMAL ABOUT IT!!!! YOU REALLY SAID "LET ME MAKE MAGGIE CRAZY WITH HER WEIRD ASS RANDOM LACTATION KINK BECAUSE SHE WILL LOVE IT" AND YOU ARE SO RIGHT!!!!!!!!!
The rest of the chapter had me aweing like an idiot but let me tell you something, those few sentences with the lactation kink really did it for me. Like damn. Hot damn. Hot smoking damn. Hot diggity damn. Thank you so fucking much for this man. I desperately needed it.
a/n: So. This is a big one lol. It’s not the end of their story, it’s just a different chapter. I still welcome any and all requests for them, taking place before, and after this chapter. These two have become so important to me and a lot of you and I am so happy to delve into any aspect of their lives. (for the ritual, I borrowed heavily from one of my favourite shows but added my own little twists. Things I thought would add to the story.) This takes place directly after the last chapter and I’ve incorporated a few of the asks into it, hopefully you enjoy. Can’t wait to see what you all thought!
Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, body worship-Marcus gives his girl a nice massage, *FEELINGS* Huge shift in their relationship, grief, deals with loss (miscarriage), talks of infertility, ancient religious practices (physical examinations)- let me know if I missed any!
Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader
word count: 7.6k (😅)
reblogs are appreciated
Masterlist series masterlist
--
His fingers reach out and slide across the apple of your cheek.
“I’d like to hear you speak my name.” It’s not an order, it’s a statement and for a moment you’re lost. “I can see the conflict on your face. This is not a test, there is no punishment, I would hear my name on your lips, it is something I desire greatly.” He sits back, waiting for your wits to catch up.
“I do not wish to cause offence, you are my Dominus, and I will obey but never have I been commanded to do this.” Your hands shake a little, and you know it is partly with trepidation, partly with a feeling that is too big, too impossible to contain.
He smiles, not unkindly and he persists, a fountain of patience.
“I am not commanding you, I am asking you.” He takes your hand in his, and presses it to his lips. When his eyes meet yours again there is something in them you don’t think you’ve ever seen, something that looks like devotion.
Although nude, although still feeling the spectre of him between your legs, never have you ever felt so naked, so exposed as you do under that look.
“Marcus…” it’s a whisper and he smiles, eyes focused on your mouth.
“Yes, I do like the sound of it in your voice, I would have you call me by my name.” He pulls you forward, guiding you to sit on his lap. “I would call you love, if you would let me.” He presses his lips to your neck, his hands a comforting sweep from your neck down to your hip.
It feels as though you’re in a dream. This cannot be the same Marcus you were sold to years ago. This cannot be the man that left to smother the rebellion, this man is someone else, someone softer, someone sentimental and it is hard to reconcile the person you’d come to know, and the creature that holds you close. The person who skims his nose across the base of your throat.
“I have thought a lot about what is truly important to me when the wound was fresh and death felt close enough to carry me off, and it is not glory. It is not the whims and wants of the Emperor, it is not the worship of the men under my command or the amount of coin I have earned by slicing through the battlefield." There is a fire in his eyes, burning with the words he speaks almost angrily.
"It is this. It is my home, and the comfort of your embrace. It is waking up of a night and feeling you holding onto me, seeking me out for warmth. It is the sound of your laughter when I make a jest, when you cry out in pleasure when I take you.” He frowns, sighing as he confesses something you had not known you’d been hoping and praying your whole life to hear.
“I do not wish to be your Dominus, I wish to be more, I wish for you to be more. I wish for you to be mine, truly mine as I am yours.”
“But I am yours Dom—“ he winces but you catch yourself, swallowing the lump in your throat at his words, “—Marcus. I am yours. Mind, body and soul, I belong to you.”
“I own you, as I own all of those who serve under the name of Acacius. I wish for you to be here with me because you desire it, not because you are beholden to me.” His eyes search yours for comprehension, just as yours search his for the truth in his words.
“You wish for me to love you, truly love you not just as a happy slave loves their master, but as a woman loves a man?” Your fingers twirl a curl near his neck, something to focus on so you don’t go mad with joy.
“Yes. Is this something I could hope for? Is this something you could feel for me? I have been known to be a man of few words, and I know of my reputation. I am well aware of my dark moods and of my brutality. On the battlefield I am all that and worse but that is not my true heart. I know that I am older as well, but I could be a good man to you-“ you press forward, cutting off his words with a kiss. That he would think you don’t already love him is absurd.
“Does this mean yes?” He presses his lips to yours again, softer, his arms holding you tighter still.
“Yes. I am sure that I am dreaming but if that is so then it is the best dream I have ever had and I never wish to wake. I care not that you are older, you are already a good man to me, better than any have been before. When you ask me to stay with you, to lay with you, to sleep beside you my heart swells, to think that you would feel for me even a shadow of what I feel for you is enough to sustain me for the rest of my years.” It’s more honesty than you’ve ever given and he drinks the words down like a man dying of thirst.
“Then you are free. I release you from my service. You are yourself, a free woman and I invite you, I beg you to stay here with me. To live in this house and share with me all that I have.” Your jaw drops and he smiles wide, gifting you with a rare glimpse of the dimple in his cheek.
“I have nothing to offer you Dom-Marcus.” You shake your head, annoyed at how difficult it is to drop the title and call him by his name.
“I have no dowry, no father to broker any kind of union-“
“I have no need of a dowry. I have more than enough coin to sustain this house, and anything you may need or want.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, his eyes lighting up with mirth and happiness.
“You really wish to have me here as more than a slave?” You run your fingers through his whiskers, smiling when he turns his face to press his lips to your palm.
“Yes, I wish to have you here with me, to share this life with me and to let me love you, let me be a good husband to you. Let me spoil you, my love.” He pushes you back so you both lay on his bed, tucking you in under his chin to hold you close.
The word husband, the word love makes your head feel as light as a feather. That you would go from a mere slave, to the wife of the General and favoured son of Rome is almost laughable. And so you do. You laugh, harder than you’ve ever laughed in your life. Your belly aches with the strength of it and it’s with a smile of his own that he inquires as to the source of your mirth.
“This must be a dream, I will wake up in a moment, and laugh about this. Only in a dream would you speak so openly about marrying me. Only in a dream would I swiftly rise from slave to the wife of the General of Rome.” You kiss his chest, “when I wake you will be my Dominus once more and I will just be your girl.” You smile at him, but he gives you a sad look.
“This is not a dream my love, and you will always be my girl, but not in the way you think. I will have the papers drawn up for your freedom in the morning, and we will discuss a wedding should you want one. If you wish to simply live our lives intertwined then I am happy to oblige you, although a formal marriage would make things easier.”
The smile lingers, but the levity of his words sinks in, he is serious.
“This is real then. You desire me as more than I am and I am truly free…?” You pull away, leaning on your elbow to watch his face. He nods, his hand rubbing at your shoulder, then your arm before it settles on the curve of your hip. You bite your lip, curious.
“If what you say is true, and I am indeed free, would you let me deny you? If I wished to leave on the morrow, and seek my fate outside this house, would I be permitted to do so?” You watch his face and he frowns, letting out a deep sigh.
“If you wished to leave at this very moment, I would send you wherever you wished to go, with a heavy heart, a full purse and tears in my eyes.”
“You truly mean this then, I am free to do as a please, and you truly love me.” You press closer, tucking yourself back under his chin and take in the comforting scent of him, cheeks aching with the strength of your smile.
“Yes my love, I truly mean this. Will you stay?” Hearing him call you his love releases a whole army of butterflies in your belly.
“Yes, I have no wish to be anywhere else. I have no wish to be with anyone but you.” You rise up, a thought striking you with a momentary fear. “But what will people think? You are the General and I am but a slave, you have scores of noble women vying for you, the ear of the Emperor and friends of proper birth. Not to mention the matches you’ve denied, Lavinia-” You spit out her name and he laughs a deep laugh, pulling you close once more.
“What people think is their business, not mine. I care not about them, or Lavinia, you have nothing to worry about, it is you I want. No one else.” He strokes at your back again, lifting your knee to drape around his hip.
“I have my hands full with you as it is, I must be mindful of my love's greed for me, hm? How am I to give any of my attention to anyone else when you seek to keep me for yourself? Did we not discuss this before my love? Don’t I belong to you?” He shifts, and settles between your legs and all at once the craving for him hits you like a boulder.
“Yes, this is true, you do belong to me.” You pull his lips to yours, channelling all of your devotion and love into the kiss, your body responds to him quickly, as does his. His cock hardens against your belly and it’s with a moan that he adjusts himself and slips inside the mess he’d already made not moments before the conversation had began.
“This little cunt is the only one I want, the only one that makes me harder than stone and the only one fit for the gift of my seed.” He raises one knee for leverage but keeps his pace slow and steady.
“I only want you, Marcus-” His name feels so forbidden in your mouth, but the look on his face at the sound of it urges you to moan it. His movements are languid, he is in no hurry to bring about his end and you savour the feel of him deep inside, the sound of your name, your true name in your ear, the feel of his hands clutching at you as though you’ll float away.
“Gods above, the power you have over me, woman.” He burrows his face into the crook of your neck, his thrusts turning into a slow grind and the pressure against your clit is just right, just enough to stoke the already raging fire steadily building in your core.
“I’m already so close Marcus, I’m so close–” Your fingers clutched at him, and his steady, unabashed moans in your ear only push you closer and closer to your flutters.
“Later, I will use my mouth again, would you like that?” He bites at your ear and you nod frantically, whispering a repeated chant of yes, eyes closed tight. “Soak me, I want to feel this little cunt gushing on my cock and in my mouth-” He reaches down and slips his hand between you, swirling around the sensitive button and shoving you into your peak with a deep groan.
He shoves himself in deep enough to hurt a little and you feel the spurt of him filling you again. With a hiss, he rolls his hips still, pushing past the point of discomfort to watch his seed spill out around himself.
Later, when the house is silent and you are curled up beside him swimming in the euphoria of his confession, another thought occurs to you. One that dumps an entire basin of ice cold water onto your warmth.
“Marcus, may I ask you something?” His breath is steady, and for a moment you think he might be asleep, but his hand moves from its place on your leg, stroking softly as he mumbles a sleepy hmm?
“What of children?” You drew patterns onto his chest, a nervous gesture because this was something you’ve never discussed with anyone.
“What of them?” His breath tickles at the crown of your head.
“I—I do not think I can carry them. If we were to marry, you would have none to carry on your name.” This will be the true ending of the dream you think, he will rethink his madness and take back the freedom he’s given you. He will take back his declarations and marry another. The servitude you can handle. You’d enjoyed your life here. The love, the affection however, that you cannot handle being stripped of.
“Why do you say this?” His thumb sweeps across your skin, soothing.
“I have lain with others before, you yourself have filled me more times than I can count and it has never taken root, despite my blood coming every moon’s turn.” You’re thankful for the darkness then, the idea that he might be displeased with you over something you could not change would break your heart in two.
“Do you want children?” There is no anger, no disappointment in his voice, and for that you are grateful. It coaxes you to be completely honest.
“I haven’t given the matter much thought. In other houses where I served I took measures to never be with child for fear that it would be taken away from me, to be sold off while I remained. I feared for the mood of whichever Dominus I served, some were married and I couldn’t know how the Domina would react to a child being of her husband by a slave. I felt blessed that it never came to that.” You took a deep breath and let out a deep sigh. He listens, his breath even and calm, his heart a steady thump under your ear.
“Then when I came into your service and we began our trysts, I was less prudent about my measures. I thought surely it would happen, with how often you gave me your gift. But the Gods have seen it fit to deny me the option. Being a slave, I thought it best.” He strokes at your leg draped across his middle.
“You have not answered the question my love.” His tone is gentle, but firm. “Do you want children?”
“I do not know, but if I am correct and cannot give them to you, will you still want me to share this life with you?” It is a miracle your voice does not break asking the question. a few heartbeats pass, and your own pulse races, hopeful, and terrified.
“I want you regardless of any children you can or cannot carry. Being a soldier means playing a game of chance with death. I have been truly blessed, and have not fallen in battle and yet I think it would have been harder for me to be the man I had to be if I had a child pulling at my thoughts. I am old enough to have come to terms with the truth that I might not ever be a father, and I have made my peace with it.” His hand slides up the curves of your body, feeling it’s way across the map of your skin, a map he has memorized and lands on your chin, tilting it towards him to find your lips in the dark. It is a soothing press and it does much to calm the melancholy in your heart.
“This does not change my love for you. This does not make me reconsider or rescind anything I have offered. If you find that you do want children after all we will deal with the matter then. Whether we have to find a medicus to advise, or a servant of the Gods to guide us, or make sacrifices–whatever the price, I will pay. Does this calm you?” He presses kisses to your cheeks, his lips wet with the silent tears that streak down your face.
“Yes Marcus, yes.” You press your face into the crook of his neck and weep, letting go of the last vestiges of fear that had clung to you, before the great mouth of sleep opens up and swallows you whole.
-
Marcus was never one to sit idle. His word was his bond and the next morning found you asleep in his bed, well past the hour you’d been expected to rise and go about your duties on a normal day.
With a slight panic in your chest, you move quickly to find and tend to him, almost knocking over a tray filled with fruits and bread, soft eggs and freshwater. The panic swells, someone else had tended to him and he had not eaten. Flashes of his declarations fill your mind but it seemed like a dream, some wine-fueled madness and without his face there to greet you it is hard to feel like any of it was actually real.
You find him in his study, brow furrowed and buried in a stack of parchment. When his eyes raise and find you, they crinkle with happiness.
“I expected you to sleep a little longer, I kept you up.” He smiles, quill forgotten and it’s with a slight trepidation that you step forward, unsure how to refer to him but he is quick to see the turmoil on your face. “Did you eat? I had food brought to you–I would have broken my fast with you but I wanted to start the paperwork for your freedom.”
“It wasn’t a dream then, it really happened?” He frowns for a moment, almost hurt but he lets out a sigh and beckons you closer.
“Apologies D–Marcus–” You stand between his legs, hands on his shoulders and he shakes his head to forestall your apology.
“You have nothing to apologize to me for. I can understand that it is difficult for you to suddenly stop feeling the way you have felt in this house, but I need you to know that you no longer serve me. You are equal to me in all things. This parchment–” He taps at the one closest to him before pulling you to sit across his lap, “-proclaims it. I feel it here–” He brings your hand to his heart, the steady thump of it pressing at your palm.
His eyes search yours, a vulnerability you had only ever seen in them during the worst of his injury shines back at you.
“I would implore you to remember it, feel it, know it here.” His hand presses against your chest, your slightly wilder, racing heart jumping against his hand.
“Yes Marcus, I will remember it.” His lips press to yours, lingering, tasting, trapping your bottom lip in an unhurried but wholly reassuring kiss.
One of the other slaves comes in, interrupting your embrace.
“Apologies Dominus, Domina–I will come back.”
“No need, what is it?” He smiles at the look of shock on your face, but holds you tight to him.
“The food is yet untouched, shall I dispose of it?” The shock at the new title freezes you in place. The implication that he had already informed the house of his decision to free you, of the new order of things only cements the idea that he is truthful in his declarations. The slave is another woman, older than you and it feels almost wrong to have her refer to you this way.
“Would you share the meal with me, my love?” He presses a kiss to your shoulder, asking instead of commanding, and it takes a moment for your wits to catch up. You nod, unable to find your voice.
“Bring it here, we will break our fast while I finish my work.” He sends her off with a nod and you sit, silent still. “You will adjust.” His voice is soft, understanding and you sigh.
“Will I? Seems so strange, just yesterday I was on the other side. Do not misunderstand me, I have never felt joy like this in all my life. I am full to the brim with love for you, but freedom is a foreign concept to me. I will need time.” Your fingers thread through his soft curls, mind racing at how quickly things have changed for you.
“It is a big change, but you have all of the time you require. Once we have broken our fast, we will go out and find some more appropriate clothing for you to wear.” Your eyes widen again and he laughs, not unkindly. “My love, you cannot wear these tunics anymore, much as I love how easy it is to undress you, they are not for the lady of the house to wear. From now on you will dress as a proper Roman woman, a wife and the lady of this house, your house.” He smiles and you let out a breathy laugh, the insanity making you dizzy.
“Gods above. This is madness.” You laugh, the absurdity of it all filling the entirety of your body, until the door opens again and the food is placed in front of you.
“Dominus, Domina, if that is all?”
“That is all, you may tend to your other duties.” He dismisses her, and together you eat.
-
The clothing is hard to get accustomed to, surprisingly enough. It is of the highest quality, of that you can be sure but it is so much heavier than your tunics, the utilitarian square of cloth was practical and comfortable. It was made for the working people, to be unencumbered while you fulfilled your duties.
You shift, feeling slightly awkward as you hold the fine fabric to your body.
“How do you feel, my love?” He smiles from his place on his chair, watching with an amused smile as you fidget in your new robes.
“The fabric is… very fine.” You turn to face him, holding the smile to your face despite your discomfort. He laughs, not unkindly.
“That is not what I asked you, how do you feel in them?” He rises and closes the distance between you, his big hands landing soft upon your shoulders. You sigh, instantly calmed by his touch.
“I do not know how I feel. It is perhaps the finest thing I have ever worn but how am I to move? How am I to…” Your voice trails off, frowning at his patient expression.
“How are you to fulfil your duties? You have no duties, except sharing the running of this house with me. I know, it is a lot to adjust to but you will, I promise you.” His lips press to your forehead, and you nod.
-
The news of his union spread throughout Rome like a wildfire.
Gifts arrive, seemingly from every corner of the empire. Baskets overflowing with fruit, wine, fine cloth, dates and figs and flowers of every colour. Jars of honey, beautiful pottery, and a whole stack of letters.
Part of you fret over how people truly saw things, beneath the veil of courtesy, but as the months go on and the reception to your union to Marcus is mostly accepted with good grace, it is easier to fall into your new role; your new life. Marcus is true to his word, the whispers, the looks of others as you step out together are nothing to him. He pays no one any mind. No one but you.
Sitting beside him, having his big hand dwarf yours as you listen to him make conversation with all manner of proper Roman citizens is strange to be sure, his reassuring touch though, his kind eyes make it bearable, make it almost normal to be amongst such elevated company. The most difficult thing to get accustomed to is being served.
Your eyes always drift to whoever is pouring for you, or serving the food you eat, begging them not to resent you for your elevated status. He squeezes your hand then, guiding you softly back to him and away from the worry.
- Months pass -
The women tut at you being in the kitchen, again. You shine your brightest smile while skirting around them, piling a small plate high with figs and honeycomb.
“Domina, I beg of you, let us tend to you!” A rather matronly woman who prepared meals and ran the kitchen sighs, defeated yet hopeful.
“Apologies, I could not wait and since I already know my way around—“
“Do not apologize! This is your husband's house, your house! Let us do what we do, go on and tend to him.” She gently, but firmly shoos you out of the kitchen, a smile on her face despite her exhaustion of your antics.
You smile around a bite of fig, the craving for them so strong that you’d found yourself in the kitchen before your own attendant could catch up with you. She follows you, no doubt exasperated until you dismiss her. Your relationship with Marcus has progressed naturally, ordering people around however, still did not come easy.
“Those look delicious.” He smiles, finding you as he comes out of his study.
“They are the best this season I think, I came to share them with you.” You offer a smothered fig to him, feeding him from your own hand and he accepts it happily. Your body comes to life when he licks the honey from your fingers.
“I think you are right.” He takes another, smaller one from your plate and eats it whole, “I must procure more, you have been really favouring them of late.” He presses a sticky kiss to your mouth, guiding you through your halls to sit in the breezy peristyle.
“I have, more than any other time. I want for nothing else in truth. Nothing else is sitting right at the moment.” You laugh, smiling around another sweet mouthful.
“I can think of something else, something I would love to cover in honey and devour.” He presses soft kisses to your neck, hand sliding down your arm before palming at your breast through your robes. You wince at his slight grip, and he moves away, frowning.
“Did I hurt you my love?” He searches your expression, worried his strength and desire for you had gotten the better of him.
“No no, I am just a little sore. I think my blood may be upon me, it is a little late.” You kiss his cheek, but his eyebrows raise. For a moment, he is quiet, staring at you and then the plate of figs.
“How late?” His hand drifts lower, landing on your belly and for a moment something inside you clicks, eyes widening in stunned surprise.
“Oh!” You stare down, feeling the way he held you and sudden hot tears spring to your eyes. Your hand presses against his and something huge, something you had not known you held inside bubbles up. “Gods, I do not know!” An almost maniacal laughter escapes through the tears and still, he holds you.
“I will call for a medicus, we should know for sure but aside from that, how do you feel?” He holds you close, big hand pressed to your womb while the other rubs soothingly at your back.
“I have no words! I am shocked, and overwhelmed. In truth I do not know, this could be nothing but a little lateness I know, but the cravings have been so strong, the soreness, my eating habits, the desire for you—“ he laughs, good natured.
“Yes, you have been insatiable of late, much to my delight.” He presses his lips to your temple. “This is something unexpected, but welcome. I am beyond joyful to think you might carry our child even now.” He smiles, his eyes shining with truth.
“I confess I am happy too, I did not think it possible, perhaps the Gods have blessed us, Marcus.” You all but tackle him in a hug, figs forgotten in the warmth of his embrace.
“I pray it is so.” You whisper into his ear, fear that you may be wrong tinging the edges of your words.
“As do I, but if we are wrong, there is nothing wrong with it just being the two of us.” He pulls away, his hand cupping your cheek to look you in the eye.
“Hear me now my love, nothing will change if we are wrong.” You nod, praying deep in your heart that you aren’t.
-
The medicus did his examination, and jubilation bloomed throughout the house. At long last, his seed had taken root.
Never had you seen him so happy, never had you seen him shed a tear and yet he does. He held you as tightly as he could, without causing you pain and cried his joy into your skin. You both shed happy tears, holding each other and basking in the glow of knowing that soon, a child would be born of your love.
It was still early, and the medicus provided Marcus with a list of precautions, instructions on how to prepare your body for what was to come. He recommended rest, and solutions for the nausea that might afflict you. He gave Marcus oils to rub on your belly as it swelled and suggested foods that were suitable and healthy. He took them seriously, and did as he was told.
The joy was not to last though.
The Gods had not blessed you, and your child bled out of you not a week later.
Marcus did not show it, but you could feel his devastation. The pain in his eyes, to see your lost, heartbroken expression was enough to rival your own. He held fast however, unwavering in his love, solid and stoic while you fell apart in your shared bed. The only soundtrack being your soft cries, and his gentle reassurances.
Those were the darkest days in your life, the depths of your despair at the grief such a contrast to the joy of carrying his child, the fruit of your union being so unfairly ripped away had left a mark on the both of you.
It also brought you closer together.
Months passed, and then an entire year, and while exceedingly happy in your union, the loss had awoken a want that you hadn’t felt before. The desire to carry a baby, to see a beautiful child with his eyes, or his hands. To see the both of you on their face, and know that there would never be a child so loved.
-
The silver in his hair glints in the candlelight as he splashes water on his face, already undressed and prepped for bed. The strength in his arms, the breadth of him, the smooth golden skin you were free to touch and caress taunting you as you lay in your shared bed. Your eyes track errant droplets of water as they slide down the planes of his chest, much like your tongue had done on more than one occasion.
“Marcus.”
“Yes my love.” He wipes at his face, blowing out the candles before slipping in beside you.
“I want us to try to have a child.” Your hands slid across the soft skin of his belly, sliding up to trace the map drawn out by the water. “I know we will need help, but I want to try.”
For a moment he is quiet, pensive and the trauma of what happened fills the space between you, until he pulls you in and presses his lips to your temple.
“I will find someone to guide us. I will do everything in my power to give you what you desire but I must know that you will be content, should the Gods choose to deny us once more.” His tone is gentle, yet firm. You could see it then, the misery of not accepting the fact that maybe children just were not in your future, it was not fair to either of you to dwell if it did not happen.
“If the Gods deny us, I will drop the matter. I do not wish for us to suffer, not with how happy you make me.” You tuck your head under his chin, and he holds you tighter still, all of him such a comfort as you have ever known.
“I pray they reconsider, and that we are successful, but if they do not and for the rest of our days it is just you and I then I am beyond happy. You are all I need.” His lips find yours in the dark, and despite the nerves fraying at the thought of failure, you smile into the kiss.
-
He wouldn’t tell you how much it cost him to summon the priestess. All he did was smile, wave his hands and say never you mind, no matter how many times you asked him. It had to be considerable, judging by the way her dark halo of hair is adorned in what looks like a crown, by the way her face is painted in gold, her robes dripping in jewels and glass beads.
Your teeth chew at your bottom lip as she arranges her various bottles and statues of the Gods she served across your table, her attendant placing different bundles of herbs and dried powders within her reach, grinding away at a fine powder in preparation. Marcus sits next to you, his hand in yours as you wait with baited breath.
She turns to you fully then, coming closer to inspect you. Wordlessly she take your hands within hers, and studies your palms. Next she take Marcus’ hands, and studies the lines she sees there as well.
“How often do you engage in intercourse?” Her voice is deeper than you thought it would be, soothing and confident.
“Often. Many times a week.” Marcus answers for you, a furrow of concentration on his brow.
“And seed has never taken root?” Your gaze follows hers to the acolyte at the table, a nod is exchanged and a pinch of something is added to a bowl, followed by a dark liquid.
“Once.” It comes out as a croak but you push through, “but the baby was lost soon after.” His hand squeezes yours, reassuring.
“Have you been with other men?” She gives a sidelong glance at Marcus, unsure whether you will answer truthfully.
“Yes, before our union. It never resulted in anything.”
“Then it is the womb we must tend to.” She nods again, a command you cannot parse and more elements are added to the bowl. “We must ask the Gods to reconsider the gift they’ve withheld.” She adds another pinch of something to the bowl while the acolyte moves about the room.
“Remove your underthings, and lay back. I must inspect the physical form to make sure your body is suitable for the carrying of a child.” She gestures, and you do as she says. Shimmying out of your bottom layers before laying on the chaise, Marcus shifts so that your head rests on his lap. Your heart races as she approaches, spreading your thighs with warm hands.
Your eyes find his, and his hand holds yours tightly as she does her inspection, uncomfortable and a little awkward, but painless.
“The vessel is suitable, we will pray Juno accepts our plea.” She dips her hands into a fresh basin of water to cleanse before bringing the bowl to you. A dark, murky liquid swirls within it, smelling of wine and earth, summer rains and overripe fruits.
“Drink.” She nods, and you do as she says. The taste is slightly bitter, slightly acidic but you swallow every last drop.
“I pray that Juno has blessed you. You must copulate within the hour, but the body must be honoured.” She speaks directly to Marcus now.
“This is a ritual, you must worship her, as though she is the goddess herself. I will leave anointing oils and a candle with the flame of life. The seed must be in place before the flame goes out.” She takes a candle from her attendant, the shape of it a bit of a shock when it’s placed in your hand. It’s the shape of a man’s cock, smaller than Marcus but impressive nonetheless.
“We will leave you to it. Use the oils on her skin, on your hands, on every part of you that meets with every part of her...” She raises her eyebrows, saying what she means without being vulgar.
“Gratitude.” He nods as she gathers her things quickly, leaving you with your heart in your throat, and a flutter in your belly.
The sun is low in the sky when he guides you to your bed. The candle burns as he gently strips you of your robes, his hands careful, purposeful. A shiver runs through you, crawling down the line of your spine when he gets you down to your skin, naked as the day you were born in the soft golden light. Your hands move to undress him, but he circumvents you, pressing your hands to his lips in quiet denial.
“You, my love, are to be worshipped. I will do the work.” Love swells inside you for him, just like the arousal flows syrupy thick throughout your limbs.
Wordlessly he leads you to the bed, arranging you comfortably on your front as he straddles your thighs. The oil is neither hot, nor cold when it hits your lower back. His hands though, they are warm and solid, so big they span wide enough to cover a large swathe of your back at once. You melt into the bed as his hands work the oil in, sweeping from your lower back up to work the knots out of your shoulders, pulling involuntary moans with each pass.
He stiffens against the swell of your ass, and his hands move towards it as he does. He massages the globes of your backside, his big hands spreading you open for his gaze and it only rockets the arousal higher and higher, your slick pooling at the mouth of your cunt as the oil slips down towards it with every pass. His lips press to your shoulder, as his cock, hot and hard slips along your skin.
“Turn for me, on your back my love.”
It’s so hard to move from your place, your body feels like it’s become part of the bed. For a moment, the urge to ask him to take you just like this fills your mouth, but you ignore it and comply. The dying sunlight adorns him in gold and it pulls a smile from your lips, his beauty, his strength, his love shine brighter than the sun itself.
More oil pours down from the bottle in his hand, pooling in the well of your belly button before he dips in and spreads it across your skin. His eyes focus on his hands, working the oil in soothing circles at your womb before moving up and spreading the warm slip of it over your breasts.
He focuses there a while, kneading at the pliant flesh, letting it spill between his big fingers, flicking and circling your nipples until they stiffen, hard as pebbles. Your heart races as he pinches and pulls at the peaks of your breasts, the soft moans and liquid arousal slipping out more and more as he continues his thorough worship.
He moves down, opening your thighs and draping them over his own where they press up against you. He slips between your spread legs, fitting himself in the cradle of your hips. His cock is so heavy it barely bobs, resting hotly on your soaked cunt. His hands slip down your thighs, more oil drips from his fingers onto your skin. From your knees up to where you need him most.
“Marcus, please-” You whine, so aroused, so wet the ache of it hurts. He tuts softly, a playful, lust blown smile on lips as he cups your cunt with one big hand. “I need you, I need you inside me.” You pout, tilting your hips up into his hand. He lets you, grinding his palm against your core for a moment before he pulls away and then he pours the oil on himself from high on his chest.
It’s like he’s casting a spell, the oil drips down the golden expanse of it towards the dark patch of hair at the base of his cock.
He rubs the oil across his chest, down over the soft belly and finally lower still, stroking at his cock with ease as he readies himself to love you. He is a weapon, oiled and ready to rut so like the gladiators you’ve seen in the arena, shining and powerful as they prepare to fight for their lives.
There will be no fight here though, only the wet, open invitation of your cunt as you lift and spread your legs wider, resting your feet on his thighs to make it easier for him, tempt him into finally giving you what you so desperately want; no, need.
More oil drips onto where you gape for him, you bite your lip, eyes flicking towards the candle. Already it had burned half way.
The slip of his cock against your cunt feels like a blessing from the Gods, and when he slides inside to the hilt, it’s like a homecoming. It is the sight of him triumphant after a battle, it is the early mornings when you rise before him and bask in the sound of his deep, even breaths. It is the feeling of his lips on your shoulder at night, it is the sound of your name in his mouth and devotion in his eyes.
His big hands hold onto the meat of your hips with a slippery grip as he drives himself forward, filling you just like you want him to. His eyes flit from where he spears into you, up to the way your breasts bounce with every heavy thrust. Never have you felt so beautiful, with the oil shining on your skin, with his hands on you, with his cock deep inside, with the taste of your climax on the tip of your tongue.
He moves his hand down as if to cup your cunt once more but his fingers trace the lips of your sex to feel you stretched around the girth of him. Your mind buzzes like the wings of a bee to feel how he touches you, fingertips gliding against your swollen little clit, driving you to madness with lust and love for him.
You need him closer.
You beckon to him with open arms and he falls on you like he’s been knocked down. His mouth claims yours in a messy, vulgar kiss.
“Fill me Marcus, love me, make me yours.” Your nails curl into his waves, legs gliding around his waist to lock above his backside. Warm, slick skin slipping against warm, slick skin.
“You are mine my love, all mine, and everything I am is yours, all fucking yours—“ he groans, thumb swirling at your clit, around and around and around until you burst like a ripe berry under him. With an obscene moan and a wet squelch, you take him down into the depths of pleasure with you.
He swells, hard as steel before pulsing spurt after spurt inside you, filling you to the brim.
He does not move, and neither do you.
His weight does not bother you, and when he tries to spare you from the heft of him you only dig in your heels.
“I do not wish to smother you, I am quite bigger-“
“I like it, stay.” You hold on tighter, relishing his huff of laughter before he indulges you. In the almost holy afterglow, nothing could be more important than to be surrounded by him, filled by him. To have his body covering yours, his softening cock inside, his taste in your mouth and his seed deep in your womb.
“I pray that this has worked. That we have honoured the Gods and that they bless us.” He shifts slightly, only enough to look you in the eye. “But if they have not…nothing has changed. I would still be the happiest man in all of Rome, in all the world to share this life with you. Just you.” His words are a warm fan across your face, a warm bath for your heart, a soothing remedy for a nervous belly and you drink them down as such.
The candle is forgotten, the priestess a distant memory, all that matters is him.
You cannot trust your voice, and so you nod. With watery eyes and a trembling smile. You nod.
Right of the bat you have me heaving because he wants to hear his name!?!??!?!??! Brother.
“I would call you love, if you would let me.”
Sir, with all due respect, call me your whore if you want, whatever you want.
"It is this. It is my home, and the comfort of your embrace. It is waking up of a night and feeling you holding onto me, seeking me out for warmth. It is the sound of your laughter when I make a jest, when you cry out in pleasure when I take you.”
Well fuck me then. What a hapless romantic.
“I do not wish to be your Dominus, I wish to be more, I wish for you to be more. I wish for you to be mine, truly mine as I am yours.”
Bitch, is this what I think it is???????????
OH MY GOD OH MY GOD IT IS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
“Then you are free. I release you from my service. You are yourself, a free woman and I invite you, I beg you to stay here with me. To live in this house and share with me all that I have.” Your jaw drops and he smiles wide, gifting you with a rare glimpse of the dimple in his cheek.
ohhhhhhhhhhhh sweet mother of THEY'RE GETTING MARRIED
I will have the papers drawn up for your freedom in the morning, and we will discuss a wedding should you want one.
The poor girl is going to think he's messing with her. I can't take it. They're too much.
“If you wished to leave at this very moment, I would send you wherever you wished to go, with a heavy heart, a full purse and tears in my eyes.”
No because a yearning man is the most attractive man there is. Babes. Dont make me cry.
“Gods above, the power you have over me, woman.”
Legit chokign right now. Ughhh
OPe.....children *wide eye*
SHE THINKS HE WAS LYING AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
Oh bro they're already calling her DOmina!!?!?!?!?!?!
“I do not know how I feel. It is perhaps the finest thing I have ever worn but how am I to move? How am I to…” Your voice trails off, frowning at his patient expression.
God I can't even begin to imagine this shift in dynamics.
“You, my love, are to be worshipped. I will do the work.” Love swells inside you for him, just like the arousal flows syrupy thick throughout your limbs.
Summary: If you could throw Pero Tovar out of your bed and breakfast you would, but something more than your constant bickering keeps him darkening your door.
Word Count: 4k
Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, fingering, PiV sex, consenting unprotected sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), cumming inside, allusions to oral sex (f receiving), Pero Tovar is Uncircumcised, pain kink, exhibitionism, slight degradation kink, enemies to lovers as self-actualization? We love to see it.
Notes: Happy Holidays @221bshrlocked! I am your not-so-Secret Santa for @pedrostories Secret Santa event! I love love LOVED your prompts and had to give you as many as I could possibly jam into one fic. Plus it's been a while since I've written Pero and I need that grumpy man to get his ass handed to him every now and then. I hope you enjoy!
With the wind howling outside and the lights flickering dangerously, the last person you want to see on your front steps is Pero Tovar. But you barely have time to register the dark-haired pain in your ass before he’s pushing past you and into the warm haven of your bed and breakfast.
“I wasn’t expecting you for another week,” you call over your shoulder, closing the door against the freezing air. Even when the latch clicks the force of the gusts still rattles the door.
“I wasn’t expecting a warm welcome,” he huffs, swatting snow off his wool jacket to puddle on the floor. Rolling your eyes, you stalk into the kitchen for towels.
“It’s late, what do you want?” you call from the other room, unable to stop yourself from twisting your mouth into a pretty fair imitation of Pero’s scowl. You’d just turned off all the lights, only the twinkling glows of Christmas decorations still lighting the main floor.
“The road’s snowed out, I can’t see shit. I debated on whether it would be easier on my nerves to keep going or stop here.” He waves at your exasperated face when he catches the towel you toss. “I haven’t decided yet.”
The telltale frustration rises in your throat, and you swallow it down. “I don’t have any rooms, everyone’s hiding out from the storm.” Busying yourself with the late-night tasks you know by heart, Pero thumps along behind you.
“Believe me, I would rather be in my own bed than your ‘charming’ ones, but I am out of options. Anything. A couch. It’s too cold to sleep in the truck.”
There it is again, that seething annoyance climbing up your spine. You take in a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before gesturing at the common room.
“The couch is the best I can do.”
Before you’re done speaking he’s striding in, shucking off his jacket to drape over a chair before kneeling by the dying fire. You’re about to scold him for kicking it back to life but if the power does fail the heat will be welcome.
“I have to finish closing up, yell if you need something,” you add, his dismissive wave meeting your mocking wave back. The scrunch in your shoulders eases partway through the mess of dishes you’re washing, thankful that the silence of late nights is still yours even with the eerie howls and creaks of the storm surrounding you.
Yours and Pero’s relationship was barely that, if anyone asked. When he first came to town you were elated that a carpenter-handyman type was finally local. You had so many projects half-finished or begging to start in your bed and breakfast, a cozy Tudor-style house you bought at the peak of another career crisis. Thankfully this choice was a revelation, even with the tremendous undertaking. The pipes were of indeterminate age and prone to cracks, the noise of the radiators a heart-pounding alarm clock. The unpleasant odors of past smokers and bad cooks hung heavy everywhere you turned, but paint and YouTube videos and determination brought it up to a standard you were proud of. However, you didn’t want to know what electrocution feels like, or be chummy with the scent of carbon monoxide, so after a proper number of niceties and crossed paths you invited Pero over.
The first day he darkened your door, you felt something wildly different than his entrance this evening. He was dark haired, roguish in an unfamiliar way. Simply dressed in jeans and a canvas jacket over a black t-shirt, his frame tugged against mouthwatering places you tried not to stare at. He was polite, wiping his feet at the door and setting his toolbox down gently. His accented voice was deep, sonorous, goddamn sexy. You had to focus on showing him the finicky electrical box and the concerning gas hookup in the kitchen to stop your mind from wandering to steamy romance novel plots.
Then he started speaking, and it all went to hell.
“You should take down the curtains too,” he hummed, the cadence almost masking the disdain before your brain snapped to attention.
“The…curtains? Are they a fire hazard?”
“No, they are ugly.”
Heat flooded your face, your teeth clacking together as you whipped to look at Pero. His face is the picture of disgust, and when he meets your eyes there isn’t a hint of embarrassment in them. “Did they come with the place?”
“No, they fit the aesthetic.”
“This is an aesthetic?”
You raised your eyebrows, hands on your hips but he didn’t back down one bit. He kept talking.
“I thought the furniture was from the previous owner. Cheaper, you know. You like it?” He looks around as if someone would back him up, but you just fold your arms.
“People don’t come to a bed and breakfast because it’s modern, they come because it’s quaint and charming and…”
“...cheaper than the Marriott…”
“And how would you do it then? Design the space for me, oh wise one.”
“Not how my grandmother would do it.”
Pero did not get your business that day.
Embarrassingly enough, he did get it three weeks later when your gas line started leaking. He critiqued how many mouse droppings were behind the stove and recommended an exterminator. You almost threw him out.
So if anyone asks, you and Pero do not have a relationship. You have a business agreement, at best. A begrudging one. He comes when you call - not quickly, of course, and it feels like a personal slight even when he insists he has many clients - and you pay him after haggling over the cost of the pipe or how long he actually worked for (he has a tendency to charge for his hour-long lunch breaks). He makes his snide little comments and you spit a retort back, and sometimes you swear you catch him smirking to himself after you deliver something especially sharp.
As you dry your hands, you dwell maybe a few minutes too long on this. You’d never admit it in earshot of his big head, but there’s something incredibly freeing about talking to Pero. Sure, he criticizes and complains about anything he comes within five feet of, but he’s never cruel to you. He never speaks down to you, or makes you feel inferior because you don’t know something. Most of the time he explains what he’s doing so you can do it yourself, with only a few jabs thrown in for flavor. No contractor has ever treated you as capable before. Most try to talk over your or around the topic, and you have to smile and gently redirect them to understand that yes, you are aware of what an impact driver is and no, you think drywall screws would be overkill to reattach that molding. You’d rather snark at Pero all day then have one of those pillow-scream-worthy conversations again.
Shaking off the retrospection, you take a plate of leftover roast chicken and potatoes into the common room. Pero, as you expected, has stoked the fire into an almost concerning blaze but the warmth is welcome. He’s settling back into the well-worn couch and scrolling on his phone as you plop the plate on his lap. Your knuckles graze the top of his thigh when you withdraw, a nervous tingle dancing through your stomach.
What the hell was that about? It’s Pero, for fuck’s sake.
“Eat,” you order, rounding the couch to drop into the open space. If there’s one order Pero will never argue about it’s to eat, which he does with gusto and a nod in your direction. The crackle of the fire covers the ravenous chewing - even barely hungry he eats like a man starved - as you let your body relax into the cushions. All the guests are tucked away, breakfast is prepped and ready, and the silence is welcome. Unfortunately, it’s short-lived.
“I did not think you would be fully booked. I wouldn’t have bothered stopping by.”
It’s too late and you’re too tired to deal with this bullshit right now. You press the heels of your hands to your eyes.
“And why would you think that Pero? Because somehow I could never run a business this well?”
“That’s not…”
“Or am I not paying you enough? Are we about to have a heart to heart over hourly rates?”
“I am not…”
“Then fucking out with it then! If you hate being here, being around me so much, then just tell me why so I can stop trying to give a shit about it.”
The silence that follows pulls your hands from your eyes, and where you thought Pero would be glaring at you he’s…confused. Which is…also confusing.
“I thought this was fun,” he says, voice softening to a rumble that loses its edges in the fire. “The, you know, the back and forth.” He studies his hands, blunt thumbnail dragging along a knuckle. “Most people defer to me because I’m…” Gesturing at himself, what could be a brag instead is dripping with annoyance. “The men pretend to be in league with me, and the women laugh at everything I say. It’s so…boring.”
You’re frozen in place, brows knit as you let him speak, a tingle rising up the back of your neck and flooding your fingertips.
“Any bullshit that entertains me, I can do with them. But not with you.” He can’t meet your eyes, instead staring into the fire that paints the planes of his face in luscious amber. “You never let me get away with shit. I like that. I thought you liked that too. You always seemed to get…brighter when we were…” His hands come up and make little quibbling mouths, finally looking at you.
Have you ever seen his gaze so bare before?
“I’m sorry, I misunderstood.”
Inside your body, a mounting wave of understanding and excitement fills your limbs. No one has ever praised your fire, your brightness, only wanting to tamp it down into something manageable and palatable. Now before you is a man who not only revels in it, but encourages it? You’ve never felt this thrum of excitement before, like holding a tuning fork against your sternum.
“You did,” you say, the strength of your voice surprising. Rising to stand, Pero’s chin tilts, a supplicant before you. “Because if you had given me even an inkling of an idea that this was foreplay, I wouldn’t have held back.”
Much like your own revelation, you can see your words change Pero. His brow smooths before arching in tandem with his growing smirk. Hands coming down to grasp the seat cushion, his veins bulge against the creak of upholstery. He tilts his chin to you with shrinking obedience.
“Then I am very interested in seeing you at your worst.”
The words drive you to clench. This is dangerous new territory, but nothing could hold you back from striding headfirst into it. Two swaying steps place you in front of Pero, his knees widening to stand between. The new angle makes him lean back, exposing the tantalizing length of his neck dotted with delicate freckles.
“I don’t know, Pero, you may not deserve that honor.” A giggle rises in your throat, letting yourself enjoy your new-found freedom. Saying exactly what’s on your mind without the nagging fear of being too much. By Pero’s expression, he’s enjoying it too. You wind up another retort, but his next words steal your breath.
“Are you wet right now?” he says, tongue slipping out to lick at his lower lip. The crude statement slams heat into your face, and suddenly your hand is in the air and headed for Pero’s stubbly cheek.
“Ah!” he scolds, catching your wrist firmly before you make contact. Your brain barely has time to register you were going to smack him! when he yanks you closer, catching yourself on the back of the couch.
“I knew you were sharp in many more ways,” he gloats, and you can’t decide if you want to try wiping that smirk off his face with your palm or your mouth. “I’ll ask again - are you wet right now?”
This is the precipice of desire and level thinking, your toes on the edge. Strong voices shout that this is crazy, foolish, ill-advised. You feel too good to pay them mind.
“Why don’t you find out?”
Hunger roars in Pero’s eyes but his movements are slow, steady as he helps you straighten to standing. The fire licks at your back, but his hands finding the waist of your jeans are scorching. Eyes flick up to you as he pops the button loose, thick fingers grasping the small zip to open it tooth by tooth. The challenge is to let him take his time, and you’re up for it. By the generous tenting in his pants he’s affected too.
“What will I find if I take these off? Pretty little panties? Something lace? Nothing at all?” he husks, toying with the plaquet as he purposefully doesn’t look.
“I think my previous answer still stands,” you retort, and your boldness earns you a rakish smile while Pero rolls your jeans down. The darkness of night shrouds your form, but anyone stumbling in could find you like this. Something tells you Pero likes it better that way.
“Perfect,” he whispers, and his hot breath ghosting over your mound raises goosebumps.
“At this rate it’ll be morning before…” you tease, lips forming around a smile, but that morphs into a choked exhale when Pero deftly pulls aside your panties and slides his thumb over your clit. Your hands come to his shoulders, digging in as he traces an experimental circle.
“I knew you were dripping,” Pero purrs, and words fail as two fingers slide through your folds to press at your entrance. “I want to fuck you on my fingers, is that amenable to the lady?”
Staccato laughter punctuates your “yes” before he presses in, those hands you’d marveled at fitting into the hot clutch of your cunt just shy of painful. Then he curls them and you can’t stop the high-pitched whine that whistles out.
“Just needed something to scratch that itch, hm? Needed a little finger fucking to relax?” he says, and even with your body responding beautifully to his slick rhythm you can’t let that go. One hand twists into his hair, wrapping locks around your fingers before squeezing.
Like an electric shock Pero’s body locks up, mouth falling open and his hips undulating more than you expected. You tut at him, superiority flooding your brain even as your pussy drenches his hand.
“Tattling on yourself, Pero. Let your mouth run just a little and I’ll learn all your secrets.” His fingers redouble their efforts, thumb sliding over your clit as he coaxes your orgasm to the surface, but now his head is in your hands, nails digging into his scalp as he fights against succumbing to the pricks of pain.
“Devil woman,” he hisses with no fire. “Tell me what you want - fuck, you’re so fucking wet - tell me what you want to make you cum.”
Your mind races with possibilities - your slick smeared on Pero’s beard, his hands wrapped around your headboard, what his lips would feel like - but the mounting need in your chest is to be filled.
“I want to fuck you. Right here.”
Pero curses colorfully, fumbling at his belt. You ease his hand from your pussy, the ache of the loss a yawning chasm but he needs both to yank off his jeans and boxers. Pulling your shirt over your head and unclasping your bra, you’re nude and silhouetted by the dying fire. Pero is struggling with his shirt when he glances up at you, stunned into stillness.
“Mierda,” he whispers. It’s said like a prayer, and at this moment you know why worship is addictive. Pero’s reverent gaze is a stronger aphrodisiac than any oyster could hope to be. He comes back to himself enough to yank the shirt over his head, revealing dark chest hair leading down to a healthy mess of curls surrounding his flushing cock. He fists it, sliding the foreskin down to reveal the deep purpling head slick with precum. Cocking your hip, you fake a loud sigh.
“Fine, I guess you have a big enough dick to act the way you do,” you observe, diffusing the weighty moment enough for Pero to scoff and smile. It’s new on his face, his scowl so everpresent, that you bask in it briefly.
“Come sit on my lap,” he implores, reaching out to take your hand. After all the sparring, the gentleness puts you off-kilter, unused to being allowed both.
“What are you, Santa?” you ask, straddling him and settling on his thighs as he rolls his eyes.
“Are you trying to make me lose this? Is it a little too intimidating for all your big talk?” Pero teases, stroking his definitely still very hard cock before tapping the head against your mound.
“Don’t worry, I know how to get it back if you do,” you quip, dragging your fingernails lightly down his chest before he can retort. He reacts exactly how you’d hoped, muscles clenching and a bead of precum dribbling from his tip. “Do you like it when I make it hurt just a little bit?”
“Yes,” he groans, unashamed, unselfconscious, and your cunt throbs. “You can make it hurt more,” he says, eyes widening suddenly as you see him realize he said that out loud. Sliding closer to hover over his proud cock, you take another sweat-damp handful of hair and squeeze. His groans are growing in volume but you can’t bring yourself to care. You can blame it on the storm in the morning.
“I’ll let you have anything you want if you’re a good boy for me.”
The whine he’s clearly embarrassed to have let out is cut off by a sudden inhale.
“Wait,” he gasps, hands digging into your hips to hold you above his cock. “I don’t have a condom.”
“I’m on birth control,” you interject, “and I haven’t slept with anyone in…like, eight months.”
Pero’s hands knead into your flesh, eyes searching your face.
“I’ll pull out.”
You don’t even think about it.
“Don’t you dare.”
If what you saw was hunger before, what’s in Pero’s expression now is ravenous. His lips curl back into a snarl, eyes deep and dark. Suddenly his fingers are inside you, scissoring you open roughly as you pant into his ear.
“Tell me to slow down,” he growls, but you shake your head. “Tell me…when I need to.”
“I need you, Pero, please, now.”
No longer holding you still, Pero’s hands guide you down onto his cock. The moment his head breaches a whole body shiver races through.
“Are you…”
“Don’t you dare fucking stop.”
He fills you until he’s in your guts, your lungs, surrounding you with his arms and his thighs below. The splay of his hands on your back makes you dizzy, head buzzy with hormones and his musk and every place he’s touching you in a symphony of pleasure. Faintly you realize he’s saying something, lips moving against your shoulder.
“Pero?”
“Can I kiss you?”
A few drops of clarity sharpen the mush in your brain.
“You’re inside of me and we forgot to kiss.”
Pero’s chest hitches once, then again, then the both of you are moving out of sync as hiccupy laughter overtakes you. He pants when you clench around him, trying to catch his breath until you both come back to your senses.
“I was enjoying what you were saying too much,” he admits, leaning back against the couch. His face is shadowed but you catch the glint of his eyes, the wetness of his plush lips. How had you resisted them this long?
Pero beats you to initiate, pulling you down to press a kiss to your lips. It’s soft and chaste, his hands cupping your head as you part. But you beat him to return the kiss, pressing him into the couch with a deeper kiss, barely waiting for him to react before urging his lips open. He hums greedily into your mouth, letting you explore with your tongue before he fills you with his. It’s not long before his mouth is frantic, gripping your hips as he makes an experimental thrust into your cunt that breaks your lips apart.
“Pero, fuck,” you gasp, nails digging into his back as he thrusts up deep and smooth. You meet his pace, rolling your hips to grind your clit against him. Fighting for dominance, you finally push him back and ride him in earnest, lifting up over and over again to slam his cock into your cunt. He’s mesmerized by how your tits bounce, taking one in his palm to knead to tease your nipple as your orgasm creeps up your spine.
“Fuck, Pero, you feel so good,” you moan, slowing to grind down, the friction of his pubic hair on your clit giving you the edge to pull your climax close.
“You feel amazing on my cock. Are you close?”
“Yes,” you pant, using every inch of Pero to find that moment of bliss. “Fuck, yes Pero, I want to cum on you. Want to feel you inside.” It’s right there, you’re at the brink of tipping over.
“Fuck, yes, oh fuck, say my name like that. Say it when you’re cumming.”
Your nerves sing and your body pulses to the beat of Pero, Pero, Pero rasping from your lips. He’s growling something you wish you could understand but the blood is pumping too loudly in your ears. The only thing you register is the couch against your back as Pero flips you. He’s pressed long against your body, hips snapping into your cunt even as you’re so tight around him.
“...beautiful, you’re so beautiful, can’t stop…” you faintly hear as the sensations of Pero’s hands roaming your body, his humid mouth at your neck, and the wet slap of his cock bring you back to your body. His thrusts are becoming erratic, right on the cusp of his own orgasm, when you dig your nails into his back and rake them down his spine.
Pero’s orgasmic bellow is muffled in your neck as the throb of his cock empties inside you. You offer little scratches up and down his arms and shoulders as he comes down, hips pressing in deeper as he lets out satisfied groans. Finally he slumps, head resting on your chest as he catches his breath.
The silence is back, the dimming fire combating the dark. This was by far the best fuck you’d had in ages, and in no small part due to the freedom to just be. But when the sun rises - hell, when the post-orgasmic haze lifts - what will this even look like?
Pero sighs and lifts up on his hands, easing his cock out before softly swearing and grabbing his shirt to wipe away the cum dripping out of you.
“I might recommend getting this couch cleaned,” he muses, sitting up on his knees to look down at your loose-limbed body with a lopsided grin.
“I don’t think we’re the first ones to do that on this particular piece of furniture,” you joke, enjoying the wrinkle of disgust on Pero’s face.
“Then I definitely recommend a shower. And request a bedsheet.”
The statement is unassuming in a way that you needed. Yes, this is new and strange, but you’ve always embraced both.
“You know, there is still one bed left in this bed and breakfast.”
Pero’s head perks up.
“The only problem is that it’s mine.”
A roguish smile dimples Pero’s cheek as he hovers over you.
“And what must I do to share it with you?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
END
"I ought to say, "No, no, no sir"
Mind if I move in closer?
At least I'm gonna say that I tried
What's the sense in hurting my pride?
I really can't stay
Baby, don't hold out
Baby, it's cold outside."
I finally sat down, with no distractions, airplane mode on so I don't respond to anyone while I'm reading this, and boy oh boy. This was so flipping perfect @prolix-yuy thank you thank you thank you so much for writing for my husband! Pero Tovar will forever be my favorite character of Pedro's and this was a genuine treat. Happy Holidays and Happy New Year dude.
I love that right off the bat, it's screaming enemies to lovers and I am here for it!
The first day he darkened your door, you felt something wildly different than his entrance this evening. He was dark haired, roguish in an unfamiliar way. Simply dressed in jeans and a canvas jacket over a black t-shirt, his frame tugged against mouthwatering places you tried not to stare at. He was polite, wiping his feet at the door and setting his toolbox down gently. His accented voice was deep, sonorous, goddamn sexy.
Oh this description of him is so goddamn perfect!!!!!!!
“No, they are ugly.”
This actually made me snort out loud because Pero's bedside manner in any conversation is literally this passive aggressive!
He never speaks down to you, or makes you feel inferior because you don’t know something. Most of the time he explains what he’s doing so you can do it yourself, with only a few jabs thrown in for flavor. No contractor has ever treated you as capable before.
We love a gentleman!!!!!
“I thought this was fun,” he says, voice softening to a rumble that loses its edges in the fire. “The, you know, the back and forth.” He studies his hands, blunt thumbnail dragging along a knuckle.
Oh the stuttering awkwardness is too damn endearing and would unfortunately work on me with so much ease.
“I’m sorry, I misunderstood.”
Somwhow, the four words are enough to make me pout because Poor guy. Pooooor guy!
“Then I am very interested in seeing you at your worst.”
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH YESSSSS!
“I’ll ask again - are you wet right now?”
Hooooooly hell man, I'm nervous!
“I knew you were dripping,” Pero purrs, and words fail as two fingers slide through your folds to press at your entrance. “I want to fuck you on my fingers, is that amenable to the lady?”
Jessssssssus Christ man I can almost hear him.
“Come sit on my lap,” he implores, reaching out to take your hand. After all the sparring, the gentleness puts you off-kilter, unused to being allowed both.
I'm salivating right now and I don't know what to do with myself. Oh and the follow up retorts are too funny!
....you take another sweat-damp handful of hair and squeeze. His groans are growing in volume....
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH DUDE WHA and the smut is just ughhhhhhh I am reading this fic again before I go to sleep
Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x Fem!Reader
Words: 2893
Warning: None.
Chapter Summary: Death was too easy for him and you would fight the gods themselves if they didn't grant you a chance to make him suffer as you have.
A/N: There's a slight change in the last act of Gladiator 2. This will be a slow burn so buckle in. Feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think! Cheers to a New Year everyone.
vita mea in veritate Masterlist
“The best revenge is to become unlike the one who did the injury. I have made myself unlike your father. He spoke of dreams, I speak of truth. And the only truth in my Rome is the law of the strongest.” Macrinus stalks closer to Lucilla, his eyes never faltering once as he speaks with a quiet anger, a simmering rage that was finally reaching its zenith now that he had everything he ever desired within reach. She looks at him with unshed tears, her spirit recognizing the proximity of her end as understanding dawns on her, as she unintentionally accepts her fate, and that of her land.
The sun rays beating through the small window within the wall cast more shadows across the room, silhouettes of threats that have long chased her but never quite reached her. Until now. She can do nothing except study her adversary as he eats with ease, silently mocking his power and her fall.
“I was owned by an emperor. Now I control an empire. Where else but in Rome can a man do that?” The declaration is strange, and Lucilla maintains her gaze on the man in front of her, the man who she should have known hated her for decades but was too distracted by the vision of her son to notice. He reaches for his tunic and tugs it down, and only when Lucilla views the brand on the dark skin does she truly understand, and begin to accept, the inescapable fate she was intertwined in.
“Do you recognize your father’s mark on me?” She says nothing, not because she does not know what to say, but because she knows there is no reason to part with words of pleading and apologies. Men like him did not care for empty promises and begging sentiments, men like him merely wanted what they set their hearts on: immense power.
“If there is anything you need…in these last hours, we will provide.” Macrinus nearly smiles at her, but he does not think it necessary to uphold the facade any longer, and he proudly fixes his riches on his way towards the iron bars of the cell. He turns around one last time, wanting to fill his eyes of the revenge he has reached following years of patience, waiting, and opportunity.
“Your death will clear my path to the throne. Tomorrow, there will be games, and at them, I will prevail.” He bows down, and she watches in despair as the iron gate closes shut, leaving her in the warm cell with nothing but the sun to keep her company.
If only she waited, if only she did not act with haste as Acacius recommended. Was the life of her son more valuable than the whole of Rome? Was it worth more than her loving husband, the man that did everything in his power to keep her safe for all those years?
The answers did not matter, not now, not when she would breathe her last when the sun rises again. She wipes the tears away, knowing that she was to blame for everything that has transpired. What she would give to have one last chance at making amends.
“It is an offense to speak so possessively of a land that will eternally control her subjects while lacking the voice to utter her own name.” A soft voice breaks through the hopeless air of the room, and Lucilla turns around quickly in confusion, wondering how and when the owner of the comment entered the cell. Her eyes are glossy, and as she studies the shadows lurking in the corner of the room, she cannot help but attempt to place the woman accompanying her now.
“I know your face.” She breathes as she approaches the figure slowly, and only when she is close enough that they cannot be seen by the guards do you finally make yourself known. As you step out of the shadows, you glance to the barred door to ensure you are not to be interrupted. Satisfied with the silence of the dungeons, you circle around Lucilla and seat yourself in front of her, waiting for her to approach you once more before breaking the silence.
“Only a man can hold such vanity, and in doing so, constructs the very scaffold of his downfall.” You shrug your shoulders when recognition crosses Lucilla’s features, ignoring her inquiries in hopes of illustrating to her that time was of the essence, and was certainly not on her side.
Either of yours.
“You are Leta’s serva. How- how were you allowed here?” You shake your head at the inquiry, patting the seat beside you in an attempt to soothe her worries, mind racing with the thought of finally having what you prayed for ever since you learned of the truth.
“How fortunate for you, domina, that Macrinus’ self-righteousness holds the key to your future.” Your smile is hopeful, and only then does the daughter of the previous Emperor understand the gravity of her situation, and the sheer good fortune of your presence. You look between her eyes and breathe in slowly, reaching for her hand and clasping it tightly to offer her a sense of relief.
“If I were to tell you I could grant you your heart’s desire, right this moment. What would you say?” You do not break her gaze, wanting her to see the truth of your question, and the ease with which you can grant her the one hope you are positive she will answer with.
“I would tell you that I am…weary. Death has finally caught up to me and I care not for your faux care. Why are you here?” She slips her hand away from you, standing and walking towards the opposite wall, beneath the cold air unlit by the planet setting in the horizon.
“What do you want most in the world, mistress?” You ask again, strutting towards her until there is barely any space between the two of you. She has her back to you, and you suspect it is not out of distrust but hopelessness.
Good.
“Peace.” The one word is breathed in sadness, and you shake your head at her response, stepping away from her and disagreeing until she allows her attention to drag towards you again.
“No, you misunderstand. Your Roman status wants peace. Would does Lucilla, daughter of Emperor Marcus Aurelius, want? What is Lucilla’s deepest desire?” You slip a grape between your lips, circling back towards her as a wolf would when he toys with a helpless doe. She narrows her eyes at you, watching as you infect her with excitement, until only one answer storms your mind.
“I- I cannot have what I want.” She struggles to say, and you smile then, knowing you have her right where you want.
“I disagree.”
“My life ends here. What does it matter what my heart wishes to have?” Her voice rises and you soothe her with your hands, grabbing her shoulders and forcing her to memorize your features until she is no longer distracted by her reality.
“Humor me, domina.” The honorific triggers a stream of fresh tears, and you hum in kindness, drying her rosy cheeks until she can reevaluate her mind’s thoughts.
“Acacius. I want Acacius.” The name sends a shiver of disgust and victory down your spine, and you mask your gladness with confusion, not wanting her to see through the cloak of lies you have chosen to wear for decades around her.
“How strange! I would have thought you would ask for Maximus?”
“Maximus was never mine.” The answer is swift, and you raise an eyebrow at her choice in words, wondering how such a sentiment is true when you have born a child from the gladiator.
“And Acacius was?”
“His love, yes.” The prospect of being at the receiving end of that man’s affections sets your heart on fire, and you repeat her words to ground yourself, afraid you would give up the charade then and there before you can reach your true wish.
“His love…”
“Then ask.” The command is whispered, and your eyes lock on hers, encouraging her to reach the conclusion of what you are asking her to do, what you are willing her to understand about your true nature.
“Give me Acacius.” She reaches out to your hands then, and your lips turn up as you reciprocate her affections and clothe her with a sense of peace.
“And what would you give me in return?” You hold her hands and bring them to your lap, wanting her to be as close to you as possible so she has no doubt of what you are capable of.
“Anything.”
“No, that is not your truth.” You refuse her desperation, wanting her to be more specific for the sake of your future, and his.
“A life for a life, mistress. A life for a life, as the fates decide.” You elaborate on your question, and watch as understanding dawns on her. Her attempts of pulling her hands away are crushed down when you kneel at her feet and push your own hands into her lap, giving her the power she craves even when she is so close to her demise.
“The gods require a soul in return. But unlike the gods, I offer you a choice.” The glimmer of hope you have given her seconds ago is replaced with suspicion, and she furrows her eyebrows at you, dreading the answer to the question she is yet to ask.
“A choice?” Her voice is barely louder than a whisper, but you school your features until she sees nothing but tenderness, a sense of peace she has only ever imagined in her dreams.
“Yes, a choice. Your choice of the future.” The curiosity that washes over her makes your heart race with ambition and you nod at her, waiting for her consenting words before you can reveal her choices.
“Tell me.”
“What are you willing to surrender? Your son’s life, your own, or mine and truth.” You speak slowly, wanting her to truly think over the solution you are presenting to her on a silver platter. When she frowns deeper, you soothe her worries with an embrace, pulling her with a patiently urgent command.
“Choose wisely, domina.”
“What do you mean ‘yours in truth’?” Before she can finish her question, you are shaking in denial, reminding her that she is not allowed to ask for anything more.
“You know I cannot answer. It is as I said.” You prompt her with a look, pursing your lips as she comes to understand why she cannot ask for you to elaborate, or better yet, why you are unwilling to detail her choices and the consequences to follow.
“He gave up his life for Lucius’...and I finally guarantee his safety.” She speaks more to herself than you, and you nod comfortingly, watching as her guarded walls fall brick by brick until nothing but the spirit of a brokenhearted woman lingers.
“Make your choice.” You urge further, tightening the hold you have on her hands until she looks into your eyes once more.
“I do not understand, your life is not mine to wager. Why would you ever give up your own life for my happiness?” You had not expected her to ask such a concern, and for a brief moment, you feel for the woman, knowing that her life was filled with nothing but sorrow and worry.
But so was yours.
“It is as I said.” Your reply is unwavering, tone nearly softening were it not for the memories of your own burden.
“There will be consequences for each?” Her voice is growing steadier with each question, and her hands begin to feel cold in yours, as if her body was slowly preparing to accept the second chance it so craved.
“Undoubtedly.” You affirm, spirit nearly jumping with ecstasy as you feel her coming to a decision. When she remains quiet however, you taunt her with a vision, knowing she is too weak to turn down such knowledge.
“If you wish, I can tell you of your future when the sun rises.” Her brow furrows at your remark, uncertainty clouding her expression as she glances away before returning her focus on you once more.
“An arrow will pierce your heart as your son battles to save you. But he will not be defeated following your death. On the contrary, he will take the throne and become the Emperor of Rome.” Your words carry an ominous weight, but you applaud her for not flinching at hearing of her death. Her hold loosens, as if touching you burns her hands, but she does not pull away, asking the ultimate question to be certain of her desires.
“And if I choose your life for Acacius’?” Her voice trembles with barely contained anguish at bringing her husband back from the dead, only to lose him again.
“Whoever you pick will be fairly traded, that I can promise you. You need only speak the name.” Your tone is sharp but honest, and you watch as her lips quiver at finally finding the peace she so craved, not for her, but for those she held most dear in her heart.
“I-”
“Speak the name, mistress.” You know you have her, and you press further, voice commanding and piercing her tempest of thoughts.
“I choose you.” You almost sigh in relief at the words, but you remain steadfast in your spirit, knowing that vengeance is now not too far from your reach. As a testament to her decision, you give her a moment of respite, not to make her feel safe, but to feel your chest jump with pride at the knowledge that she will understand and weep of your offering in the near future.
“Your husband will rise before the sun, and his resurrection will prevent your death. He will be reconciled with Lucius, and you will restore Rome to her former glory.” You nod in appreciation, smiling at the desperate consolation that tightens its embrace around her.
“And what of Lucius?” She asks, excited at the prospect of having both her son and her husband.
“He will become Emperor, still.” She is relieved at your words, only for worry to etch itself on her expression when she gazes upon you and sees you as more than a mere servant.
“And…what of you?” A flicker of regret colors her words, but you shake your head, standing to your height and warning her not to worry of your service.
“I am not your concern, mistress.” You reply curtly, bowing your head as you make your way towards the corner of the room from where you appeared.
“But-” She protects, her hand reaching for yours once more. You allow her to touch you, but when she attempts to grow closer, you pull your skin away and refuse her worry again.
There was a time for such sentiments.
And it has long passed.
“Had I been, my name would not have been uttered by your lips.” Your tone leaves no room for argument, and you will her to see that you are not afraid of the choice she made.
“Nulla rosa sine spinis, domina.” You breathe softer, more wistful, and notice the single tear she sheds. You hope it is not for you but for herself. You pray it is not for you, but for her own heartbreak, the one that would be shared by those around her.
“The next time you grace me with your presence, Lucilla, it will be with the fruits of your desires firmly held in your grasp. I offer you one law: do not breathe a word of this to a living soul. Do you understand me?”
“Yes.” She nods, wiping the tear slipping down her cheek as she steps away from you.
“Bene, I urge you to rest. You shall need it for tomorrow’s affairs.” Offering her one last bow, you blow a kiss her way and evaporate into thin air, watching from your urn of water as she rises from the pillows she has slept on and study the air of the cell around her. You see her wonder whether she has dreamt it all, and you solemnly stare at the reflection gazing at you, no longer caring for how hateful it shines as it returns your attention. You swipe your hands across the water, walking away from the altar in search for the comforting light of the sun.
“Flectere si nequeo superos, acheronta movebo.” You breathe in the jasmine scent of the flowers all around the room, watching the afternoon crowds as they come and go, completely oblivious to the events that are soon to unfold.
“You will pay, you will all pay for what you have done.” The anger you have kept so long in your heart threatens to make itself known in the form of a rainstorm, but you silence your mind, forcing yourself to forget the young girl’s laughter, the one you were sure to hear again when Lucilla’s desires bear fruit,
“And I shall begin with you, Acacius.” A thin smile curls at your lips, and you pause in thought, returning to the altar with haste in preparation for the ritual to come.
“I promise to make a game of your life.”
Translations:
-Nulla rosa sine spinis. // There is no rose without thorns.
-Flectere si nequeo superos, acheronta movebo. // If I cannot move heaven, I will raise hell.
Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x Fem!Reader (eventually)
Summary: Despite the hopeful potential buried in the heart of mankind, baser instincts—uncontrollable desires—often eclipse the noblest intentions. Was it not the great Plato who voiced the distressing truth, that even amongst those draped in respectability, there lurks a wild, untamed litter of cravings? Such is the nature of desire, the consuming fire of suffering, the core of tragedies, and as tragedies unfold, his would taste the sweetest, for it would not be his anguish alone you would hold in the palm of your hands, but those he holds most dear, those whose desires he fulfilled at the cost of your own. For what is revenge if it is not served with a glimmer of hopelessness? No, true revenge must be a chasm of despair, a crushing gorge from which echoes only the lament of shattered hearts. For his downfall, you would sacrifice all, even your very existence. Such was the depth of your yearning. Such is the depth of your own desires.
Refer to each chapter's warnings before reading. And comments are more than welcome!!! Thank you and I hope you guys enjoy this story.
Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x Fem!Reader
Words: 2893
Warning: None.
Chapter Summary: Death was too easy for him and you would fight the gods themselves if they didn't grant you a chance to make him suffer as you have.
A/N: There's a slight change in the last act of Gladiator 2. This will be a slow burn so buckle in. Feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think! Cheers to a New Year everyone.
Next Part // Series Masterlist
“The best revenge is to become unlike the one who did the injury. I have made myself unlike your father. He spoke of dreams, I speak of truth. And the only truth in my Rome is the law of the strongest.” Macrinus stalks closer to Lucilla, his eyes never faltering once as he speaks with a quiet anger, a simmering rage that was finally reaching its zenith now that he had everything he ever desired within reach. She looks at him with unshed tears, her spirit recognizing the proximity of her end as understanding dawns on her, as she unintentionally accepts her fate, and that of her land.
The sun rays beating through the small window within the wall cast more shadows across the room, silhouettes of threats that have long chased her but never quite reached her. Until now. She can do nothing except study her adversary as he eats with ease, silently mocking his power and her fall.
“I was owned by an emperor. Now I control an empire. Where else but in Rome can a man do that?” The declaration is strange, and Lucilla maintains her gaze on the man in front of her, the man who she should have known hated her for decades but was too distracted by the vision of her son to notice. He reaches for his tunic and tugs it down, and only when Lucilla views the brand on the dark skin does she truly understand, and begin to accept, the inescapable fate she was intertwined in.
“Do you recognize your father’s mark on me?” She says nothing, not because she does not know what to say, but because she knows there is no reason to part with words of pleading and apologies. Men like him did not care for empty promises and begging sentiments, men like him merely wanted what they set their hearts on: immense power.
“If there is anything you need…in these last hours, we will provide.” Macrinus nearly smiles at her, but he does not think it necessary to uphold the facade any longer, and he proudly fixes his riches on his way towards the iron bars of the cell. He turns around one last time, wanting to fill his eyes of the revenge he has reached following years of patience, waiting, and opportunity.
“Your death will clear my path to the throne. Tomorrow, there will be games, and at them, I will prevail.” He bows down, and she watches in despair as the iron gate closes shut, leaving her in the warm cell with nothing but the sun to keep her company.
If only she waited, if only she did not act with haste as Acacius recommended. Was the life of her son more valuable than the whole of Rome? Was it worth more than her loving husband, the man that did everything in his power to keep her safe for all those years?
The answers did not matter, not now, not when she would breathe her last when the sun rises again. She wipes the tears away, knowing that she was to blame for everything that has transpired. What she would give to have one last chance at making amends.
“It is an offense to speak so possessively of a land that will eternally control her subjects while lacking the voice to utter her own name.” A soft voice breaks through the hopeless air of the room, and Lucilla turns around quickly in confusion, wondering how and when the owner of the comment entered the cell. Her eyes are glossy, and as she studies the shadows lurking in the corner of the room, she cannot help but attempt to place the woman accompanying her now.
“I know your face.” She breathes as she approaches the figure slowly, and only when she is close enough that they cannot be seen by the guards do you finally make yourself known. As you step out of the shadows, you glance to the barred door to ensure you are not to be interrupted. Satisfied with the silence of the dungeons, you circle around Lucilla and seat yourself in front of her, waiting for her to approach you once more before breaking the silence.
“Only a man can hold such vanity, and in doing so, constructs the very scaffold of his downfall.” You shrug your shoulders when recognition crosses Lucilla’s features, ignoring her inquiries in hopes of illustrating to her that time was of the essence, and was certainly not on her side.
Either of yours.
“You are Leta’s serva. How- how were you allowed here?” You shake your head at the inquiry, patting the seat beside you in an attempt to soothe her worries, mind racing with the thought of finally having what you prayed for ever since you learned of the truth.
“How fortunate for you, domina, that Macrinus’ self-righteousness holds the key to your future.” Your smile is hopeful, and only then does the daughter of the previous Emperor understand the gravity of her situation, and the sheer good fortune of your presence. You look between her eyes and breathe in slowly, reaching for her hand and clasping it tightly to offer her a sense of relief.
“If I were to tell you I could grant you your heart’s desire, right this moment. What would you say?” You do not break her gaze, wanting her to see the truth of your question, and the ease with which you can grant her the one hope you are positive she will answer with.
“I would tell you that I am…weary. Death has finally caught up to me and I care not for your faux care. Why are you here?” She slips her hand away from you, standing and walking towards the opposite wall, beneath the cold air unlit by the planet setting in the horizon.
“What do you want most in the world, mistress?” You ask again, strutting towards her until there is barely any space between the two of you. She has her back to you, and you suspect it is not out of distrust but hopelessness.
Good.
“Peace.” The one word is breathed in sadness, and you shake your head at her response, stepping away from her and disagreeing until she allows her attention to drag towards you again.
“No, you misunderstand. Your Roman status wants peace. Would does Lucilla, daughter of Emperor Marcus Aurelius, want? What is Lucilla’s deepest desire?” You slip a grape between your lips, circling back towards her as a wolf would when he toys with a helpless doe. She narrows her eyes at you, watching as you infect her with excitement, until only one answer storms your mind.
“I- I cannot have what I want.” She struggles to say, and you smile then, knowing you have her right where you want.
“I disagree.”
“My life ends here. What does it matter what my heart wishes to have?” Her voice rises and you soothe her with your hands, grabbing her shoulders and forcing her to memorize your features until she is no longer distracted by her reality.
“Humor me, domina.” The honorific triggers a stream of fresh tears, and you hum in kindness, drying her rosy cheeks until she can reevaluate her mind’s thoughts.
“Acacius. I want Acacius.” The name sends a shiver of disgust and victory down your spine, and you mask your gladness with confusion, not wanting her to see through the cloak of lies you have chosen to wear for decades around her.
“How strange! I would have thought you would ask for Maximus?”
“Maximus was never mine.” The answer is swift, and you raise an eyebrow at her choice in words, wondering how such a sentiment is true when you have born a child from the gladiator.
“And Acacius was?”
“His love, yes.” The prospect of being at the receiving end of that man’s affections sets your heart on fire, and you repeat her words to ground yourself, afraid you would give up the charade then and there before you can reach your true wish.
“His love…”
“Then ask.” The command is whispered, and your eyes lock on hers, encouraging her to reach the conclusion of what you are asking her to do, what you are willing her to understand about your true nature.
“Give me Acacius.” She reaches out to your hands then, and your lips turn up as you reciprocate her affections and clothe her with a sense of peace.
“And what would you give me in return?” You hold her hands and bring them to your lap, wanting her to be as close to you as possible so she has no doubt of what you are capable of.
“Anything.”
“No, that is not your truth.” You refuse her desperation, wanting her to be more specific for the sake of your future, and his.
“A life for a life, mistress. A life for a life, as the fates decide.” You elaborate on your question, and watch as understanding dawns on her. Her attempts of pulling her hands away are crushed down when you kneel at her feet and push your own hands into her lap, giving her the power she craves even when she is so close to her demise.
“The gods require a soul in return. But unlike the gods, I offer you a choice.” The glimmer of hope you have given her seconds ago is replaced with suspicion, and she furrows her eyebrows at you, dreading the answer to the question she is yet to ask.
“A choice?” Her voice is barely louder than a whisper, but you school your features until she sees nothing but tenderness, a sense of peace she has only ever imagined in her dreams.
“Yes, a choice. Your choice of the future.” The curiosity that washes over her makes your heart race with ambition and you nod at her, waiting for her consenting words before you can reveal her choices.
“Tell me.”
“What are you willing to surrender? Your son’s life, your own, or mine and truth.” You speak slowly, wanting her to truly think over the solution you are presenting to her on a silver platter. When she frowns deeper, you soothe her worries with an embrace, pulling her with a patiently urgent command.
“Choose wisely, domina.”
“What do you mean ‘yours in truth’?” Before she can finish her question, you are shaking in denial, reminding her that she is not allowed to ask for anything more.
“You know I cannot answer. It is as I said.” You prompt her with a look, pursing your lips as she comes to understand why she cannot ask for you to elaborate, or better yet, why you are unwilling to detail her choices and the consequences to follow.
“He gave up his life for Lucius’...and I finally guarantee his safety.” She speaks more to herself than you, and you nod comfortingly, watching as her guarded walls fall brick by brick until nothing but the spirit of a brokenhearted woman lingers.
“Make your choice.” You urge further, tightening the hold you have on her hands until she looks into your eyes once more.
“I do not understand, your life is not mine to wager. Why would you ever give up your own life for my happiness?” You had not expected her to ask such a concern, and for a brief moment, you feel for the woman, knowing that her life was filled with nothing but sorrow and worry.
But so was yours.
“It is as I said.” Your reply is unwavering, tone nearly softening were it not for the memories of your own burden.
“There will be consequences for each?” Her voice is growing steadier with each question, and her hands begin to feel cold in yours, as if her body was slowly preparing to accept the second chance it so craved.
“Undoubtedly.” You affirm, spirit nearly jumping with ecstasy as you feel her coming to a decision. When she remains quiet however, you taunt her with a vision, knowing she is too weak to turn down such knowledge.
“If you wish, I can tell you of your future when the sun rises.” Her brow furrows at your remark, uncertainty clouding her expression as she glances away before returning her focus on you once more.
“An arrow will pierce your heart as your son battles to save you. But he will not be defeated following your death. On the contrary, he will take the throne and become the Emperor of Rome.” Your words carry an ominous weight, but you applaud her for not flinching at hearing of her death. Her hold loosens, as if touching you burns her hands, but she does not pull away, asking the ultimate question to be certain of her desires.
“And if I choose your life for Acacius’?” Her voice trembles with barely contained anguish at bringing her husband back from the dead, only to lose him again.
“Whoever you pick will be fairly traded, that I can promise you. You need only speak the name.” Your tone is sharp but honest, and you watch as her lips quiver at finally finding the peace she so craved, not for her, but for those she held most dear in her heart.
“I-”
“Speak the name, mistress.” You know you have her, and you press further, voice commanding and piercing her tempest of thoughts.
“I choose you.” You almost sigh in relief at the words, but you remain steadfast in your spirit, knowing that vengeance is now not too far from your reach. As a testament to her decision, you give her a moment of respite, not to make her feel safe, but to feel your chest jump with pride at the knowledge that she will understand and weep of your offering in the near future.
“Your husband will rise before the sun, and his resurrection will prevent your death. He will be reconciled with Lucius, and you will restore Rome to her former glory.” You nod in appreciation, smiling at the desperate consolation that tightens its embrace around her.
“And what of Lucius?” She asks, excited at the prospect of having both her son and her husband.
“He will become Emperor, still.” She is relieved at your words, only for worry to etch itself on her expression when she gazes upon you and sees you as more than a mere servant.
“And…what of you?” A flicker of regret colors her words, but you shake your head, standing to your height and warning her not to worry of your service.
“I am not your concern, mistress.” You reply curtly, bowing your head as you make your way towards the corner of the room from where you appeared.
“But-” She protects, her hand reaching for yours once more. You allow her to touch you, but when she attempts to grow closer, you pull your skin away and refuse her worry again.
There was a time for such sentiments.
And it has long passed.
“Had I been, my name would not have been uttered by your lips.” Your tone leaves no room for argument, and you will her to see that you are not afraid of the choice she made.
“Nulla rosa sine spinis, domina.” You breathe softer, more wistful, and notice the single tear she sheds. You hope it is not for you but for herself. You pray it is not for you, but for her own heartbreak, the one that would be shared by those around her.
“The next time you grace me with your presence, Lucilla, it will be with the fruits of your desires firmly held in your grasp. I offer you one law: do not breathe a word of this to a living soul. Do you understand me?”
“Yes.” She nods, wiping the tear slipping down her cheek as she steps away from you.
“Bene, I urge you to rest. You shall need it for tomorrow’s affairs.” Offering her one last bow, you blow a kiss her way and evaporate into thin air, watching from your urn of water as she rises from the pillows she has slept on and study the air of the cell around her. You see her wonder whether she has dreamt it all, and you solemnly stare at the reflection gazing at you, no longer caring for how hateful it shines as it returns your attention. You swipe your hands across the water, walking away from the altar in search for the comforting light of the sun.
“Flectere si nequeo superos, acheronta movebo.” You breathe in the jasmine scent of the flowers all around the room, watching the afternoon crowds as they come and go, completely oblivious to the events that are soon to unfold.
“You will pay, you will all pay for what you have done.” The anger you have kept so long in your heart threatens to make itself known in the form of a rainstorm, but you silence your mind, forcing yourself to forget the young girl’s laughter, the one you were sure to hear again when Lucilla’s desires bear fruit,
“And I shall begin with you, Acacius.” A thin smile curls at your lips, and you pause in thought, returning to the altar with haste in preparation for the ritual to come.
“I promise to make a game of your life.”
Translations:
-Nulla rosa sine spinis. // There is no rose without thorns.
-Flectere si nequeo superos, acheronta movebo. // If I cannot move heaven, I will raise hell.
Warning: Angst to Fluff to Smut. Mutual Pining. Angst to Smut to Angst to Sort of Fluff. Forbidden Love!! Bath sharing-ish. Dirty/Sweet Talk. Minor Hair-Pulling. Oral (female and male receiving). Creampie. Fluid Exchange Kink. Mentions of Blood in a sexual way (go away if you don't like that). Penetrative, Unprotected Sex. Creampie. Reader and Tovar getting off on the idea of ruining each other's biology because of their coupling.
Summary: When two strangers meet in the mystical land of Egypt, they are transported back to a moment filled with nothing but hurt and pain. Neither wishes to accompany the other, but duty requires both of them to travel together, and on occassion, fight alongside each other. A string of curious events continues to befall the company, and a staggering revelation leads them to think they may have met long before that chance gathering in the qahwa weeks prior. And an even more shocking confession brings the once sworn enemies together...or perhaps, finally returns them to one another.
A/N: This is for the lovely @artemiseamoon who's also taking part in the @pedrostories Secret Santa Event and whom I have to thank for being so very patient with me. I hope you like this babes, I've included what I thought would be a good mixture of the prompts you gave me so I hope you enjoy reading this. I apologize profusely that this is a few days late, but I wanted it to be as close to perfection as possible!! Side note, this is set sometime in 15th century Egypt. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays :D
“All your fury is to hide a fragile heart.” —Ghassan Kanafani
September 17th, 1422
There was a strange air about the tavern tonight, one that made it rather difficult to focus on the reason behind your visit to this specific village. No sooner than you had walked in did you notice the shadows flickering around a particularly secluded corner within the busy establishment. And although the drunken laughter and obnoxious swearing filled the inn, you could not help but dwell on the ominous silence that danced along the walls of said corner as you slowly sat down and studied the patrons within the room. It was almost instantaneous, the way your eyes met his through the vigorous crowd, and you knew immediately that the tempest storming in those dark eyes were but a mere reflection of the curiosity and caution swimming in your own.
But it was not curiosity alone that made him stand from his seat and approach you. No, it was the unspoken understanding of the lives you led that forced him to make his way to you with a purposeful grace unlike any you have ever seen. You arched an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of your lips as he took a seat opposite of you. His fingers tapped a slow rhythm on the wooden table’s surface, a sign of the ancient wariness that has passed between your kind and his own for centuries. Silence stretched between your cold smirk and his furrowed, nearly angry eyebrows, thickening the tension and the weight of history you were sure would make things more complicated—on your end at least.
Yet beneath the surface of unpleasant memories, you could recognize a flicker of something else—a shared, albeit grudging respect of the mutual abilities and prowess you both shared, however different they were. Your gaze was unwavering,
You didn’t dare blink, afraid the momentary blindness would bring about your demise. So sure that he would want to rip your neck to pieces, your eyes widen in horror when he holds his hand out for you to take. You look between him and his limb, unsure of what game he was wanting to play with you. Not wanting to show him any weakness, you smile cautiously at him as you extend your own, the sudden touch of his skin making you flinch as unfamiliar memories flood your mind’s eye. You cannot let go of his hand, not because you do not want to, but because the grip he has on your palm tightens as similar, unfamiliar images crash into him. You both look at each other, unsure whether you are both seeing, and experiencing, the same painful evocations.
It lasts for longer than you care to admit, and when his hold finally loosens, you let go and return your back to rest, unable to hold back from clutching at your chest when you feel an invisible bolt of lightning strike through you. You gaze up into his eyes then, and find his grimace deeper, except it is not one of anger but contempt. Whatever he has seen of you was far from favorable, and you knew he presumed similarly.
“What brings you here?” His voice is low, the sneer on his expression reminding you of something from a long time ago, a past life perhaps. You shake your head, wanting to rid yourself of whatever was attempting to come to the forefront of your mind. There were matters more important.
“Do not flatter yourself. I did not come for you, but for a posting.” You cross your arms, watching him as he looks to the side, perhaps wondering if there were more of you around.
“I am alone.” You are not sure what pushes you to tell him such a dangerous fact, but you watch as his shoulders visibly relax at your admission. He returns his gaze to you, and if you didn’t know better, you would think his eyes could see right through you.
“That makes two of us bruja.” He responds in kind, and you wish you weren’t so obvious in your own inquiries.
“A Spaniard in Cairo? Are you here for business or pleasure?” The question is not to his liking, and you chuckle at the prospect of this man thinking that you weren’t knowledgeable enough to place his mother tongue, let alone his accent.
“Business, though pleasure is not too far.” It’s menacing, the way his smile stretches so easily and reveals his sharp cuspids. You are aware he is purposeful in his warning, and if you were wiser, you would have turned away from him, perhaps even stood up and walked out of the qahwa. But you narrow your eyes at him, challenging him without thinking of the consequences. The serenity that befalls him is irritating and you nearly comment on his surly behavior when a man interrupts the two of you and pushes your ‘companion’ aside.
“I leave you for a few minutes and you find yourself a lovely woman to terrorize. When will you ever learn Tovar?” The name makes you flinch. You swear you have heard it before, and your reaction doesn’t go unnoticed by the man in front of you. Except, he misunderstands your response for something else, and you know instantly why the smile drops instantly. You should not intimidate him more, but you choose to, wanting to relay a message of pure, unadulterated hatred to him.
Reaching out, you shake Tovar’s friend’s hand, introducing yourself and letting him know that Tovar was far from threatening.
“It is lovely to meet you, lass. My name is William Garin, and this ray of sunshine is my old friend, Pero Tovar.” As soon as Tovar’s full name is known to you, you sit back and giggle as anger radiates off of him.
“It’s a pleasure William, and…Tovar.” You smirk at him, not bothering to react to Tovar as he stands aggressively and walks away from your table.
“Maybe the coffee didn’t agree with him.” You comment in passing, shrugging your shoulders when William apologizes for his friend and asks to buy you another drink.
“That is thoughtful of you, but I think I have had enough for the night. Perhaps you could buy one for your friend?” You ask in passing, your eyes never once leaving the entrance of the establishment.
“I would but unlike me, the man refuses to drink. Come to think of it, I rarely see him consume anything other than that damned drink he always carries on him.” You scrunch your nose at the fact, wondering whether William knows the true nature of his friend.
“Nevermind him. What is a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” He leans over, smiling devilishly at you when you mirror him and push into his space.
“I’m flattered William, I really am. But there is more to me than meets the eye.” You swirl around the drink in your hand, tilting your head to the side when you notice Tovar entering the qahwa once more. He doesn’t join you though, and you suspect it is because you now have his name.
“I can see that, love.” William’s smile drops and you watch as he points down to the several daggers he can see attached to the inside of your robes. You lean away from him and purse your lips, letting him know that you should have seen his plan coming.
“What do you want with Tovar?” His voice should be menacing, but you choose not to laugh at him out of respect. Unlike his friend, the man was genuinely being protective, and you admire that about him. You have always admired that about humans.
“Contrary to popular opinion, I am not here for him but for a proposition.” You don’t bother elaborating as you take out a piece of paper and slide it across the table. William reads it slowly, giving it back to you and looking behind him to see if you had any company.
“As I told your friend, I am here alone. I work alone, usually.” You finish your drink and leave a few coins on the table, enough for William to notice that you are covering his payment as well.
“You are aware this commission is for a group of mercenaries?” He asks, and you nod instantly, folding the paper and pushing it back into your pocket.
“Yes, I am. I may prefer to work alone but circumstances led me here and I- I find myself wanting to take part in this…expedition.” You do not elaborate, not wanting to raise any flags for William as to what you are. Thankfully, he takes your word and refrains from inquiring further about the subject.
“Have the two of you met before?” The question catches you off guard, and you turn to face Tovar, wondering the same thing as you find his eyes already gazing upon you.
“I would remember if I have, but no. I- I have not met him before.” You blink away the faint memories from earlier haunting you once more, returning your attention to William and offering him a friendly smile.
“Hmm, something tells me things did not get off on a good start for either of you.” William says as he glances at his friend, raising his drink in an attempt to persuade him to join the two of you, but to his disappointment, Tovar turns away and glues his focus on the wall.
“I have known him for years, and I assure you, he is never so hostile to someone he has just made an acquaintance of.” There is a warning laced between those words, and you nod in affirmation, not wanting to have two men in the company against you.
“I understand. I must confess, I am not often met with kindness wherever I go…so I fear there is some effect I am having on him. I assure you, however, it is not my intention to anger. I merely wish to…let him know he should steer clear of me as I will of him.” Again, you are unsure why you confess such a sentiment to William and it must not be what he expects to hear from you because he raises a curious eyebrow before laughing out loud. You’re thrown back by the reaction but you say nothing as William stands to his height and nods in appreciation.
“In that case, lass…should he bother you, do not hesitate to come for my aid.” He silently thanks you for the drink as he finishes it quickly before placing it down on the table. You eye the goblet for a few seconds, hating that he placed it in front of you…and Tovar.
“That will not be needed, but thank you for the offer. I will keep it in mind.” You retract your hands from the table, placing them on your lap to avoid any misunderstandings with Tovar.
“See you tomorrow at the port.” He calls after you as he leaves, patting Tovar on the back twice on his way to the stairs. Wonderful, they were staying in the inn as well. You rub your temple harshly, wondering why those visions plagued you for months on end, only to bring you to such a man.
A vampire of all creatures.
Could he not, at the very least, be a lycan?
Your racing thoughts are interrupted by none other than the man himself, and you ground yourself before you meet his gaze once more. He wastes no time before he grabs William’s drinking cup and pulls it out of reach.
“You need not worry, I am not interested in him. Or you!” You blink tiredly, knowing that your meeting was due to a mission and not something else.
“That is hard to believe, maga, when you explicitly asked for my name.” His expression is hard, and you swear you see the whites of his eyes turn a deep shade of gold for a moment, but you know he would never act irrationally in such a crowded place.
“If you recall, nightwalker, I did not ask for your name. It was given to me freely by your friend, whom I suspect, does not know of your true nature, or else he would have refrained from giving me both his name and yours.” You hiss at him, your behavior making him frown harshly and clench his jaw tightly.”
“I suspect you heard everything, and against my better judgment, I will put your mind to rest. You seem older than others of your kind I have met before, so you know it is not possible for me to lie to another…creature. I have no use of your names, nor will I use them to my benefit.” Your revelation comes as a shock to him, because as soon as the promise leaves your lips, his demeanor shifts, and he no longer radiates violence but a sense of understanding.
“But make no mistake, if I so much as suspect anything from you, I will choose my safety…and whatever that entails with it. Do you understand me?” Too long a moment passes between you, but you wait with bated breath until he nods in agreement before you stand and step away from him.
“As I told your friend, I do not wish to have anything to do with you. And I will happily remain out of your way to offer you similar courtesy.” Your voice is unwavering, and Tovar studies you closely, his eyes as fixed as your message. He stands opposite you and for a moment, you are distracted by his broad shoulders and firm presence. But you brush the thought aside and blink slowly when he nods in affirmation one last time.
“Sleep well, bruja.” He bids you a good night and walks away, leaving you more confused and concerned than when you first entered the qahwa an hour ago. Looking around the voyagers in the room, you cannot help but think of leaving the country altogether. You are confident that should you stay, things would only grow more complicated, and you have no desire to live in anxiety until this mission is finished. But you know you should not ignore your visions, nor should you move past what you saw when you took Tovar’s hands.
You could not place this need to know who he is to you. Nor did you wish to ignore the sense of familiarity that washed over you when you held his hand in your own.
The feeling was unlike anything else you have ever experienced, and the desire to place him grew exponentially over night, keeping you awake until the sun shone in the sky. You pushed the windows open at dawn, allowing the prayer call to put your mind at ease as you prepared for the day.
A part of you had accepted what the next few weeks, perhaps months, could reveal. You knew you should listen to your mind, allow it to care for your well being and drive you away from this task. But as you exited the inn and found Tovar waiting upon a camel and eyeing you as you approached the men he was surrounded with, you knew your heart had won this time.
You would not leave. You would not run away. And you certainly would not allow Tovar to have you question your sanity.
“Who brought the girl?” You walked to your horse, patting her neck as you fed her the carrots you bought the previous night. Ignoring the question, you continue to softly rub your companion, whispering words of encouragement as she ate every last bit of food you offered her. Expecting the man to move aside when no answer was offered to him, you glance quickly to the side when you hear him approach closer than you appreciated, and as he reached out to touch your hair, you dragged a dagger across his chest and pinned it just beneath his neck, holding his arm in between the two of you and staring at him until his eyes were filled with nothing but shock and fear.
“If you value your neck, I suggest you keep the rest of your limbs to yourself.” The warning is breathed lowly, loud enough for him to hear, and the rest of the men to wonder about. It takes him a little over a minute to respond, and you push him away aggressively, making your lack of patience known to the others. You wait to see if anyone else is willing to test you, and when they all return to their conversations, you attend to your horse once more.
As you mount her, you chance a look at Tovar and find him attempting to hide a smirk from you. Unsure of what he could possibly be smiling about, you pat your horse and ask her to move towards the dock, not bothering to wait for any of the company.
Passing the busy markets of Cairo, you admire the crafts and tools being sold throughout, and you make a stop when you notice Tefnut eyeing the ripe strawberries ahead. You jump down and walk towards the older woman, collecting a fair amount of strawberries and putting it on the scale to see how much it costs. She holds out seven fingers and you nod in gratitude, giving her the coins she requested and then some. She pats her chest in return, handing you another few strawberries to which you refuse, silently letting her know that you do not need any more.
Making your way back to your horse, you stop in your tracks when you see Tovar and William flanking your horse and conversing. Not wanting to create a scene, you approach Tefnut and take her reins, bringing her forward and away from the two men so she can eat in peace.
“What do you think you are doing with my horse?”
“If you value your companion, lass, perhaps do not leave her by herself. We were behind you when we saw a man attempt to take her away.” William starts, holding his hands up to ensure you do not misunderstand his kindness for something else. You look between him and Tovar, and you cannot help the shock written on your features when you find him relishing the sunlight as it begins to warm the day.
Tovar knows immediately why you are stupefied but he shakes his head, refusing to give in to whatever inquiries you now hold for him.
“Vámonos,” he paces away on his camel, calling after William who continues to wait for a response from you.
“Noted, thank you.” You say nothing further, knowing that explaining why you are not worried for your horse could open potential lines of questioning from both him and Tovar. As you watch them move closer to the port, you wonder how Tovar is able to bask in the warmth of the sun without instantly setting into fire. Pushing the rest of the strawberries into Tefnut’s mouth, you mount her and follow the two men, already meditating on the different spells that could offer such protection.
You were sure it was a spell, but you were also aware that only a powerful witch could hold such abilities in her hands. Not only that, but he would have needed to either compel her or do something so honorable that she granted him this in return. The question was, did Tovar receive this gift through coercion or offering.
When you finally reach the port and find the rest of the company surrounding a gentleman standing high on a ship, you get off Tefnut and walk towards the back, listening to who you presume is the headhunter of this mission.
“Now, you may ask yourselves why there is such a large number of you, the answer of which lies in who and what you are meant to be protecting. For the coming weeks, you are tasked with protecting the merchant caravans traveling along the Nile. Our merchants will be carrying several goods, the most important of which are textiles and gold.” You listen carefully in an attempt to find answers to your questions. You are unsure whether you were brought to this land for the sole purpose of protecting said merchants, or something in association.
“Before I go any further, you all must understand something very important. Should any one of you grow greedy and tired of your travels and decide to steal something for yourself, I assure you, I will ensure your death comes soon after by none other than the rest of the company, who will be paid double upon their return. Do not test me.” He refuses to smile throughout his speech, and you know then that he may have been double-crossed by mercenaries before. A familiar sensation crosses over you and you turn around in time to see Tovar refusing to look elsewhere. You maintain his gaze for a moment out of habit, and only when the headhunter continues his speech do you finally turn away.
“Expect bandits of many allegiances along the route. And under no circumstances will you allow others in your company that have not been hired by me. You will each receive a quarter of your share now, and when you have reached Aswan, you will have the rest of your payment.” You notice several men raise their hands to inquire after their task, but you pay them no mind as you approach the merchants and introduce yourself. Two men nearly huff in humor when you tell them you are one of their protectors, but the third man quiets them instantly, letting them know what he has seen earlier in the morning.
“Good day to you all,” you bid them a farewell before returning to your post, watching as each man receives his share from the gentleman on the ship and makes his way back to the merchants. When it is your turn, you say nothing but your name, to which the older man nods and continues on. As you move back to your horse, you walk past Tovar, and for a split second, his scent seeps through your senses and halts you in your steps.
Myrrh and Oud.
The combination is distinct, one that you are sure you have been in the presence of before. And as you turn around to look at the man you informed the night prior that you wish to steer clear of him, you get the sense that your desires would soon shift and lead you into temptations. Or perhaps, trouble.
Shaking the intrusive thought away, you lead your horse to the back of the company and wait for them to move. If Tovar notices the way you meditate on him throughout the morning and well into the afternoon, he says nothing of it and does as he promises.
You speak to no one as you move up the Nile towards Atfeh, and by nightfall, you find that you are nearly reaching the end of Cairo. As the winds shift and the air grows colder, you hear the leader of the merchants speak to several of the men in the company. Knowing that you are probably resting for the night, you hop off of your horse and lead her towards the shallow end of the Nile, telling her to remain there for the night until you come in the morning.
“Enkotk hahten,” you pat her a few times and back away from the waters, aiming to find a nice tree to make your cot beneath so you can avoid remaining with the men. Not looking behind you, you bump into someone’s chest and slowly turn to find Tovar looking past you and towards your companion.
“Am I mistaken in assuming that you just put a spell on your horse, hechicera?” You are aware his question is not one of nosiness but curiosity, yet you grow irritated at his questioning gaze, mostly due to the fact that he was forcing his scent upon you once more, a scent which you grew to enjoy with each minute that passed in his presence.
“Am I mistaken in assuming that you can walk during the day because of one of my people’s spells?” You retort and notice the manner in which his body grows rigid instantly. He had not expected your question, that you are certain of, but what throws you off is the somber, almost lonely spirit that comes over him at your inquiry.
“I- I do not know.” You furrow an eyebrow at him, unsure of why your heart clenches tightly at such a sad expression from him. Not knowing what you should do, you step away from him to clear your mind, not wanting his musk to distract you any further.
“I make sure she remains where she is, and anyone who means her harm is gifted with an unkindly kick to the face.” The comment seems to fulfill its purpose and you watch as Tovar nods once before moving his camel towards the water as well. You are not sure what about him that seems so fascinating to you, but you move away from the company regardless, not wanting to partake with any of the men as the night grows colder and lonelier.
Lying below a tree at the edge of the company, you glance around to ensure that no one is nearby before reaching out both of your hands and envisioning the tree above you.
“Come, O Isis, mighty in magic, protector of your son Horus! Deliver me from all evil, harmful things, from the serpent, from poison, and from any harm that comes my way. Let him who knows no evil against me enter.” Whispering the words into the night air, you open your eyes and watch as a soft haze only you can see falls around you. Glancing out into the Nile, you see Tovar push his camel near your horse and pat Tefnut on her back. Unlike the others, she responds kindly to him, nosing at his armor and forcing a graceful smile onto his features. The moment is cut short when he suddenly turns to look at you, and before you can turn away, he steps away from your horse and bows his head, silently apologizing for presuming familiarity with your companion.
Pulling the blanket over yourself, you shut your eyes and surrender to a deep sleep. It has been long since you allowed yourself any respite, but something about the previous night’s meeting, and today’s long journey, pushes you briskly into an intense slumber.
You dream of ancient dunes and majestic monuments. You dream of the running waters of the Nile River and a sunrise unlike any you have ever seen. You dream of long-forgotten touches and soft kisses.
But perhaps most importantly, you dream of a pair of brown eyes, following you everywhere you go, gazing through your soul longingly, begging you to return the love etched deep within them.
Hoping. Hoping for salvation.
“All roads lead to you, even those I took to forget you.” —Mahmoud Darwish
October 30th, 1422
“¡Cuidado!” You stoop to the ground in time to avoid a dagger to the neck, and without hesitation, you pull the weapon through the air, aiming it straight into your assailant’s chest and watching as he falls to the ground with shock and fear written on his expression. There is no time to dwell on the reason behind your enemy’s attack, and you swiftly end one man after another, noting the unique ways they move and speak in hopes of understanding more about them.
Chaos continues to unfold around you, and you do your best to remain beside the merchants and their goods, refusing to allow anyone near them. There is a strange air about the field, one that you cannot help but recognize instantly. You would know that presence anywhere in the world, and as you take down the men approaching those you are meant to protect, you miss one strutting from behind you, and when you finally feel his spirit lingering just against your back, you are met with a pair of strong hands, ones that push you aside and receive a silver dagger in your stead.
A painful howl rips through your chest, and you watch in horror as Tovar reaches behind him and drags the weapon from his back, not caring for how beastly he must look as he penetrates the knife three times into his enemy’s jugular. He turns around and studies you, and the shock of his actions must be apparent because he nods once and moves on to the next unfriendly visitor.
You are unsure of how to think of what he has willingly done for you, but you waste no time and stand to your height, continuing to battle alongside him in hopes of returning the favor should it be needed. There is no way of knowing how long the company spends fighting off the bandits, but by the time you are done, the sun slowly begins to set past the horizon and you are left with a multitude of bodies to either bury or scavenge from.
When you are positive you are no longer needed, you walk towards the nearby village, wanting to find the source of familiarity brushing over your mind ever since you entered Asyut. Moving through the quiet streets, you call out to the spirit of the witch, hoping she has enough strength to respond in kind. Not a few moments later, you watch as a soft, green thread loops around you and slowly pulls you forward. You follow without delay, watching as the thread grows into a deeper shade the closer you approach the hiding place. As soon as you stand in front of the broken down building, you push through doors and run into the property, not caring for the possibility of more bandits.
Making a sharp turn to the left, you come to a halt as you look upon a face you have not seen in decades.
“Petra,” you call out for her, running to her side as she breaks down into tears and reaches for your arms. A sigh of relief escapes your lips as you wrap yourself around her, and you briefly feel a sense of trepidation take over you, but you give the thought no time to linger, wanting to nurse your friend’s wounds as soon as possible.
“What are you doing here?” You pull away and hold her cheeks in your hands, looking in between her bloodied and bruised eyes as she continues to sob in your arms.
“I- I do not know. They never told me what they wanted with me, only that I was useful to them in some way. But now that I know you are here, I suspect they are after you. Please, sister, tell me you are safe. Tell me they are not after you.” She speaks haphazardly and you quiet her down to the best of your abilities, not wanting to give her any reason for more panic now that you saved her.
“I am well, dearest. Do not worry,” you smile at her, pulling her to her feet and breaking the chains around her wrists to lead her away. Only when you reach the door to the abandoned home do you look up and find Tovar waiting for the two of you. You do not get a chance to explain yourself asTovar sniffs the air deeply and releases the unholiest of growls, aimed not at you but your coven sister.
“What- what is he doing here?” She shakes in fear and hides behind you, and you throw a protection spell around her for precaution, not wanting to lead attention to the three of you.
“He will not hurt you, I promise.” The words do not leave your mouth for more than a few seconds before Tovar menacingly walks towards you, his eyes turning a deep shade of fiery gold that reminds you of what he is.
“Do not test my patience, Tovar.” The command is barely louder than a whisper, yet he refuses to back down, offering you a similar order in kind.
“Do not mock my kindness, maga.” The display of his canines would shake you to your core had you not spent the past few weeks traveling with him and knowing him just a little bit more.
Neither of you seem to back down, and only when you feel your friend descend to the floor and clutch at your feet do you finally push Tovar away and warn him with a snap of your fingers. A fire engulfs the inside of the building instantly, and you watch as his demeanor shifts to one of caution. He looks around him briefly and returns his focus on you, not bothering to say another word as he backs away and holds his hands up in defeat.
“Remember the headhunter’s words, she cannot join us.” He warns as he walks out of the smoky room and out to the street.
“I will vouch for her.” You retort immediately, letting him know that your decision is not up for debate. He shakes his head at you and glances at Petra one last time, breathing in her scent one last time as he returns to the company.
“Why are you traveling with that- that thing?” Petra inquires when Tovar is out of reach, and you turn to her, patting her on the neck one last time as you lead her to your group.
“It was not my decision. I- I joined a company tasked with protecting a group of merchants and he happened to be one of them.” You weave your hands around her skin, silently breathing healing and protection spells that would alleviate her pain and wounds quicker.
“Do you know him?” There is a strangeness about the question she asks and for whatever reason your mind conjures, you shake your head in an instant, a part of you letting you know that it would be unwise to tell her of the familiarity you feel with him.
When you reach the company, you speak with the merchants, letting them know that you found your sister by chance, and that she would only accompany you for a few days before she feels better. As they inspect her, you barely manage to hide the smile from your face at how helpless she makes herself appear to them, and only when they nod their approval do you take her away and ask her to ride on Tefnut.
The rest of the day is met with more silence, the company beginning to wonder why the bandits have increased suddenly. This was the fourth attack in the span of three weeks, and although your numbers did not noticeably decrease, you also cannot help but think of how abnormal things have become the closer you grow to your destination.
You speak with your old friend, asking her about what she has accomplished in the past few decades, and responding in kind when she wonders where you have been and why the coven has not seen you for nearly a century. You do not know how to answer her, knowing that you could not lie to her if you tried. You tell her you had people to help across the world, sites you wished to visit at least once in case the wars of the New World reached your place.
When night falls, you choose to bring her to an inn, telling her to remain within her room for her own safety. And if she wants to ask where you will go, she does not get to it as Tovar’s presence suddenly becomes known within the confines of the small tavern.
“I assure you, he will not harm you in any way.” You shut the door behind you, locking it and casting one last spell out of fear of other, non-creature visitors. Heading down the stairs, you find Tovar seated by himself at one corner of the cafe, the scene reminding you of that fateful night a few weeks prior. You approach him slowly, not wanting to trigger his anger any further.
As you sit down opposite him, you find the color of his face graying, and nearly reach out to touch him but remember how little you know each other. He sneaks a glance at you, but says nothing, the somber expression he offers you forcing your heart to beat faster out of sympathy.
“Are you unwell?”
“It is none of your concern.” His answer is laced with venom, and you cannot blame him for the hostility, knowing that had he brought more of his kind near you, you would be as uncomfortable, if not more.
“I promise she will not grow near you.” You are not sure what pushes you to offer him such a vow, but the manner in which he recoils into himself and winces at your words lets you know he is not appreciative of the gesture.
“Do not make promises you cannot keep, bruja. You and I know of the past our kinds have suffered through.” His voice is tired, and you attempt to ask him once more if he is unwell.
“Tovar, what you have done for me today-”
“Save it, I do not care for your gratitude, nor do I have any use for it.” He pushes you aside as he walks out of the inn, and you are left speechless, afraid of why your chest tightens at the prospect of him getting hurt for your sake. You have questioned the action all day long, trying your damnedest to find a reason behind the selfless act he performed without so much as a blink of an eye. Nothing has changed throughout the past few weeks, apart of course from the occasional hello and silent sharing of space.
Looking outside, you find the sun setting across the village, and you choose to spend the night walking about the town, wanting to rid your mind of the thousands of questions roaming about Tovar and Petra’s presence.
Gods, why was she here of all places? There was never a reason for someone like her to go so far from her home, let alone travel outside of the coven. There was an oddity to you running into her in this land, more so at being captured by men dressed in attire you have not seen before.
Venturing deeper into town, you surrender to the relief that washes over you the farther you move away from the inn. A part of you feels guilty for not spending more time with your coven sister, but you decide to listen to your heart once more, already ruminating on why reluctance flooded at you upon your first sight of her.
“Goddess divine, please tell me. I am your servant, and I long to know.” The prayer is whispered into the night air, and you decide to ignore the matter and look for more healing herbs, knowing that you should enforce your aid on Tovar the next time you see him. That dagger would be nothing had he fed, but you have not seen him drink an ounce of blood throughout the past few weeks and you would hate for any sickness to befall him because of your lack of focus.
So engrossed in the concoctions of herbs and potions you are collecting, you completely miss the thread of green calling for you, and only when it begins turning into a soft shade of red do you finally recognize it. You drop the powders in your hand and race to the inn, regretting ever leaving Petra by herself. Deep down, you knew there would be an issue between her and Tovar, but you had hoped that he understood you were not to be trifled with.
By the time you reach the inn and run up the stairs, you find the door to her room unlocked and broken off of its hinges. You gasp when you find Tovar bloodied and heaving, his hands clasping onto your sister’s neck as his fingers dig deeper into the skin.
“Tovar,” you try to warn, but the look he offers you is nothing less than murderous.
“Tell her…tell her what you told me.” He is breathing heavily, and you note the way he refuses to loosen his hold on her.
“Unholy animal-” She hisses at him, only to be met with a snarl and a threat of a bite to her neck. You are not sure what he is referring to, but seeing her eyes widen in shock and horror lets you know that it must be important enough for Tovar to test your patience so openly.
“Tell her, what you told me.” He orders once more, his eyes never leaving your own as you snap your fingers and create a door to the room, one that remains shut tightly to avoid any visitors.
“Tovar, unhand her.”
“I cannot do that, bruja.” He shakes his head, his retort not leaving you much of a choice.
“Petra, please. Give him whatever he wants.” You plead with your friend, wishing she is a bit wiser than others of your kind.
“If I tell h-her, she…she will not believe. I am her sister, and you are…nothing. You are nothing to her. She will not believe-” You step forward when you hear an agonizing screech escape her throat and you watch as Tovar delivers a harsh bite to her shoulder. He unclenches his jaws from her a moment later, licking his lips once and shutting his eyes to better envision what her blood offers her. There is a moment of silence as Tovar sees in her memories what he has been seeking, and only when he is satisfied does he push her to the ground and grip her hair tightly.
“If you do not tell her, I will show her. Which do you prefer, capulla?” At the mention of her memories, her eyes seek you out and tear up, leading you to tilt your head to the side and approach the two of them slowly.
“You must understand, we- we couldn’t…” She attempts to make excuses but Tovar was never known for his patience, and he twists her neck once, signaling another bite to her shoulder should she refuse to obey him.
“Tell. Her.” His voice is menacing, and you nod at her with a smile, wanting her to understand that it will all be well.
“In my pocket…reach for the paper in my pocket.” She signals for her right pocket and waits with bated breath as Tovar snatches it and throws it at you. You inhale deeply, unsure of what either of them is referring to.
Slowly unfolding the flimsy piece of paper, you read the top line of the letter and flinch at the familiarity of the date.
“What is this?” You ask Tovar, unsure of what he is attempting to show you. His body grows tired by the minute, but he pays it no mind as he maintains his hold on your sister and responds to your question.
“This is the reason why you cannot recall any memories since the last time you were here,” he finds more knowledge of his statement in your eyes than he thought he would, and he takes a deep breath before continuing with his revelation, “and why I cannot remember anything before 1249.” Once again, the date is not unknown to you, and your eyes widen in realization as you come to understand what he is referring to.
“That was-”
“Yes, the same year you were here.” He cuts you off, pointing at Petra to let you know of her involvement. When you do not make a move to read the letter, he nods towards the piece of parchment and asks you to read it one more time.
“Read it. Out loud, please.”
“December 24th, 1249. An equilibrium, at last, has been attained.” The sentence is bothersome, and you turn to look at Petra, finding more fear in her eyes now that you had hold of the letter than before, when it was only her and Tovar.
“Por favor, continúa.”
“I pen these words with a trembling hand, for the events I am about to recount are of such grievous nature that they shake the very foundation of our order. The traitors have been uncovered, and what we beheld defies comprehension. Upon first encountering them, our hearts were struck with disbelief, for it was assumed—nay, taken as truth—that our coven’s esteemed leader bore envy for her gifts. How deeply mistaken we were! Alas, the fault lay with us all.” You bite your lower lip in anticipation of what’s to come, gazing at Tovar to find any inclination of what the contents of this letter mean to you, either of you. He is nearly trembling but he remains steadfast in his stance, not once letting go of the witch in his hands as you continue to read the words so close to you, yet so far.
“Until the night of her final sighting, we labored under the notion that she had been cruelly abducted. But, oh, how far this presumption was from the truth! When at last we found her, it was in the arms of the devil himself. Not as his prisoner, nor his thrall, but as his equal, his beloved.” You look up to Tovar once more and find him refusing to meet your eyes, as if seeing you would break him for eternity. “She had not been coerced, nor, as his own kind did divulge to us, had he been ensnared by her enchantments. Together they stood, bound by their own volition, in a union both repugnant and unholy. How vile such a betrayal is to witness!” At the mention of the relationship, a flash of an unknown, distant memory crashes through your mind, and you are met with visions of your arms wrapped around the golden skin of a man, one who resembles the vampire standing not a few steps away from you.
No, it cannot be.
“Let it be known that on that cursed night, witches and vampires, long foes, stood as one to halt an abomination. It was a spectacle both harrowing and grotesque—to see the depths of her devotion to him, and his to her.” You are not aware of the tears streaming down your cheeks until you shakily gaze at Tovar and find similar sadness rolling down his face and onto his armor. The words ripping through your chest are of similar torment to him, but he does not budge to grow closer to you, instead furthering his painful grip on Petra out of heartbreak and anger.
“More abhorrent still were his pleas, his promises of eternal torment should harm befall her. In the end, it was their own affections that wrought their downfall. Unable to endure the sight of her bloodied form, he cast aside all pretenses of strength and supplicated himself for her sake—not his own, but hers alone.” You cannot find it in yourself to read it further, the retelling of those events twisting a knife deep within your heart that you swear you may die should you continue.
“Read on, querida.”
“In response to his desperate entreaties, we offered him a choice, though it pained us greatly to do so. It was then he understood why their bond could never endure. A single glance sufficed to convey our intent, followed by but a whisper: she was to forget him, utterly and irrevocably, until the very earth itself crumbled into dust. And thus, he consented, knowing it was their only reprieve. He resolved to undertake the task himself, loathing the mere notion that another might exert such power over her. He could not, would not, permit any other soul to carry out so dreadful an act. It was a torment of unimaginable cruelty, and he alone would bear its weight.” You can feel Tovar’s spirit burst into little fires, and you know then why his hurt runs deeper than your own, why you longed to be near him all those weeks ago but chose to stay clear of him out of a hidden inclination, as if growing closer to him made you burn.
“When his turn came, the coven encircled him, our enchantments weaving an intricate web about his mind, until her name was lost to him entirely. The very notion of her existence was swept away, as fleeting and insubstantial as the sands of the Egyptian dunes beneath the relentless desert wind. Perhaps he welcomed it, for the burden of love was too great even for one such as he. Yet, I confess, I do not believe the spell was entirely imposed upon him. A creature of his power could never have been subdued against his will. For this reason alone we sent her to him, to bring about his end. How little did we anticipate the depth of their bond, for it became evident they would be one another’s undoing.” There is no doubt in your mind on who the letter is referring to, as each word delivers a long lost memory you have begged your soul to recall countless of times. You can envision him so clearly in your mind—his laughter as you drew circles on his chest, his eyes gazing at you longingly as you kissed your love across his skin, his hands as they broke you apart and bound you together with affection and loyalty, and above all, his spirit as it promised to never leave yours, not even if the gods themselves ordered you apart.
He was yours. And you were his.
“I recount these dreadful events as a record of the night in Luxor, that it may stand as a warning to all who come after. We ensured that no offspring could result from their cursed union, for such a progeny would herald the ruin of all creation. Yet, I implore you, vigilance must remain eternal. They were not easily subdued, and should fate ever conspire to reunite them, it will herald the death of us all.” Tovar kneels to the ground, his mouth whispering promises of evil into your sister’s ears as you finish the letter and finally read the betrayal of the writer.
“Yours in eternal duty, Petra A.”
Silence fills the room as you allow the history within the letter to settle in your mind. You fold the letter and place it in your pocket, not caring for anything but the woman kneeling in front of you.
“You betrayed me. You- my own people, betrayed me? How could you do it?” You ask her as you crawl towards her on the floor, not once asking Tovar to ease his grasp on her.
“You have to know why. Your…union is- it is unforgivable.” Her hatred disgusts you, and you frown at how easily she attempts to explain her actions.
“You speak of our union so simply, as if you yourself did not join my brothers and ask them to aid your conquest.” Tovar growls his own concerns to her, not caring for how violent he is becoming as his nails bleed her skin further. Her sobs are silent and she shuts her eyes when you stand and move away from her.
“I need you to know Petra that- that my lack of forgiveness is not due to your betrayal, but because you enforced your pathetic values over my happiness, over his peace. I will find you in every lifetime, and I will rip out your soul with my bare hands…and send you to the goddess without powers, and without explanation.” Before you can respond to you, you reach out your hand and grab hold of her mind, weaving intricate designs around her body until you find what you are searching for and tugging it from her physical presence.
Tovar watches as a yellow cloud forms around the room, and with a snap of your fingers, a mixture of fire and water storms around the yellow shadow, encircling it until it turns into ash and drops to the ground. You twirl your finger around the dust, collecting it into a small pouch and shutting it tightly.
If he is in awe of what you had just done, he says nothing and stands to his height, kicking the lifeless body at his feet to ensure she is no longer alive
“What will you do with her?” You ask as you watch Tovar drag her body from your room and throw her into his own that is across from you
“Scatter her across the Nile.” He shuts the door to his quarters and returns, settling down on the bed beside you quietly.
“My own people betrayed me.” The admission hurts more than you care to admit, and you turn to look at Tovar, only to find him wiping the streaks of tears away from his cheeks.
“Only because mine told them.” He responds instantly, and you hate how little he seems to be affected by his own revelation.
“What happened?” You are not sure what brings you to ask him such a question, but a part of you wishes to know whether he knew beforehand or if her presence alerted him to so sinister a plot.
“I sought you out after our conversation, to ask if you can aid me with…it does not matter. When I could not find you, I came to rest, and found the door unlocked, your friend spewing words that seemed too familiar for me to ignore.” You make a mental note of asking him later what he required from you, and you watch closely as his lips quiver with what happened while you were in the village.
“She did not appear too taken by my presence, but when I passed into your room, her fear stenched the room instantly, and I knew then that- that what I felt initially was not intuition but truth.” He looks to you then, and you find the brown of his eyes so expressive, a reminder of how he looked at you before…all those years ago.
“She must have seen realization dawn on me and felt it unnecessary to continue her lies. She had come with those bandits willingly, bandits which I should let you know, are of my own kind. They feared our paths had crossed in this land and wanted to ensure we did not remember what had happened before. Before I can ask her what she was referring to, she did…this.” He points at the lashes across his face, the deep cuts covering his arms and chest, wounds you hurt to think of. Without much thought, you stand and approach your bag, collecting the herbs you managed to purchase before the events of the night unfolded.
“What are you doing?” He stands instantly, only to sit back down when you turn around and silently ask him to rest. Tovar remains quiet as you bring your bag to him and remove as many of the healing herbs as you can.
“Can you please remove your armor and tunic?” You ask once, refusing to look into his eyes as he begins the slow, agonizing process of taking his clothes off. Neither of you say anything as you wait for him to throw his belongings to the floor, and you let him know that you will fix them as soon as you are finished administering the medication to his skin.
“This may hurt a bit. I- forgive me.”
“It is nothing, hermosa.” You do not dare ask him why his names for you changed, but you wait patiently as he continues to tell you what Petra informed him of.
“She knew my wrath would fuel me, and by the time I had my hand wrapped around her throat, she spilled her secrets easily, telling me of everything your kind and mine had done to us 173 years ago. She- she spoke of their success as if it was destined by God himself, as if our lives meant nothing. I knew I would rip her throat to pieces if she did not call you, so I led her to believe that I will release her when you come.” He hisses in pain when you rub a brown salve across his chest and arms, turning the other way to avoid showing you his fangs.
“And then I came.” You distract him, letting him know that you understand he does not mean to snarl at you.
“And then you came.” His body shakes the lower you apply the herbs, and when he is sure you are finished, he stands and walks away from you.
A loud gasp spills into the room when you see his back and the wound he received because of you.
“T-tovar.” You whimper his name, and it takes every ounce of control to not throw your arms around him and apologize for your lack of sight.
“I am not worth your tears, sabia.” He turns around and smiles sadly at you, reaching for your cheeks and wiping the tears away. You step closer to him, and only when Tovar scents your body does he come to his senses, quickly backing away from you and reaching for his tunic.
“Wait- Tovar, please wait. I- I can heal this.” You lead him to the bedside once more, and kneel on it as you ask him to face away from you.
“Do not worry yourself.”
“You and I both know that this silver will only spread, and unless you feed now, you will not be able to heal quickly. Please, let me heal you.” Your voice breaks at the end, and Tovar can do nothing when you plead with him. He nods silently and shuts his eyes as he feels your hands skim across the skin of his back. Your touch is so familiar yet so distant, and he suspects that similar emotions tunnel through you, but he pays them no mind, not wanting to abuse your kindness and have you think he wants more from you now that-
Now that you both knew the truth.
“O Isis, great healer, mother of Horus, deliver your humble servant, Pero Tovar, from all evil. May the breath of life fill his lungs, and may your light heal his wounds. By the power of Geb and Nut, the father of the earth and the mother of the sky, may your body be restored. Let the sacred words cleanse your mind and body, and the breath of life renew your soul and spirit.” Tovar can feel you touch his skin in strange patterns, and he nearly asks why you are choosing the old gods of this land when he feels a kindle of fire radiate across his back. He haunches over in pain, but says nothing as you continue to touch his back, your skin softer and hotter than anything he has ever felt in his life.
He is unsure how long he remains in your bed, and only when he feels you let out a long sigh does he turn around and find you slowly falling over.
“Cariño, you are hurt!” You smile at the worry in his voice, chuckling at how different everything seems to be now that you both put a name to the mixed feelings you experienced all those weeks ago upon your reuniting.
“It…I am well, P-pero.” The whisper of his name could send him flying if he was capable of such a feat, and he swallows thickly as he lays you down and covers you with the bedsheets.
“Rest, mi luna. And I will come to wake you tomorrow.” He smiles down at you, the expression letting you feel a safety you have not known in so long. You nod absentmindedly, letting go of his hands and falling into a deep sleep as Tovar collects his belongings and leaves your room. He locks the door behind you and makes quick work of his clothes, his body rejuvenated with more than your words and herbs.
Entering into his room, he is met with the lifeless body of Petra, and he cannot help but sneer at everything she has done to him and you. Without wasting another moment, he carries her body and shuts his eyes, racing down the stairs and out to the Nile bank in a matter of seconds. He glances around to ensure no one can see him, and when he is positive he is alone, he quickly shreds the witch's body to pieces, scattering them across the river as he promised you until nothing but her blood remains on the soiled ground.
Looking out into the dark horizon, he allows himself a moment of respite and clarity, wanting to bask in the knowledge of what he has felt ever since he laid eyes on you in the qahwa was nothing but his heart’s memories begging him to remember you.
He had known then it was no coincidence, the way your scent was so familiar to his senses, and he was aware that this same recognition was what drove him to seek you out after the battle and know why your sister’s blood was so fundamental to his memories.
Tovar did not know what would become of either of you, but after your little tricks minutes ago, and the way you wept as you read that letter, he dared to hope.
Hope for a chance to prove his loyalty to you.
Hope for the possibility of finding love in your eyes once more, the same deep affection he has felt for you all those years ago, and the one that drove him to remain near you ever since your paths crossed.
“The voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses.” —E. E. CummingsDecember 3, 1422
He was different, much less wary than before, and more interested in keeping your company throughout the journey. You could not refuse his kindness, nor his friendship. So much has passed between the two of you in the past few weeks. From fighting bandits alongside each other, to sitting quietly around the fire at night, your shared experiences grew with each passing day, and before you could place a word on it, your fondness for him evolved into something deeper, something you reminisced about and wondered if it was new or based on past feelings.
The memories returned, one by one, and as you trotted alongside him throughout the day, you stole glances of him, often finding his brown eyes aimed at you before you attended yours on him. He would smile and turn aside, embarrassed you had caught him openly dreaming of you.
And with those memories came a sense of possessiveness. You could not keep silent when he was approached by the bedouin women you met along the way, and he certainly could not keep his mouth shut when other men in your company sought you out late at night. There was an unspoken rule between the two of you, an understanding that you were not available to others, and you desired to speak of its finality, but it appeared that he wanted to address said rule long after the mission was finished. He preferred to keep you at arm’s length, afraid to speak of the matters that befell you on All Hallows’ Eve. You told him later of your reluctant thoughts on whom you thought was a close friend, surprised to find him answering you about your own kind’s heightened powers during this time of year. He recalled things you were sure only a witch would know, and smiled as he realized how he knew such matters.
The more time you spent together, the more you understood of your past life, or, the life you held before they made you forget each other. You learned about his past, and in turn, realized things within your own life. Tovar too became more aware of his behavior the more you spoke of what you envisioned each night. Of course, you would never tell him of the more intimate moments your mind’s eye recollected, but you got the sense that he knew. The mischievous smile that graced his features and the shy demeanor that overtook him each time you recollected a day from your past lead you to believe that he saw similar dreams, or perhaps, imagined said sentiments when he rested his body late at night.
Yet, with those shared experiences, you had to continue pretending that you were not more. As much as he hated to admit it, Tovar was a shy soul, and you were not one to speak of such matters with someone unwilling to actively take part in such a conversation. So, you let him lead, praying each night that he would begin to notice the way you look at him, the longing filling your hands whenever he is near, the wildness of your heartbeat as it whispered his name over and over again.
But he never crossed that line, and you pushed his reluctance aside as you took your belongings and made your way to one of the hamams. You had invited him earlier, letting him know of the privacy you can afford with your earnings. Then he brushed off your offer, mumbling something or other about not trusting the open space about the establishment. But you could see through the excuse; something was bothersome to him, and you hoped you had not done anything to upset him. He may have been a nightwalker, but he held a sensitive soul, one you remembered vividly from before. When neither of you moved following your invitation, you looked upon him, silently asking if he was bothered by something you may have done. He shook his head then, as if to tell you he can read your thoughts and does not wish to dwell on the matter.
“The waters in these baths come from the oasis nearby, they have healing abilities.” You attempt to tempt him, but he does not budge, refusing you once more as he walks away and disappointedly responds to you.
“Déjalo.”
You were not sure if it was possible to be more plain; sure, if he wishes to discuss your situation after the commission, you could take him up on the offer then. But he does not bother to explain himself to you, the hot and cold behavior throwing you off and raising anxious questions in your mind. You pray to the gods you had not accidentally pushed him away. It would break you.
A part of you wanted nothing more than to blame him, but you could not. His kind was never confrontational with matters of the heart, and you guessed it took you a long time before to become so intimate with him.
Reaching the bath you rented for the night, you smile at the woman sitting outside and let her know that another, more brooding gentleman may or may not join you. You ignore the smirk on her expression, silently entering the vapor-filled room and shutting the door behind you.
It is more exquisite than you initially thought, and you set your towels aside, stripping down to nothing and throwing the dress atop your towels before stepping into the hot water. It does wonders to your body, the immense and quick relief allowing you to momentarily forget why you had originally wanted to spend some time here. The quietness of the room, and the marvelous architecture engulfing your tired soul, allow you to doze off. You whisper soothing spells across the waters, wanting to feel more relaxed in preparation for the journey tomorrow.
As you float around the small space, you feel a familiar presence grow closer to you, and not moments after your eyes flutter open do you hear the door to the hamam open wide, signaling the arrival of none other than Tovar. He reluctantly enters the cloudy area, adjusting his sight to the space until his attention falls directly on you.
Silence fills the room as you both acknowledge the other’s presence, and before you can ask him what has changed his mind, Tovar places his belongings beside your own and asks you to turn around. You give him a moment of privacy and face the small window at the end of the little opening within the wall, watching the stars twinkle outside in an attempt to focus on anything other than the nude man touching the same waters you are resting in.
“Are you decent?” You cannot help but smile at the question, and when a gruff consent vibrates across the walls, you turn around and finally meet Tovar’s eyes. Although you have healed him weeks prior, the sight of his golden skin littered with old wounds and scars sets you on fire, and you have to force your gaze away from his chest to avoid embarrassing yourself.
“I am glad you came,” your attempt at making the moment less awkward fails, as Tovar does not bother to respond to you but steps around the water silently and lets the heat heal his weary soul.
You are unsure how much time passes, but you let Tovar lead the space, afraid his anxiety would force him out of the waters. You can tell he is watching you closely, and you do not bother to behave any differently than if you were alone, knowing that he much prefers the quiet enjoyment of the intimate moment over anything more involving. He allows himself to relax soon after, and you throw him a soft smile as you pass the palms of your hands across the waters and heat it just a little bit more. His skin grows a little red, and you worry it may not be to his liking.
“Is it uncomfortable?” You inquire, hoping he would not shy from telling you his true feelings.
“Está bien,” he breathes lowly, and you cannot help the shiver that courses down your spine when his deep voice reaches your skin. Tovar notices the effect he holds on you, and without dwelling much on the appropriateness of his actions, he approaches you, his gaze never once wavering as the water dances around your bodies. You hold your breath, afraid to break whatever haze that befell you, and when he is a mere hair-breadth away, you look up and into his eyes, allow your chest to rise and fall rapidly as shallow breaths come and go, signaling your excitement and nervousness.
You watch him closely, and in turn, Tovar studies every movement of your body, as if you were a prey he has been seeking for ions. He never once looks beneath your neckline, and you credit his immense self-control, knowing you are incapable of offering him similar comfort. When your back touches the cold tiles of the wall, you swallow the lump in your throat and quiver, lips shaking at the prospect of whatever the vampire in front of you has in mind.
His eyes are dark with promises only you know he can fulfill, and as stares into you, you are suddenly taken back to a similar moment, one that has you regret ever hurting him. Focusing on the scar across his eye, you raise your hand and slide it over his temple and cheek, frowning at imposing such lasting violence on his skin.
“Forgive me,” there is nothing more to say, the history you find in his eyes letting you know he remembers what you have done to him upon your first meeting. He shuts his eyes and nuzzles into your hand, unaware of the way his hand reaches out to grasp at your upper arm. Tovar pulls you closer until you are breathing the same air, and when he opens his eyes and finds tears rolling down your cheeks, he wipes them away, his attention seeking your lips when a droplet of water sticks to the lower skin. Sliding his thumb across your mouth, he parts his own lips and tilts closer to you, until nose nudges yours and forces you to look up.
So very close to feeling his mouth steal your breath away, you feel your heart shatter into a million pieces when Tovar suddenly moves to the other end of the bath, his back turned away from you and his muscles rippling with an anger you have not seen for weeks.
“Wha-”
“I cannot understand you.” He is seething, and had you not been sure he was finally going to claim you, you would have thought this was all a dream, a very sick, twisted dream.
“What…what do you mean?”
“You allow me such…liberties, and yet you- you seek out the merchant boy whenever you can? As if we are nothing but- but…” Tovar trips over his words, and your frown deepens when you finally piece together what he means to say to you.
“Tovar, if there is a concern you wish to address, do so plainly.” You approach him then, voice wavering slightly when he turns around and stares somewhere behind you, as if he could not bear looking into your eyes.
“Do not play coy with me, bruja.” The name he breathes, one that slowly turned into something that makes you smile, now sounds nothing more than an insult, and you feel a pang of hurt at the insinuation behind his words. You try to maintain your composure, but the manner in which he is set in his mind lets you know he may not see past his perspective at this moment.
“I am not one to jest, Tovar, and until you are willing to speak freely and listen in turn, I will waste my time. Enjoy the bath…alone.” You attempt to move past him but he reaches out for your arm and pulls you back, causing you to snarl at him out of fear of getting hurt any further.
“Do not touch me!”
He removes his hand immediately, staring at fiery eyes as you narrow them at him in irritation. You know you should leave, not speak another word that may be misconstrued or worse, one that cannot be taken back. But his anger lights your own and you walk towards him, pushing your finger into his chest as you part with nothing but lies.
“If you were vain, I would justify your anger as such. But this is different and whatever jealousy you are falling into is unnecessary.”
“And what if I am?” His question is unexpected, skin buzzing with energy now that you have spoken of what his mind has been thinking of for the past few days. You attempt to convince yourself to retract whatever thoughts brewing deep within, but seeing him react so strongly to your proximity and assertiveness pushes you further and before you can control yourself and walk away, you retort with a hiss.
“If you were, I would tell you that you have no reason to be. I am nothing to you, and I am certainly not interested in this swine of a man. This behavior will only-” Perhaps the universe decided against your response and wished to avoid any further misunderstandings because just as you are readying yourself for an outright battle, the doorkeeper walks in and interrupts your conversation.
“Yajib ‘an tughadiron,” she requests for both of you to leave, and you suspect it may be because of the hamam’s rules, the ones you chose to ignore for Tovar’s sake. Shaking your head at him, you do not care for your nudity as you leave the waters and haphazardly wear your tunics once more, apologizing to the young woman for any inconvenience you may have caused and leaving before Tovar can so much as think of another sentiment against you.
Only when you reach the dressing rooms do you allow Tovar’s concerns to settle in, and you settle against the wall, eyes looking into nothing when it occurs to you that he has plainly admitted to feeling jealous of your conversations with the merchant. You are unsure why he would allow his mind to tread towards such thoughts when he can plainly hear your words and understand your inquiries are nothing more than shared interests in the trade products. Your journey was close to an end. Edfu was a few days away from your destination and you wished to see what goods you can buy from the merchants that may be of benefit to you once you leave.
There was absolutely no reason for Tovar to ever waste a moment on why you are conversing with the man, and you shake your head in disappointment, knowing this could all be avoidable had he asked to speak with you on your…relationship.
Putting on your clothes, you swear beneath your breath at the thickness of that man, knowing that it was probably as difficult to get him to confess his feelings to you before as it was now.
“Goddess help me,” you speak to the empty room, only to flinch when you hear heavy breathing emanate from behind you. Turning around, you find Tovar’s chest rising and falling angrily, as if the mere sight of you caused him extreme discomfort. Not caring for the display of intensity, you pull on your tunics and avoid his gaze, allowing him another moment of respite before you truly rip into him. He surprises you, though, when he approaches you and waits for you to look at him before he speaks.
“No, you are wrong. You are not nothing to me, and…I- I am jealous bruja, I have been jealous for weeks now.” The way in which he murmurs his confession disarms you, and you stop moving altogether, eyebrows furrowing at his choice in words and their timing. You cross your arms and meet his gaze head on, refusing to back down as you have done so weeks prior.
“Who could you possibly be jealous of, Tovar? I rarely speak to anyone in our company.” You know better than to interrupt him, but you cannot help the question from leaving your lips, wanting him to think through his next words carefully to avoid irritating you any further. Then he shakes his head and swallows the lump in his throat, and you are, once again, mollified at how easily he affects your mood.
“I am not jealous of those men, I- I am jealous of-” You can tell he is struggling to find the right word to speak, because his hands clench and unclench, jaw set in place and lips pursing with impatience, as if he hated himself for not being capable of speaking his mind freely. You wait for him, knowing that you may never have him so forthright ever again, and as his breathing calms, you are suddenly hit with a wave of defeat and hurt, feelings you were positive are not your own but his.
“I am jealous of the rain.” The words escape his lips, barely above a whisper, yet heavy to feel like a confession of the soul. For a man of his stature, you are shocked to see a shaking ripple descend down his form, his hands ball into fists at his sides, the knuckles turning white, as though he is holding himself back from closing the distance between you. When he finally musters up the courage to look at you, you are met with a vulnerability you never thought you could see in him again—a rawness that strips away the hardened exterior he wears like armor.
His brows knit together, raised in despair, as if willing you to understand the storm inside him without him having to explain. You blink in confusion, unsure what he wants to convey. Tovar mistakes your quietness for indifference, clearing his throat to give himself enough time to find the necessary sentiments in hopes of forcing your heart to beat for him. When he speaks again, his voice is steadier, though no less anguished.
“I am jealous of the rain, mi amor. I am jealous of the rain because it touches you so intimately, night after night, when I cannot.” His shoulders, broad and strong, sag ever so slightly as if they can no longer bear the weight of his emotions. And you feel your breath hitch, his words settling like an ocean of water on your chest, heavy with longing and need. He does not stop, the floodgates of his emotions now open and unreserved, begging to be released for his sake and for a glimpse of hope from yours.
“I am jealous of the rain because it kisses your skin continuously when I dream of nothing else but that very thing.” Tovar takes a step closer, the space between you trembling with unspoken yearning. You can feel heat radiation from him, the fire in his words burning brother with every syllable. And your eyes, full of wonder and curiosity, pull him in further offering him a glimpse of what he held in his arms centuries ago. He was not a man of faith, far from it, but seeing the manner in which your body leans into his space, Tovar is sure his prayers have been answered, and your spirit finally felt the desperation of his very essence.
“I am jealous of the rain because…” His voice falters, his jaw tightening as he struggles to continue, afraid you fear the depth of what he desires from you. “Because every time it comes, you welcome it with open arms and smiles, letting it do whatever it wishes with your body…when I am desperately-” A single tear trails down his cheek, and you see his composure shatter as his hand briefly reaches towards you, only to stop mid-air, retreating as though he’s afraid his touch might burn you.
Or worse, your skin sets him into an eternal fire.
“When I am desperately wanting to be the one you welcome, the one you grace with upturned lips.” Tovar’s revelation hands in the air, raw and unrelenting. You feel your heart ache for him, but before you can respond, he surges forward again, his voice rising with an almost pained intensity. You dare not flinch, knowing whatever has hold of him will soon overflow through you and push you to put him out of his misery.
“Do you know what it feels like, bruja? To be so close to you and yet so far away? To burn every time you laugh, every time you speak, knowing that I am nothing but a shadow at your side? One that you despise because of what my kind has done to you.”
He steps back as if his own confession has wounded him, his hands shaking at the thought of you denying his heart, the one he had no choice but to bear to you, uncaring of what you may do to it. His next words are softer, almost fragile, as if spoken into a void he is confident will only face him in return and ignore him.
“I am jealous of the rain…but I am terrified as well. Terrified that you will leave once I-”
“Pero,” you interrupt, trembling at the intensity of his feelings, and the knowledge that he more than reciprocated your own but was drowning in a sea of helplessness.
Pero freezes, his dark eyes widening with disbelief at hearing you call him by his given name. You step forward, lips parting in anticipation, and for the first time, your voice breaks through his storm of self-pity.
“You have been jealous of the rain, and all this time, I have been jealous of the moon.” His brow furrows, confusion flickering across his features at hearing you return his confession in kind. But you continue, growing steadier the closer you move towards him.
“Watching how it lights up your face at night when I wish to be the one you look to.” His breath catches as your words settle between you, and you press on, your own emotions spilling forth like a river breaking through land.
“Longing for you to see me the way I see you. Praying to every god known to man that you will look past my nature and find my heart, the one that speaks your name with every beat.” Pero’s expression shifts, his guarded walls crumbling as he steps closer. His voice is shaking with uncertainty as finally allows himself to touch you. His hand finds your cheek and he leans forward to rest his forehead against your own, shutting his eyes to ensure that this was not a dream, that you were in his arms, returning his love and more.
“How can you be jealous of the moon…when you are mi luna?” He pulls away then, searching your eyes for any lies and finding nothing but unadulterated truth. You bite into your lower lip as his eyes pierce through you, leaving you breathless and needy for him. Swallowing hard, you cannot hold back any longer and throw your arms around him, letting your body sag against his embrace as he holds you against him and tightens his arms around you.
“I—I cannot breathe when you are not near.” Pero releases a deep sigh of relief at your confession, his breath a ragged whisper as he nuzzles into your neck and scents your intoxicating skin.
“Dios mío, bruja. You will be the death of me.” For the first time in decades, the weight of longing gives way to the lightness of surrender, and you dig your nails into his back, wanting him to know that you cannot ever allow space between you now that it has finally disappeared.
“I think I am finally starting to believe you mean that.” You chuckle against him, and as you feel him pull away, you look at him and search his face for any hint of hesitation. But all you find is sincerity, his eyes fixed on you, dark and unwavering, as if you are the only thing anchoring him to this earth.
“And if I do?” Pero asks, his voice low and tinged with an unguarded mischievousness.
Your chest tightens at the rawness in his tone, the unspoken please woven into his words forcing your heart to pound against your ribcage. The warmth of his presence pulls you in, and you swallow nervously, wanting to ensure you have his undivided attention before you reveal your deepest desires.
“Then I beg you to show me.”
His eyes, once filled with mischief, convey disbelief, and he simply stares at you as though he cannot comprehend what he is hearing. The air around you feels charged, heavy with unspoken hunger that neither of you dare to release just yet.
“Amor,” he says, ceasing to breathe until he is certain of what you are asking of him.
“Pero, please.” You clasp onto the collar of his tunic, eyes locked onto his as you will him to understand that you mean your request with every ounce of your being.
The conflict in his eyes is palpable, his jaw clenching as he fights some internal battle, his physical needs pushing past all else.
“You wish for me to-” He stops himself, his words faltering as if he is afraid to say them aloud. Pero brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, the touch featherlight, yet intense enough to send a shiver down your spine, the moment making it impossible to look away.
“Yes,” you nod, praying he can move past any reluctance and see your desire for him as clear as day. “I need you, Pero.”
For a moment, he simply looks at you, as though trying to memorize every detail of your face. Then, with a deep sigh, his gaze softens and he grazes your cheek with his fingers.
“If I have you,” he says quietly, wanting you to understand how fervent his feelings for you are, “I will never again let you out of my sight. I will fight the heavens and the earth to keep you by my side.” His promise should terrify you, the possessiveness and loyalty he displays making you think twice before you completely surrender to him. But the opposite occurs, and you find yourself willing to forever be at his mercy.
“Pero, I am yours,” You reply, balancing yourself on your toes as you tilt your chin up to offer him a final answer. “I have always been yours.”
His lips curve into the faintest smile, a bittersweet expression that speaks of all the pain, longing, and love he has carried for so long. Slowly, he leans in, parting his lips as you both shut your eyes and finally give your hearts away.
Again.
The world around you fades into nothingness as your breath mingles with his own, your lips touching with a mixture of tenderness and desperation. The soft kiss is thick with emotions, and you dare not let go of him, terrified he might disappear should you release him. Pero must feel a similar fear, his hands rough and trembling as he holds onto your waist with one and cups your neck with the other. You both tilt your heads to the side with need to deepen the kiss, and no sooner than you part your lips does Pero, with fierce and unapologetic rawness, collide against you. He presses against you with a fervor that steals the air from your lungs, the hand around your neck slipping into your damp hair and tangling in the strands as he pulls you impossibly closer. His body molds into yours, a growl escaping his throat when he feels your hand find their way to his chest and clutch at him as if your own life depended on his presence.
And when his teeth grace your lower lip, a spark of intensity ignites something primal between you. Your heart beats erratically at the shameful thought storms your mind, and you find yourself wishing with every bit of you that Pero could see through your need and give you what you desire without you needing to beg him for it.
Pero must sense the wanton ache threatening to make itself known because he finally breaks away, not to pull back, but to study your expression and take pride in the effect he holds on you. Your lips tingle, swollen and red from the raw intensity of the exchange, and you cannot help but stare at his fangs, wondering what they would feel like as they sank deep into your skin until he gorged himself on you. Then you meet his eyes and are taken aback by the golden rings piercing through you. It takes you but a moment to understand that he knows what you want from him, and he licks his lips dramatically, savoring the taste of you before he leans down and carries you in his arms.
“Whatever debauched desire you want from me, querida, it is yours.” You take note of the truths between the lines, flushing heatedly at being so seen by the man you have fallen in love with once and learned to love again.
“Take me.” The two words are whispered with assertiveness, and Pero does not need to be told twice, quietly pushing your head to rest on his shoulders as he rushes to his quarters. Neither of you say anything, knowing that should you speak another word, you would have each other out in the open without a single care. Only when you reach the hallway of your rooms does Pero stop and turn to you.
“Do you wish for my bed, or for your own?” The question is asked, not out of reluctance, but out of care. He wants to ensure your comfort, refusing to place you into a distressing space that may have you guessing his loyalty to you.
“I want to be in your bed. I- I want to erase the memories of our last goodbye, the silence that followed us like ghosts. I want to feel the world in your arms, Pero, and nowhere else.” The sentiment is heartbreaking, and Pero nearly falls to his knees at the depth of your emotions. He nods once and makes his way to his quarters, unlocking the door and walking inside as you snap your fingers to shut the door behind you.
He sets you down and gulps nervously, hands etching to strip you bare but waiting for permission to do so. You rest your forehead on his chest to quiet your mind, and when you are sure you can meet his piercing eyes once more, you raise your head and look at him. A faint glow of candle light dances shadows against the stone walls, the tension in the air simmering and threatening to overflow. You lock your gaze upon him, wishing to hear what he has dreamed of, hoping it is not too far from what your mind conjured up of him.
“What do you want?” You ask, allowing his presence to anchor you to the ground so you do not fall over from the proximity of his rigid body.
“I want…you.” Pero says, his hesitance born not from his feelings but the self-control he is fighting to maintain. “I have never felt as deep and as torturous a desire as I feel for you.” His confession pins you to him, and you suddenly feel like a prey ensnared with her predator, haunted by the thought of having him in such a way that the universe deemed unholy.
But how could such love be unholy, when all you seek to do is pray his name like a sweet benediction, and in turn, permit him to prostrate at your feet as he entreats for a glimpse of your affections.
Unable to bear the separation for another moment, you pull away and begin to undo the knots of your clothes. Pero bites into his lower lip, refusing to focus anywhere but your fingers as you unlace the fabric shielding you from his eyes. With each piece of fabric you throw onto the floor, Pero finds it a little more difficult to maintain himself, the last ounce of self-control threatening to evaporate into thin air.
Afraid of what he may do to you, he mirrors you and slowly unclothes himself, finding the fire in your eyes as heated and cardinal as the flame burning his soul. And when you are both left with nothing but your linen undergarments, Pero stretches his hand and takes hold of the band around your breasts, waiting until you nod to unwind it from your body. He slips his fingers beneath the white fabric and pushes it down, no longer able to keep his gaze appropriate as your skin is displayed for his hungry eyes. He looks at you, and he finds his mind conjuring up images of similar moments from a past life, ones that had him kiss and bite along the curve of your delicious breasts until you could not bear it any longer. He ceases to breathe altogether, returning his attention to your face as he steps closer to you and pushes your lower undergarment to the floor, finally allowing him to view you whole.
“You…you undo me. Every glance, every breath, every inch of you.” His voice quivers as he speaks, his hands grasping your waist and forcing you to shiver in return.
“Pero,” you place your hands across his chest, fisting the linen of his shirt and pushing it a little higher, signaling your need to see him. “I wish to see you…all of you.” You gulp anxiously, wanting to simultaneously rapidly surrender to him and slowly fall in his arms. His eyes darken, a mixture of determination and something more primal flickering in his gaze at your request sounding so melodious to his ears. He removes your hands from his chest and takes hold of the edge of his shirt, raising it high above his head and swinging it behind him as he stands in all his glory.
You finally allow yourself to properly view him, and you cannot help but gasp at the glory of his body, the muscles rippling when your gaze falls upon them and envision long nights of passion, soaked in sweat and pleasure.
“Goddess in heaven, you are…breathtaking.” You whisper, fingers training the sharp lines of his jaw, down to his neck and lower to his rigid stomach. His breath quickens beneath your touch, and you feel your heart threaten to beat out of your chest when he grasps your hand and pulls you against him, until your hard nipples brush against the hair on his chest.
“You have stolen the words from my lips.” Pero smirks at you, and you feel a bit dazed from the sudden, possessive touches, wishing he could end your misery then and there, push you down on all force and fill you with his gorgeous cock until you knew nothing but the sound of his name and the heat of his seed spilling inside you. You blink at him, distracted by thoughts of what he may do to you, only to find his grip loosening around your wrist and nearly pull away.
“Is there something on your mind?” Your voice drops, filled with worry at the thought of him doubting you.
“I- I do not wish to hurt you. I fear that should I…should we continue-” Pero hesitates for a moment, uncertainty creeping into his heart as he registers the dazed look about you due to his neediness. He fears what he may do should you continue to be so willing and pliant in his embrace. He knows, and remembers, all that you have done to each other centuries ago, but a part of him understands that this was then.
And you were here, now.
“I have wanted you, for so long mi cielo. I am unsure whether I can be gentle tonight.” You interrupt his train of thought, cupping his face with reverence, until his eyes focus on you once more, and ignore the flying doubts threatening to halt your union.
“You do not need to hold back,” you continue, voice assertive, yet filled with a desperate need that grows hotter the longer you remain so far from him, “not with me.”
“I do not need gentle, Pero. I need you.” You breathe with a finality, pressing your body closer to his until he sees and feels nothing but you. His lips part at your confidence, cock twitching at hearing what you crave from him.
“You will tell me to stop,” he says, voice laced with a warning that you know better than to ignore, “tell me to stop before I go too far.”
“I am yours, always.” your eyes never leave his, the trust between you simmering and reaching a zenith more powerful than any fear. He leans down, molding his lips with your own as he wraps his arms around your thighs and carries you, deepening the kiss when you cross your legs behind his back and swallow his moans. He kneels on the bed, but does not let go of you, slowly moving across the soft sheets until he lays you down against his pillows. You twist your head to the cushions beneath you, taking in Pero’s musk and filling your senses with his scent. He sits back and watches you lose yourself in him. Waiting for you to satisfy your cravings, Pero traces his fingers down your body, clenching his jaws tightly when he flicks a nipple and watches it pucker beneath his touch.
There is a glow about your skin that he cannot fathom, and he commits this moment to memory, wanting to create new visions grounded more in the present than the past.
“Your blood, it sings to me, mi bruja,” Pero groans, forcing a shudder across your very being as his words settle and pull you from your momentary haze. “I can hear it rushing to the surface, desperately pleading to touch my tongue.” He gives you no time to dwell on his promises, falling against you and attacking your neck with wet kisses and teasing bites. You drag your nails across his back, tangling your fingers in his hair as he holds onto you hard enough to brand you. Your scratches sends a new wave of pleasure down his spine, and he continues to lick and nip at your sternum, the top of your breasts, and at last, your hardened peaks. His fingers deftly pinch the other nipple, rolling it aggressively until you finally ask him what you have thought of since you knew who he was to you.
“Do it, please.” You moan, your body aching to feel his teeth sink deep within and drag your blood onto his tongue. He blows air against the cold, damp skin of your breasts, watching you squirm beneath him and shake with shameless lust.
“No, no little one. The first time my teeth sink into you,” he hums his pleasure against you, voice dark and seductive as he leaves a trail of bites down your stomach, “it will be when my cock is deep inside you, filling you with my seed.” He pushes your thighs apart, nesting his hips perfectly against you, his cock twitching against your heated core deliciously, the hard, velvety skin kissing your mound and silently asking it to wait…just a little bit more.
“Ohhhh g-gods,” your hands grip his shoulders tightly, and you muster up the courage to look down, wanting to watch his every move as he finally brings you to the deepest abyss.
“Por favor, mi hechicera, call for me. Call for me as you always have, as I have longed to hear again.” He urges as one hand descends down your body and draws patterns across your inner thighs while the other rests above your heart, wanting to hear it beat his name with each kiss he delivers to your flushed body.
“Pero,” you sigh longingly, the word slipping from your lips both like a prayer and a confession.
“Hmmm, again.” Pero groans, his touches growing more confident, reaching just a bit closer to where you ache for him. He roams his eyes across your body, finding the familiarity of your beauty melancholic yet intoxicating.
“P-Pero…oh-” Again, you moan his name with flagrant agony, suspended between pain and pleasure. He smiles at you then, watching as your spirit recognizes his own and reaches for some semblance of relief. When your eyes remember to open once more, Pero slips his fingers in between your folds and drags his middle finger twice to force your attention on him. You reach for the hand atop your breast, intertwining your fingers with his own and digging your heels into the sheets in preparation for what is to come. You mouth another plea, tears threatening to stream from your eyes as you feel another finger tease your entrance.
“Moan for me, little luna.” He commands, his teeth biting at your upper thigh as you flinch beneath him, the knowledge that he can bring your demise so easily soaking his fingers instantly.
“Please, touch me Pero.”
“Where would you like me to touch you?” Pero’s voice is rough with hunger, the beast within wishing to have you now etching to make himself known with each little whimper you gift him.
“Where I ache for you.” You attempt to bring yourself closer to his hand, fuck yourself on his fingers for some relief, but Pero shakes his head and pulls away, dragging your wetness across your thighs and pressing down on your hips to keep you still.
“Here,” he teases with a smirk, hands laying flat against your waist. “Or here?” He moves his fingers slowly across your stomach, just barely touching your skin, chuckling to himself when he sees how impatient you are becoming. “Perhaps…here.” Knowing he cannot hold back much longer, Tovar brings his hand back to your core, allowing you a single breath before he pushes two fingers deep inside your cunt.
“Yesssss, everywhere. Pero….everywhere.” You arch your back, lost in the sensation of his thick fingers as they prod at your inner walls. Torn between keeping your eyes on him and throwing your head back, you blink hazily at him until you can no longer maintain his gaze, the golden rings suddenly taking over his orbs driving your ecstasy further.
“Do you want more, my love?” He kisses your navel, nosing at the skin and breathing in your scent. His senses flood with your essence, and he drives his fingers deeper, pushing against a place that has you squirming beneath him and reaching for his arms.
“Please, Pero.”
“I have waited for this for centuries,” Pero murmurs, his voice raw with longing.
“As have I.” You barely manage to breathe the sentiment, unable to focus on much else apart from the pleasure he continues to ring from your body.
“You are exquisite.” You push your head aside, biting into the sheets to prevent more noises from spilling into the room. Tovar pouts at your timidity, and he stops moving altogether until you manage to look at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “No, do not shy away from me, mi bruja.” He feels the heat rise between you, and he drags himself lower, until you feel his breath fan over your wet cunt.
“Let me have you, querida.” He groans, knowing that you both have waited a lifetime to feel this intimacy once more. When you nod your consent, Pero dives into you, tongue licking at the sensitive nub until your nails dig roughly into the skin of his forearm.
“Nghhh,” you gasp in shock, the strength with which Pero delivers each stroke of his tongue signaling the ferocity of his desire, the wet movement igniting sparks of pleasure that ripple through your body and leave you trembling under his unrelenting touch. You whine his name, along with incoherent thoughts, one that has you wishing he could somehow sink deeper into you.
“Does that feel good?” His touch is possessive, as dominating and rough as his voice. You wonder how you have passed through life without feeling this each night, but you pay the sadness no mind, wanting to relish in finally being in his arms.
“Hmm,” you instinctively respond to him, skin rising with goosebumps as he wraps his lips around your aroused peak, grazing his teeth across the small muscle until he feels you lose your mind.
“That taste of you…it drives me mad with need, amor.” Pero confesses as he tongues at your folds, driving his fingers harder and quicker inside you until your walls begin to flutter around him, pulling him in deeper with each pass he expertly delivers to your weeping core.
“I can feel you, embracing my fingers, growing more heated and—tight.” The growl that escapes his throat is enough to push you higher to the edge, the desire laced in his words and his actions letting you know this was only the beginning. You look at him then, finding his golden eyes trained directly at you. The knowledge that such a powerful man has willingly chosen to surrender himself to you is intoxicating and you pray for him one last time, finding your past, present, and future in the intensity of his gaze.
“Pero, I-...I’m,” you stammer, the pressure building inside you threatening to spill over against his mouth. He does not let up once, continuing his ministrations until he feels you clench around him even tighter.
“Fall apart for me, amor.” Tovar commands softly, allowing himself a moment of respite before he returns his attention to your warm cunt. “Let me taste your pleasure—now.”
The order comes in between thick laps of his tongue against your folds and harsh thrusts of his digits into your aching core, the sensations overwhelming you until you are powerless. With a few more brushes of his fingers against your quivering walls, you submit yourself to the pleasure, a silent scream signaling your climax to Tovar, the expression of ecstasy on your glowing features forcing him to continue pulling more from your body.
He maintains his gaze upon you, his fingers halting as far inside you as he can reach until he feels a soft spot push against him. He rubs against the swollen bit of you a few times, enclosing his lips around your flushed pearl one last time and sucking as hard as he can. Had his arm not been against your chest, Tovar is sure you would have flown from him, and he maintains his strength against you as you continue coming in his arms, sobbing his name over and over again until he sees your tears wet his sheets.
Not wanting to turn the pleasure uncomfortable, he stops his attention and raises himself from your thighs, slowly slipping his fingers from your core and watching as more wetness seeps out of you.
“You are radiating.” Pero comments, waiting for your eyes to find him before dragging his fingers across his tongue and licking them dry. You let go of his arm and reach for your cunt, covering it with your hands embarrassingly as you attempt to sit up and feel his skin slide against yours. Might it be because of me?” The question is asked before you find his lips and slip your tongue inside his mouth, tasting your arousal on his lips and moaning at the filthy nature of what the two of you are doing.
“You- you know as well as I this is all for you, because of you.” You reply as you kiss across his chest, marveling at the sheer power hiding beneath the scars and muscles on display for your hungry eyes. Sneaking a glance at him, you wait until his golden eyes shine brighter before dragging your hand down his stomach.
“Ahh, b-brujita-” he moans in return, the warmth and softness of your palm holding him hard enough to have his cock still twitch against you. He kisses your temple as he shuts his eyes, feeling your touches grow more confident and teasing.
“Why do you enjoy calling me a witch so…sinfully?” You giggle when he hisses through gritted teeth, your fingers rolling his base right as you drag your nails to the flushed tip of his member.
“B-because you have spun your—oh, your spells upon my heart, bewitching it with your- your soft touches, and sweet words.” Pero admits desperately, his hands resting against your shoulders as you slide your hand back and forth.
“I do not recall doing such intricate designs…amor.” Your smile does wonders to him, the playfulness of your pleasure allowing him to remember nights he thought he could never recall again. Then you use his language, and he feels as if the world around him is passing away into nothing.
“No? T-then explain how madly bewitched I am by your very soul.” There is longing laced around his simple confession, and you cannot help but pull him against you, wrapping an arm around his neck and kissing him passionately as he pushes you against the bed.
“Pero,” the heat you feel in your core intensifies, but you know you want, more than anything, to hold the weight of his cock on your tongue before he takes you.
“Ahhh, hermosa- por favor, sácame de mi miseria.” You push him on his back and he falls willingly, fingers twisting in your hand instantly when he sees you descend down his body and continue teasing his cock.
“Will you let me have you as well?” You ask, kissing and nipping down his body, never once breaking his gaze as you lick down his navel and breathe against the base of his cock, waiting for him to give you permission.
“You do not need-” He begins to say but you cut him off with a kiss to the tip of his cock, claiming his as yours. The action shocks him into silence, and he throws his head back, revealing the sharp canines he tries his best to keep in hiding.
“Let me taste your cock on my lips, please!” You beg, mouth and hand aching to feel him against you.
“Soy tuyo.” He sighs in defeat, resting his thumb against your lips and rubbing the plump skin twice before nodding in acceptance. Not a second passes before your mouth wraps completely around him, and Pero is sure he has died and gone to the highest of heavens, the warmth of your throat proving to him that such wonders do exist.
“Ahhh diablilla,” his breath comes in ragged gasps, fingers twisting into your hair again as you look at him and continue to take him as far down as you could. A mixture of his arousal and your saliva streams down your chin, and Pero whines when he sees you drag it across the rest of him and massage his base, not caring for how filthy you may look.
“You look beautiful…with your lips wrapped around my cock.” He groans, hands tightening on your neck as you move your head up and down the length of him. When you are sure will not turn away, you lightly pass your teeth against the crown of his cock, watching as his hips push forward unintentionally and send him deeper inside you.
“How far are you willing to go to make me lose my sanity, woman?” He snarls at you, shaking his head in disbelief as you continue to pleasure you, as you know. You smirk as you worship him, removing your mouth from his velvety, hard skin for a moment to respond and returning your touches again to prevent him from retorting in kind.
“Far,” your eyes meet his with a spark of defiance and mischief, and Tovar is powerless beneath you, completely and utterly powerless.
“I- I fear you may not have to…I- I am,” he stammers, groaning in unbelievable rapture as he imagines what your cunt must feel like if your mouth flutters around his length like an angel’s wings.
“I cannot take much more, love…you feel too- too heavenly.” Pero admits shamelessly, his body trembling with the overwhelming sensations coursing through his veins. You shake your head then, watching as the action spirals him back against the bed once more.
“I thought I was your little devil?” You respond, kissing along his wet cock and watching as he fights to maintain some semblance of control.
“Oh god…the devil was once an angel, querida.” His voice is strained with need, and you are unsure if he wishes for you to continue or halt.
“If I am an angel, then you must be my god…my master.” You whisper to him then, moving your hands across him and pressing your breasts near the reddened tip to prove to him you are as dazed, if not more, by his existence as he appears to be by your own.
“No…no little one, it is you who is the master of this lonely heart. You and no one else.” You do not expect such a heartfelt revelation to break through the wanton desires swimming in his golden eyes, the words forcing you to stop altogether as you memorize the somber and hopelessly-in-love features gazing at you.
“Come here!” Pero uses your momentary distraction to his advantage, dragging you against his body and pushing you beneath him once more, nesting his hips perfectly in between your thighs and snatching both of your wrists above your head.
“But I-” you begin, but he silences you with a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth hungrily until he can taste his arousal in your mouth. The knowledge that you both swallowed the other’s essence deep inside of you sends his heart into a frenzy, and you must reach a similar conclusion because you respond to his vigor with as much madness, swirling your tongue around his own and praying he can finally put you out of your misery and take you.
“Another twist of your tongue and I would have lost myself in your mouth.” He warns as he kisses your jaw, laughing when he hears you question him through a fit of giggles.
“Is that so bad?”
“No, but if I am finally having you, then I am coming in your pretty cunt first…and then I will fill your other holes. ¿Me entiendes?” His voice drops with desire, eyebrows raised in determination as you finally allow his words to settle in your mind.
“Pero, take me. Now…and do not dare to be gentle.” You plead, burning with a need to feel his cock brand your cunt as his.
“I want you to ruin me,” you confess, hands balling into fists as you attempt to loosen his grip from around you. He growls at your request, letting go of your arms and smiling when your arms reach around his back in an attempt to pull him closer to you. “And put me back together…with your touch etched on every inch of my skin.”
“You will tell me if-” You cut him off one last time with a fierce kiss, nodding when you release him and reach for his cock.
“Look at me,” he drags your attention away from the space between your bodies to his golden eyes, staring at you closely until he ensures you are focusing on nothing but him. “And know that I am never letting you go.” His demand is low and full of promise, and before you can answer him, he removes your hand from his length and drags it twice across your folds, not wasting another moment before pushing himself into your tightening walls.
“F-fuck,” the expletive would shock him had he not known you, and he rests his weight against his hands, sheathing himself completely inside you until there is nothing but the air separating your bodies. He waits for you to breathe, and when he is sure you have adjusted to him, he pulls out as far as he can before pushing back inside with a groan.
“You are…my desires incarnate.” He groans, one hand gripping your hips as the other fists into the sheets beneath your head.
“Your cock is—it feels like a fire blazing inside of me. Hot, heavy and s-so fucking hard.” Your body arches towards him, and you cannot help but lose yourself in his eyes as his thrusts deliver with a steady, roughening pace. Your words undo him, and he cannot control his body from pushing harder into you, the feeling of your cunt, so warm and inviting, making him wish he can stay attached to you forever.
“I feel you in my soul, my love.” He nudges his nose against your chin, breathing heavily as your fingers tug on his hair and beg him for more.
“Ohhh, yes!”
Your cries match his groans, and as you find that familiar pleasure build once more, you are met with a vision not unlike the one you are experiencing now, one that has you looking forward to all the nights you would share with Pero now that you found him again.
“Your cunt is heaven, as if you were made for me. I fear I will never get enough of you.” Pero shakes his head as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, finger bruising your skin as your sighs grow louder in his ears.
“You have…completely undone me, Pero.” Your gasps are music to his ears, and he feels your core clench harder around him, pulling him in deeper with each push of his hips.
“How is that,” he asks, his voice gruff with need, “I can feel your heartbeat,” you tilt your head to the side as he sucks on your neck and marks you as his, “each time you clench around me?”
“Please,” unable to form more words, you plead for him to finally drink from you, wanting to be connected to him in every way possible.
“Has your body learned my touch already, mi bruja?” He chuckles at you then, watching as your skin comes alive the more he shapes your cunt to his length.
“Does it remember my cock when- oh fuck, when it claimed you time after another all those years ago?” His hand caresses down your side, until it rests against your thigh and pushes it higher. You cross your legs behind his back, his cock filling you deliciously.
“Pero, you are killing me.”
“No, little one, I am calling for your witch’s blood to pray for me.” His whole being is raw with need, and he grows crazed when your body responds to his madness and glows for him.
“Oh, she likes to hear how I crave her?” You want to sob at his teasing, but with each word he whispers to you, you feel yourself growing closer to the edge of release.
“Does that please you—knowing that, when I fill you with my seed, and keep you in my arms forever, that your witch will be ruined for all eternity? Does that make you wet, mi bruja traviesa?”
“Yes, oh- oh gods, Pero, please. Claim me!” You cry out at the sentiment, body shuddering with anticipation of what you are confident will be the greatest pleasure known to the world.
“Lord knows how fucking gratifying it will feel to have your blood course through my veins…knowing that I have feasted upon you, mierda- ah mierda…until you have ruined me.” His growls increase, as do his thrusts, and when you turn to look at him and find his eyes no longer golden but red, you beg him one last time, knowing he will not turn you down once more.
“I- I am close…so close.”
“Where can I-” He stares at your skin, unsure of where you would rather hold evidence of his bite. There is madness storming in his eyes, one that has you cutting him off and telling him to do whatever he wishes with you.
“Wherever you desire, my love.”
“I…love you, my beautiful witch. With every part of me capable of knowing such a feeling.” He confess, his hands trembling as he wraps his hand around your neck and tilts your head far back so he can gain access to the top of your breasts. Your body is prepared to explore in pleasure, and when you feel him kiss the top of your nipple twice, you ask him to join you.
“Pero, be with me.”
The moment his teeth pierce your sink, a strangely familiar warmth washes over your body, and you flutter around his cock instantly, the pleasure of your coupling and his feeding blinding your sight and sending you into a state of ecstasy you long to experience again already. You can hear him groan against you, his seed filling your womb with long, hot ropes of warmth that mirrors the heat beating against your chest. He gulps you down hungrily, enough to satiate the desire he feels for you but not to send you into a sleep. When he is sure he has had his fill of you, he clenches his jaw and pulls away, licking the wound twice to prevent it from bleeding any further.
Pero looks at you then, a part of him afraid of how you may react when you find the beast in him wanting for more. But as you always have, you caress his cheek gently and pull him down, kissing his lips one last time as you finally whisper those words to him.
“I l-love you Pero, oh so much.”
He nearly cries at the sentiment, unsure of what good he has done in his life that deserves such affections from you. Slowly, he pulls himself away from your body, wincing in discomfort when the sudden lack of your heat washes over him. You pout in return, wanting to remain filled with him until the morning, but knowing that you both needed a moment of respite if you were to continue through the night.
Pero falls to his back, not wasting a moment as he pulls you to his side, until you are intertwined in each other. Neither of you say anything, and Pero meditates on the words you whispered to him seconds ago, wondering if you were merely remembering your past or truly meant what you have conveyed to him.
The room feels suspended in time, the air heavy with the revelations you parted to one another throughout the night. He leans over and urges you with a question.
“What can you remember?” He asks then, wanting to know, more than anything, if you recall him the way he knows you.
“I feel as if I- I remember everything.” You look up at him and smile, fingers drawing patterns across his damp chest, wanting to be sure you were still in his arms.
“Tell me,” his breath fans over your temple as he kisses you once, reutrning the smile on your features and waiting to hear your response.
“I remember your eyes, how safe they always made me feel. And I remember your touch, the way you tended to be soft when you loved me, and the roughness you brought when you craved me.” Your heart pounds as you recall the visions that have plagued your mind for weeks on end. And Pero’s lips part, but no words escape him. He swallows hard, his throat bobbing as you continue to prove to him that, whatever your heart knows now, is more important that what you have felt for him before.
“Most of all, I remember how deeply you loved me and how I could not breathe without being in your arms.”
The silence stretches between you, heavy and intimate with promises of what is to come. When you speak again, your voice is tinged with an almost unbearable sadness, afraid of what his answer will be to the question that plagued your spirit for a while now.
“Where will you go…when this is all over?”
“I will find those responsible for our lost time,” his jaw is set with determination, tone cold and resolute when he offers you nothing but the truth.
“And I will kill every last one of them.” Your brows knit together when you see pain flicker across his face, the memories of what your kind and his have done to you pushing you to ask one last request of him.
“Let me come with you.” Your hand brushes against his, playing with the veins on his wrist as you wait for a response.
“I cannot, mi corazón.” He shakes his head and silently apologizes to you when he sees anguish etched into your very soul.
“Please?”
“Have I not promised you long ago that these hands were for you? That I would do whatever it takes to keep you safe.” He cups your cheek, the smile he aims at you letting you know that there is a future for the both of you when he is finished with his mission.
“Can I not offer you the same promise?” You lean into his touch, wanting to prove to him that, just as his hands are for you, your magic is for him, and him alone.
“Everything I do, my love, is for you. My anger, my wrath, my revenge…it is all for you. I will raise hell on earth if anyone strives to separate us once more. Why would you bloody your hands, when I care not for my own?” Tovar says firmly, wanting you to be certain that his love and loyalty will never pass away again, that he will surely return to your side when he is confident no one means you any harm.
“Because, Pero…I never understood love until I felt your hands on me, and I want your hands to carry my heart. But for you to do so, I must ask the same in return. I must drench my hands in the same blood, if only to feel worthy of caring for such a gift from you.” Your voice softens his expression, and you pray to the old gods that he sees how far you are willing to go to keep him safe from harm.
“You wish to carry my heart, when you yourself are my heart?” A storm of emotions swirls around his question, and he leans down to meet your lips in a chaste kiss once more, shaking with the thought of ever putting you in danger again.
“Pero,” you hold his gaze then, once again knowing that he will not refuse you now that he sees you are just as wanting to rid the world of those who hurt you as he is.
“Sí, mi amor?” He breathes, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
“Let me protect you as you once protected me.” You say with determination, and watch as his eyes struggle to comprehend your request.
“Please, my love. Let me.”
“I could never deny you any request.” With a sigh of defeat, he chuckles at you and nods in agreement, closing his eyes and surrendering to the knowledge that you will always hold him powerless in the palm of your hand.
“Mi alma, you are too entangled in my soul for me to ever be apart from you. Whatever you desire, you have it.”
“Te amo, mi bruja.” He murmurs, voice thick with emotion, and heart even heavier with the love he sees etched, not just in your eyes, but your very existence.
“And I love you.” Your words are a promise, a bond unbroken by time or circumstance, one that you solidify with a kiss to his heart before you allow the Luxor night air to lull you to sleep.
Translation:
Maga - mage
Bruja - witch
Hechicera - Sorceress/enchantress
Capulla - dumbass
Querida - dear
Hermosa - beautiful
Luna - moon
Cielo - heaven
Cariño - darling/sweetheart
Alma - spirit
Vida - life
Amor - love
Corazón - heart
Sácame de mi miseria - put me out of my misery
Soy tuyo - I am yours
Diablilla - little devil
¿Me entiendes? - Do you understand me?
Bruja traviesa - naughty witch
Mierda - shit
