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sugardaddytonystark · 4 years ago

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Release Life’s Rapture (part 3)

You stay at your godfather’s ludus for the summer, where you meet Jacobus, his champion gladiator.

author: sugardaddytonystark pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader word count: 2038

masterlist

x picture by @264jana x

That night, you dream of making love to Sol, god of the sun. His hair is as brown as the earth, eyes deep and blue as the dawning sky. His skin is bronzed from the sun to which he so lovingly attends, and in return for his diligence, his entire body is encircled in a halo of everlasting golden light.

You and your god are lain upon a large tanned hide, abed a field of green grass, deepened to a dim blue-green in the dark night. Sol looms above you, a single point of light against an otherwise black sky. He is bare as you, and where the god touches you, your flesh burns, his hands too hot for a mere mortal to withstand, his mouth too scalding. But there’s always a price for pleasure, and a night with a being as divine as he is worth the pain in exchange.

So you wrap your thighs tight around the god’s hips as he thrusts into you, unrelentless, his cock thick and heavy inside of your aching cunt. He’s filling you up, stretching you full, making you feel a burning so different from the fevered warmth of his skin against your own. Your back arches as you seek out more contact, your heated, human flesh so fragile against the sun god’s searing skin.

Your lover has your wrists above your head, one of his wide, rough palms holding them in place. The other is gripping your jaw, turning your face away from his so that he may nose at your throat and cheek and ear. His hot breath sends shivers down your spine and when Sol speaks, words like whispers so deep and low, you can’t make out their meaning, but delight in the sounds all the same.

Your cries reach out into the deep, empty, endless night. The noise echo back into your ears and you feel blissfully alone - detached from the world and your existence, everything narrowed down to you and your god and this familiar but indescribable thing coiling in your stomach.

Your breath catches as you feel Sol’s pace quicken, his hands tightening around your wrists and jaw. He bites down against the curve of your neck and hot tears spill down your cheeks as you feel him find his release inside of you.

You sob and shake, you ache and burn. Sol whispers your name back into your mouth, guiding you closer and closer and closer with his hands and his cock and his words. You feel him around you, inside you, urging you on, but when you finally reach your peak, it’s not the god’s name that you call out in prayer.

Blessed night has settled into another day, your god forced to return to the sky once more to fulfill his duty, leaving you with mere memories of his blazing touch. But, as a remembrance, he sends sunlight streaming through your open window, stroking your body and keeping you warm and satiated until the time may come for the god to descend upon you once again.

You long to stay abed, to wait for that moment when night falls so that you may once again greet your lover with open arms and open legs. You want to once again lose yourself to dreams - a much more appealing prospect than this waking nightmare. Even half asleep, you feel the sudden sting of freshly remembered heartbreak.

You’re grateful for your god - the divine Sol who saw you hurting and granted you solace from your pain. Hair like the earth, you remember, like the soil from whence life springs. Rich brown and lush and soft beneath your fingers. His body built like it was made for toil, strong and deliberately fashioned. And his eyes – blue like the sky. Like the sea.

Unfortunately, your companion, Octavia, does not allow you to dwell in fantasy. She’s no longer beside you in bed, always early to rise and greet the day before the sun has had a chance to ascend.

“You’re awake,” she says, more a command than a question.

“Yes. And I had the most wonderful dream,” you tell her, giving up all thoughts of returning to slumber as you stretch out along the bed, arms up and back arched. “I fucked a god. He set my body aflame and then I turned to ash in his hands.”

“And this was a good dream?” Octavia asks, incredulous.

You sigh. “It was magnificent.”

You sit up in bed as you recall your dream, rubbing your wrists, sore from where your lover pinned you down in his blistering grasp. Octavia reaches out and grabs your wrists in her own hand, looking it over, and when you look down at it as well, you see bruises instead of burns. The marks of someone other than your god upon you.

“Better to suffer a lover forged from dreams,” Octavia says, releasing your wrist, “than one based in cruel reality.”

“One and the same,” you reply softly. Because you’re no fool. You know the being who visits your dream is both god and man, one image of the other. “Why do you think Jacobus so cruel?” you continue, louder this time. “Do you think he’s always been that way?”

“I think that you should remove him from your thoughts,” Octavia tells you as she returns, holding a cream length of fine fabric for your stola. “Would it please you to wear this today?”

“He is well removed,” you tell her in reply, and Octavia scoffs.

You pinch the fabric between your fingers, considering. The color is too bland to convey how you feel this morning. You need something deeper, and more rich. “I have something blue, do I not? Like… like the sky right at the height of the sun’s ascent. Something like that?”

Octavia raises an eyebrow at you, unimpressed. “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

After you groom and dress, you find yourself on the villa balcony, where Alexander and Ophelia are eating their morning meal. On the table before them is a modest spread of cheese and bread and fruit. In their hands are ever-present cups of wine. Behind the pair, a slave cools them off with a large fan made of feathers as they lounge upon their cushioned chaises.

The heat is almost overwhelming, even in the mid-morning when the sun has yet to reach its peak. Already, a thin sheen of sweat has gathered on your skin. Already, you can feel the fevered weight of existence heavy on your shoulders.

The heat and the drought has been a source of discontentment for all in Capua, the shortage of water drying out even the most well-attended bath and turning once-fertile soil into dust. Below the balcony, the gladiators are kicking up the dust and the sand with every movement, the sun baking the grains into a hard-packed floor for the men to move around upon. It crumbles underfoot and sends clouds of earth into the air, covering the men and all things else lowly enough to get in its way.

But this is all commonplace to you now. The crash of wooden sword against wooden shield, of dull-tipped spear and trident, of pain and triumph, have all come to be familiar sounds to you and this morning fares no differently. The men have no doubt been at it for hours already, waking early to begin their training, breaking for their morning meal, then back at it once more before you were even out of bed.

You chance a look down at the men, and your eyes are immediately drawn toward Jacobus, brandishing two swords against another gladiator with sword and shield. His usual demeanor is darkened, his ferocity obvious by tenfold today, and you can’t help but believe that you are the cause.

You wonder if the gladiator sought companionship last night after you were so viciously turned away. You never sent anyone in your stead, as he requested, not able to bear the thought of another giving him the pleasure that you so desperately wish you could give. Did Jacobus blame you for soiling the night of such a celebrated victory? Will he ever forgive you your desire and your deceit?

The champion looks up toward the balcony, blue eyes ablaze, and you avert your gaze by busying yourself with choosing just the right bunch of grapes from a serving tray held up to you by one of Alexander’s slaves.

“The men are of a poor form today,” you muse, attempting to steady your heart as you pluck a grape off of its stem. You place the fruit in your mouth and find the courage to look back down onto the training ground. With both relief and disappointment, you find that Jacobus has once again resumed his training.

“Wine and whores do have a way of dulling the senses,” Alexander replies. “Which reminds me, how did the champion enjoy his gift?”

You give your godfather a false smile, already weary of the reminder of the night passed. “She was well received,” you answer, not missing the way Octavia looks at you out of the corner of your eye. “Who would not enjoy such a remarkable tribute?”

Before Alexander can respond, the snap of a whip resonates through the training ground and up onto the balcony, drawing the attention of those upon it. You take a step closer and both Alexander and Ophelia stand to get a better look at what is transpiring down below.

“Attend!” Doctore bellows, voice carrying through the air. The men halt their training and turn their attention to Fury, the Doctore – trainer – of Alexander’s ludus. “Forget everything you learned outside these walls. For that is the world of men. We are more! We are gladiators!”

The men cheer, a great roar rising up to where you stand that nearly forces you back in its enthusiasm. Your hands grip the banister to keep you steady, listening intently as if Doctore was speaking to you and not the gladiators in his charge.

“Study. Train. Bleed!” Doctore continues. “And one day your name will be legend, spoken in hushed whispers of fear and awe. As the city speaks of Jacobus, the Champion of Capua!”

More cheers as the gladiator stands distinguished among his brothers. In your chest, you feel a swell of pride. But also, irritation. You’ll have no solace from your pain here and you will not waste your day grieving over what should have been. You feign disinterest while taking a bite of cheese.

“But his legend was not birthed in the arena,” Doctore says. “It was given life here, in this ludus. Under the sting of my whip! Attack!”

The men go at it again with a renewed vigor, grunting and howling, wooden swords clashing with dull but resonating thuds. How easily these men are worked into a fervor! And how easily your passion swells likewise. This business of gladiators is a sordid thing, but you would be false to say that there is no art in it. Surely, anyone who watches someone such as Jacobus move could see the skill and cleverness in every gesture.

“Doctore, attend,” Alexander calls to Doctore, then turns to kiss Ophelia’s temple. “We are off to market.”

His words pique your interest. You feel as though you will go mad if you stay stuck in the villa all day with nothing to entertain you save the sounds of the gladiators training. Besides, you think you should buy something new for the reception for the Vulcanalia. This will be the first time in ages that you will be able to socialize with people other than your godfather and his wife, and you plan to make the most of it.

"Godfather, allow me to accompany you,” you say. “Weeks in Capua and I have yet to go to market!"

Alexander considers you for a moment and then nods his head, giving you the approval that you need. Your smile must be infectious because the otherwise somber man’s lips upturn slightly as he notes your excitement.

“Let us away, then,” Alexander says to you, then turns and heads inside the villa, you following close behind.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #dahlia writes stuff #fic release life's rapture

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eridanusco · 6 years ago

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Lunar Chaos- The Beginning

Lunar Chaos- The Beginning.

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Warnings: Violence, Implied Smut, Character Death

Word count: 1,031

Summary: From Chaos, they were born. Archaic deities, creators of worlds and life. Residing in the heavens, they watched over their creations. There was but one rule- do not consort with mortals. When (Y/N), pure Goddess of Earth and Moon falls for two mortal warriors, she is cast out of the sky and cursed. She will search for her loves in every life they live- but with each death, their memories are reset. Will she find a way to break the curse, or will she spend eternity watching them die?

(A/N): Here’s part 1 guys! I’m so excited to see where this series takes us, and I hope you enjoy! My tag list is still open, so feel free to send an ask if you like this.

Your name: submit What is this?

Laying on your stomach, you sigh as you feel fingertips ghosting down your back. Turning your head, you gaze lovingly on the man to your left..

“So handsome,”

You say, lifting up your hand to brush the not quite stubble of the dark-haired beauty.

“The fates must have taken pity on me, making our paths cross.”

A pair of lips gently follows the curve of your right shoulder, prompting you to crane your neck. The gorgeous blonde gazes into your eyes, emotion swirling in their cerulean depths. Reaching over you to your other partner, he smiles, linking their fingers.

“We’re the lucky ones, goddess. I speak for myself and James when I say that having your attentions never seemed attainable.”

With a contented moan, you roll to your back, the silk sheets whispering sweet things against your smooth skin. Reflections of candle flames danced along the royal blue sheets, highlighting the fabric. James moved with you, nuzzling into your chest- not unlike a child.

“I never dreamed I’d have you, Steve. Much less her.”

Settling in on either side of you, Steve and James rested their entwined hands on your stomach. Although you were content here in your temple with the warriors you loved, your heart was in turmoil. As if sensing it, James propped his chin on the valley between your breasts, gazing worriedly at you.

“Have we offended you, my lady?”

“Gods no, James. I just fear the consequences of our love.” you sigh, noting the way your lovers’ faces fell. “I mean no harm, my darlings. It pains me to be the bringer of discontentment- but you’re too valuable for me not to fret.”

“Lady love, leave the notion be for now. Let us bask in the warmth you bring, and share our love. In this moment, we are a true threesome. No gods, no warriors. Just James, (Y/N), and Steve.”

You nod, your men already curling around you in preparation for sleep. Drifting off, you wish the pain in your heart would settle.

With a cry, you awoke- you felt the wrath of a god hurtling towards your temple. No sooner had you cried out for your lovers as they sprung to action, arming themselves with the swords and shields that never were far from grasp. The ground quaking, thunder booming all around you. A blinding light filled your temple, bringing with it a fury so fierce your own powers wakened. Standing tall with an armed warrior on each side, you prepared to fight.

Flames leaped in the eyes of your foe. While handsome, the anger twisted his face into something ugly and hateful. Garbed in gleaming gold armor, he faced your trio.

“You!” He spat. “You’re a disgrace.”

Standing tall, you moved in front of Steve and James, putting all of his attention towards you. Shielding them. Already, your mind was racing. Your gifts weren’t offensive or violent. You quickly evaluated your surroundings, trying to come up with a plan as well as protect your men. Unfortunately, they weren’t on the same page as you.

James and Steve synchronously spun in front of you, their shields meeting and swords ready for blood.

The god tossed lightning at their shields, laughing when it bounced off.

“Mortals. They never seem to recognize that their place is at our feet.”

“Our feet? You’re the one who looks down on them, Egan.”

“I can see that. You’ve stooped to a new low, (Y/N). Do you understand what you’ve done? The heavens are in chaos, the balance upset. You’ve gone against everything we stand for!”

“We stand for them!” you yell. “We sit up there, on our perches, protecting them! Loving them! You’re the disgrace. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You’ll regret this.”

You see the power gather in his eyes. Flexing your hands, the vines on the walls came to life, wrapping around his arms and legs. They carried him into the air, suspending him.

“Leave!” You shouted to the warriors. “Find shelter! I’ll come for you.”

“You’ll come for no one!” Roaring, fire traveled across his skin, incinerating his bonds. Disregarding you, Steve and James leaped to action, working familiarly beside one another. When Steve thrust, James slashed. Effortlessly, Egan countered each strike. You willed the vines to life again, wrapping their thorns around his throat. You called your bow from the heavens, it appearing in a shaft of moonlight. You drew the string back and prepared to fire when lightning struck you square in the chest, flinging you through the stone wall. Dazed, you try to get up when through the rubble you watch as your warriors are struck by lightning and thrown.

“This isn’t the end. You’ll pay for betraying me- betraying your kind for this filth.”

Kicking James aside, he looks down on the pair of them.

“After this, you’ll wish you could die.” He says to you. Powerless to stop him, you watched in horror as he begins to chant, the room filling with a purple light. He raises a bronze sword that snaps with electricity. As his sword descends, you scream- it’s an inhuman sound, full of anguish. His sword cuts cleanly through the two men.

Egan turns to you, eyes full of triumph.

“Kill me. Egan, I beg of you.”

“This isn’t the end, sister. I’d never end your suffering so quickly. I cast their souls out, cursing them- and you as well. I’ve doomed you to an eternity of search and heartbreak.”

“Brother, how could you? They were innocent!”

“They’ll come back, dear (Y/N). They’ll live many, many lives. But they’ll never remember you.”

Wordlessly you stare at him, wondering when he had become this cruel.

“You’ll remember them, of course. And in each life, you’ll feel compelled to find them. As for the rest, well- I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

Winking, he shoots up through the roof of the temple into the starry night. You crawl over to Steve and James, sobbing as you drag their now lifeless bodies into your lap. Across the world, the earth shook. Crops wilted, plants died. The sky wept for the goddess whose only sin was love.

Tags:

Lunar Chaos: @barnesrogersvstheworld @bitsandbobsandstuff @moonbeambucky @sonoflac @rebel-broken-angel @264jana @sargesbestgirl @luvmeawayz @myshakespeareandarling @champagnejoker @wrthyofluv @shareece-erica @ravennaofasgard @shynara51 @demondeansdomme @mlehbleh @prettyyoungtragedy @blackcat995

If your name has a strike, I couldn’t tag you!

Everything: @theshortegg

#lunar chaos #stucky #stucky x reader #stucky fanfic #bucky x reader #steve x bucky #steve x reader #steve rogers #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #chris evans #seb stan #sebastian stan #marvel #marvel fanfic #greek mythology #gods and goddesses

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thelittleblackfox · 6 years ago

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Okay, so the fic isn't finished, but it's 50k so WOOOOOO!

Tagging @264jana @krycek-asks and @daphneblithe as it's relevent to your interests ;)

Update: to those lovely people interested in the mug, it's by the lovely @264jana and you can find their work on Redbubble

#nanowrimo #a handful of sand #you want historical au?#you want romani bucky?#you want to help me edit (sobs)

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ready2comply · 6 years ago

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We have some amazing artists in this fan base.

@264jana @petite-madame

#sebastian stan #seb stan #meme lord #sebastians stans #who the hell is bucky #winter soldier

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daybreak96 · 6 years ago

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@petite-madame sebstan_winter_fan =

@264jana

I wish I had all the artist on here but I don’t but NUGHHH

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learisa · 8 years ago

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Music Shuffle Meme

Tagged by @ghostofasoldier and @kenobi-and-barnes Rules: shuffle music(no skips), write down first ten songs, tag ten people. 1. Phoenix by Molly Sandén 2. Protectors of the Earth by Two Steps from Hell 3. Dead inside by Muse 4. Stars by Skillet 5. Wonderland by Natalia Kills 6. All the right moves by Onerepublic 7. Emerald Sword by Rhapsody 8. Roses by Poets of the Fall 9. Far away Nickelback 10. Cut the Cord by Shinedown @breexwrites, @winter-childrens, @264jana

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sugardaddytonystark · 7 years ago

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Release Life’s Rapture (part 2)

You stay at your godfather’s ludus for the summer, where you meet Jacobus, his champion gladiator.

author: sugardaddytonystark pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader word count: 2388

masterlist

x picture by @264jana x

Alexander has already moved Jacobus’s living quarters. No longer does he sleep in the dank, dark bowels of the villa, but across the training arena, underneath the open sky. His room is one of four, the three unoccupied on either side of his own, built in to the mountainous cliffs that surround your godfather’s home. It offers him not only a reprieve from the commotion of the ludus, but privacy as well, of which you are thankful for.

And while the night gives way to celebration for his fellow gladiators, the champion chooses to spend his time in said cell, apart from the others, instead of reveling in the joy that he himself brought to the House of Pierce.

You try not to retch at the sights and smells and sounds, all so overpowering to the senses. The gladiators and the whores bought for the night are lost in their celebration, drinking and fucking, paying you no mind. But even so, you attempt not to draw attention to yourself, winding your way through the maze of bodies like a mouse, nose turned toward promising reward.

You only feel as though you can breathe again once you step outside underneath the night sky, but just barely. The air is dry, the ground parched from lack of rain, the dust unsettling with every step. It’s still hot, despite the late hour, and you can feel the promise of sweat prickling at your skin as you make your way across the training arena.

Your heart is pounding, stomach fluttering as you knock on Jacobus’s cell door, and in your eagerness, you open it before he has the opportunity to grant you entry.

You close the door behind yourself, hand lingering on the rough wood to give yourself another moment before turning toward the gladiator. You watch as he stands from the bed with a slow and weary stretch, not at all threatened by your sudden appearance.

You’ve never been so close to the man, always looking down at him from the villa balcony or pulvinus at the arena, and from your position now you can see than he is even bigger than you imagined, taking up all the space in the already miniscule cell.

He is bare but for his subligaria, his skin glowing in the candlelight, and the light too, accentuating the lines around his eyes. He looks… tired, world-weary, but even so, he still maintains an air of strength and superiority about him.

You look up at him beneath fluttering eyelashes as he walks toward you, only a few sauntering steps to get to where you stand, your heart beat hastening as his eyes, so sapphire blue, never leave your own.

A small smirk slowly forms upon his face, and in your momentary weakness from the glorious sight, you don’t respond quickly enough when he reaches out and takes your jaw in his calloused hand. He turns your head first this way and then that, and although you are unsure of his intentions, you allow him to do so. After a moment of appraisal, he releases you, but makes no move to retreat.

“You’re bold to be here,” he says, voice rough but quiet.

“I am bold to my purpose,” you reply, attempting to steady your own voice. “I come bearing gifts. Wine for our champion.”

You hold up the amphora of wine to emphasize your point, along with two cups that you brought for him and yourself. You then set the cups on a small table beside you, but before you can pour the wine, Jacobus lets out a laugh, startling and confusing you.

“Do you find me amusing?” you ask, cheeks aflame.

Jacobus takes a step even closer to you, and you don’t know whether to stay put, firm in your courage, or to move away, farther from his reach. You choose to stand your ground, not giving him any reason to doubt your devotion.

“Though you do bear a striking resemblance to your slave,” he says, “I am neither simple nor blind.”

You are stunned speechless. No one has ever caught on to your scheme, recognized you in the guise of your companion. No one has ever given you a second look while hiding true self behind false façade, and then here is this man, not with you but for a moment, and he can see through you like glass.

“I wonder what venture is so great,” he continues, “that you would put yourself in such compromising position.”

There’s no point in denying it now. No reason not to voice true intent.

“I have noticed how eyes wander to the balcony as you train,” you tell him, “in them something akin to desire. The same in which is reflected in my own.”

“Desire?” he repeats, a question.

“Yes,” you reply, regaining confidence. “And I desire only the finest in all things. Silks from the ports of Neapolis, exotic furs from across the seas. The most exquisite foods, the sweetest confections. And now I desire the finest gladiator, a warrior from beyond the mountains, standing a masterpiece as though chiseled by the gods themselves. Better than the softest furs, the most succulent fruits. Better than all the wonders of the world combined.”

With a trembling hand, you allow yourself to reach out and touch him, fingers fluttering down the hard expanse of his chest. His skin is hot, slick with oil from his cleansing. Oh! you think, to be the strigil in which he must hold so tightly in hand every night, to feel the curves of his body, the hard planes.

How such a simple thing causes you envy, yet he is here with you now, and you would touch him, memorizing his every inch, every detail of his form, carved so carefully as though lovingly tended to by the greatest master of the art.

You follow the trail of dark hair that leads down from his stomach to the top of his subligaria, disappearing beneath the inconvenient fabric.

“You are a thing of beauty, are you not?” you say, more to yourself than to him.

You don’t wander any further down, but instead, you run your hand back up his stomach, his chest, his neck. Your fingers trail across the braid down the side of his scalp, behind his ear, but before you can sink your fingers into his hair, he grabs your wrist and stops you.

“You see me as a thing to add to your collection?” he asks. “A trinket for you to use?”

You stare at him in confusion, taken aback at his tone. You thought he’d be flattered by your appreciation of him. Did he not realize that your declaration was one of praise, words a reflection of the heart?

“I do not mean it as a slight,” you tell him.

He growls, “Though I receive it as one.”

“Most men in your position would be pleased!”

“My position?” he repeats, jerking you closer by your wrist. “You think because you are Roman and I am slave, I would drop to fucking knees to please you? That I should be flattered that you would deign to look upon me with something other than contempt?”

“No! I merely –”

“You are used to getting what you want,” he continues. “But I do not want a spoiled Roman whore.”

You gasp at his words and begin to fight against him, but he is immoveable. You cannot pull your wrist from his firm grasp, and in your anger and frustration, you drop the amphora resting in your other arm to the ground, the clay shattering and wine covering your feet.

You use your now free hand to try to push him away, but he only takes that wrist in his other hand, trapping you completely.

“Have you been so long a slave,” you ask, fatigued from your struggle, “that you have forgotten when someone does not treat you as one?!”

His nostrils flare, eyes darken like a storm, as he forces you back against the door. He holds both of your wrists in his grasp, above your head, and in your fear you no longer fight against him, allowing him to do with you what he wishes in hopes that you’ll be left with no more than bruised skin.

“You have not treated me like a slave?” he asks.

His voice is soft again as he bends down to speak to you, his lips so close to yours they would brush if he so desired them too. It’s a cruel imitation of a near kiss, so like the one you would have risked all to receive before you stepped foot in the gladiator’s cell.

“You come here to use me,” he says, “deceive me. You want me for your own pleasure, with no thought to my will, my choice.”

You’re suddenly ashamed. In your hubris you thought your presence a gift, with no thought it would be denied or ill-received. You did not consider how such deception would make him feel. Even if he did give in to desire, how he would feel if desire was misplaced, projected on to the wrong person?

You turn your face away, but he grabs your jaw with one of his hands, makes you look up at him again.

“To what end?” he asks, and his brow softens with the question. “Do you merely wish to fuck a gladiator? There are many others who would have you.”

You can feel the tears filling your eyes, whether from fear, humiliation, or rejection, you know not. But you aren’t going to allow him to see you cry. You may seem foolish in your venture, but you refuse to look weak.

“Apologies,” you plead. “Desire was born of good intentions.”

He lets you go, but he does not yet move away. You bring your wrists down, close to your chest, and rub the sore and aching bones.

“If you truly wish to please me,” he says, “send me someone who could actually stir my cock.”

He turns from you and walks to his bed, lays down with his hands behind his head, eyes closed. It’s a clear dismissal and you don’t have to be told any more clearly to leave. You open the door to flee, but before you do, you hear his voice once again.

“Send them with more wine, if you would,” he says. “I would not want the night of my victory to go to waste.”

Octavia is occupying your bed when you return to your chambers. Her room is joined to yours, but she is playing her part, pretending to be you, and you are glad of it. You need familiar and loving arms to comfort you after such a disastrous night.

"You've returned too soon,” Octavia whispers as you crawl in to bed beside her.

“He did not want me,” you reply, trying to control the tremor in your voice.

You feel shattered like the glass you are, scattered in to infinite pieces, left trailing from Jacobus’ cell to your own room. You’re scared, sorrowful, and desire sleep so that maybe you can be free of this waking nightmare.

"How could he not want you?" Octavia asks.

“He called me a ‘spoiled Roman whore,’” you tell her, flinching at the words. “His words do ring true.”

“That beast!” she gasps. “How dare he say such a thing! And you, determining worth on the words of a gladiator!”

You hold on tighter to your companion, not having strength enough for anymore words. Octavia persists, though, not allowing you to hide from cruel reality.

“How did he know it was you?” she asks. “Did you tell him?”

“No,” you reply. “We are not so alike as I thought. You are wise and I should’ve listened to you, but instead I chose to play a child’s game. How will I ever be able to face the morning sun?”

She strokes your hair. “The god Sol will show you mercy as he rides his chariot across the sky. You must only take leave of your bed and the task is done.”

You two lay in the dark, in the silence. Her words do lift some of the weight from your shoulders. Has the world ended because you’ve been denied? No, you suppose, you will move on. No matter how difficult the thought seems.

“Your step-brother comes one week hence, for the Vulcanalia," Octavia tells you. “Your godfather came to inform you when you were away.”

You sigh. “Oh, how the gods piss on me this night.”

Your step-brother, Brutus, is the only family your have left, though not by blood. The only true blood you have left in the world is Octavia, though Rome does not recognize the kinship, and by unfortunate fate she is condemned to be a slave. Your mother died when you were young, and some years after, your father married Brutus’ mother. And then she, too, died. Along with a child as she was giving birth. And if those tragedies were not enough, your father passed within the last year, leaving Brutus as his sole male heir.

He took control of the family villa, and since married a senator’s daughter, Yelena. Brutus is a legatus - a high ranking military officer, and away for much of the time, leaving you as sole steward of the villa, but since Yelena came to live with you, you could not stand to be there any longer, and you had to leave. Thankfully, your godfather allowed you to stay with him.

“Yelena will be close in tow, no doubt,” you say to your companion.

“She is the spoiled whore,” Octavia replies, the lilt of humor in her voice. “But worry not, for Ronan accompanies them as well.”

Now, that piques your interest. Ronan, your step-brother’s childhood friend, turned rival in more recent years. You have always fancied him, appreciated his wit and beauty. He is a legatus now, like your brother, but yet free from bond of marriage. This visit could prove profitable.

“Remove gladiator from thoughts and turn them toward proper men,” Octavia says, and you can tell by her tone that the discussion is ended.

And although you try to take her advice, your dreams that night are of rough hands, sapphire eyes, and wounding words soothed with healing kisses.

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