#Blood Legion Keep

[plutotheplum]

I Only Bleed For Him

dragon!sylus x fem!reader

summary: amidst the blooming flowers in tarus city, the dragon claims his beloved.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, a smidge of fluff, angst, kissing, loss of virginity, oral sex, p in v, possessive sex, blood, claiming bites, mating, knotting, soulmates, canon compliant death

wc: 4.5k

a/n: the way the myth cards just keep getting depressing :( there will be another chapter after this fic, but it'll be in the actual timeline! also not very confident in my angst writing abilities, but hopefully y'all enjoy!! <3

also on ao3!

“You know, Tarus City can have flowers bloom everywhere, as far as the eye can see. But only for one person.”

Sylus’ voice is a soft murmur, his hands caressing your waist as he holds you tighter against him. Your heart lurches uncomfortably, fingers brushing across his cheek and the hard, black scale that lays fused to his skin.

“What if we stayed here?” you whisper, peering into his crimson eyes.

“Would you be able to sate yourself?” Sylus asks in return, his claws brushing through your hair gently.

You avert your gaze, cheek pressing against his chest as you stare at the swaying carmine flowers in the soft breeze. Sylus’ heart is steady, the soothing sound of thrumming coupled with the motions of his claws nearly enough to lull you to sleep.

His question holds value. Revenge threatens to pull you apart at the seams, the desire for chaos rearing its ugly head. You want more, you always want more and Sylus gives it to you willingly. Your selfish desires will be the downfall of the Fiend, you think, hands tightening into fists. 

Yet, there is so much more to do. So much to take from those that had taken from you. Resentment makes you tremble, the Sacred Judicator’s words ringing clear in your mind. 

The Sorceress has been judged. 

You could laugh at the thought if you weren’t so angry. Some sorceress you were, powerless and yet put before the Court of Justitia as a traitor for trying to protect the statue of a dragon. 

Angry tears prick at your eyes, teeth gritting together only to be drawn out of your wrathful thoughts by the press of Sylus’ lips against your clenched fists, his claws unfurling your clenched fingers.

“Just like the day we met,” Sylus murmurs, his gaze trained on you, “such hatred and defiance.”

You swallow the lump in your throat when he kisses your palms.

“Beauty,” he whispers against your skin, “and resentment, little sorceress. They make you my precious, most finest treasure.”

“I don’t want to think about the Legion,” you reply, voice trembling, “I want them gone, Sylus.”

“Pluck them out one by one,” Sylus says, his hand caressing your cheek, “but another will replace those gone. Their roots run deep, weeds that refuse to die, marring the world around them.”

You sigh, eyes fluttering shut as you lean into the warmth of his hand, the rough scales scratching your skin gently.

“I shall burn Justitia to the ground,” you grit out, eyes burning with determination, “I will make them all regret and spite them into contrition, bring them to their knees and- and-”

Sylus laughs, his expression soft as he peers up at you. “You speak sharply, little sorceress. Your fire and spirit matches my own.”

“Because I am your other half,” you mumble, pouting slightly as you feel your anger subside the more Sylus caresses you. 

“You are,” Sylus affirms, “bearer of my soul, my other half. Only you could be worthy enough.”

A light flush covers your cheeks before you hide again, nosing into his cheek. You can feel the warmth of his soul inside of you as your eyes shut, lungs expanding as you suck in a deep breath, the scent of the dragon clouding your senses.

Burnt embers and a soft sweetness make you whine, body squirming as you try and press yourself closer to him, your fingers caressing his horns.

“Careful,” Sylus grunts, his claws tightening around your waist when he feels the brush of your fingers against the base of his horns.

You can feel the slight jump of his hips, your gaze lifting to find his brows drawn together, eyes squeezed shut.

“Does it hurt?” you ask worriedly, fingers pausing.

“Hardly,” he replies, his eyes opening again, “I am simply… sensitive.”

You hum, head tilting to kiss his cheek as your fingers resume their stroking and caressing. Sylus makes a small noise and you relish in it, peppering kisses here and there, across his cheeks and over the large scales.

A delighted sound escapes you when you hear what you think is something akin to a purr. Sylus’ cheeks tint with a light pink and you smile against his cheek, ears straining to listen again when he rumbles gently, his head tilting as he pushes up into the caress of your hand.

“Like a mountain cat,” you tease, tracing the slope of his nose when he purrs again, feeling his claws twitch against your hips.

“Do not use my gifts against me,” Sylus grouses, despite the pleased rumble of his chest.

“I enjoyed them,” you reply, fingers running through his hair leisurely, “if only we could go back.”

“We will,” Sylus promises, his eyes flickering open, “I shall make sure of it.”

You smile wistfully. Going back to the cavern held more challenges than worth risking. Bitterness makes your smile waver, but you brush the thought away, content to at least be given this moment of reprieve.

“We will,” you repeat after him.

Neither of you mention the emptiness of the promise. The damp coldness of the chapel latches onto you and Sylus is the only one able to make it dissipate, his claws tracing over the curve of your cheek.

You cling to him, nose brushing against his gently.

“I love you.”

Sylus’ chest rumbles in response, his head tilting as he presses his lips to yours. The curl of his tail around you holds you to him, his hands kneading at your hips as you kiss him. It’s slow and syrupy, both of your souls intertwining and interlocking in the sweet musk of the flower fields. 

You can feel the pull of your soul towards him, how your body yearns for more of him, the tendrils of your very being try to claw through gaps of your ribs and pierce his chest. You’d let him hold you in the glowing stone embedded in his chest if it were possible.

“So this is what it means to love,” Sylus murmurs, his lips brushing over yours with every word he speaks, “perhaps mortals are wiser than I thought.”

You laugh, arms wrapping around his neck when he rolls you both over, your back pressing into the soft grass.

“Only some mortals,” you correct, smiling when his teeth bite onto the tips of your gloves, pulling them free from your hands, rings and all.

Sylus’ skin is warm when you touch him again, truly for the first time. His eyes flutter shut, savouring the sensation of your skin against his before he lowers his head, kissing you again.

“I wish to claim you, my beloved,” he breathes out, trailing hot kisses down your neck, “will you let me?”

“Yes,” you sigh, your own eyes slipping shut, “yes, Sylus.”

Sylus’ tail sways behind him, the pointed tip brushing across the skin of your leg before his claws join the midst, dragging down your thighs gently. You gasp, the unfamiliar sensation making you squirm as he begins to undo your dress.

You help him, sitting up as he pulls it over your head, his claws ripping through the delicate fabric despite his tentativeness. You don’t pay it any mind, cupping his cheeks to pull him down into a slow kiss, feeling his body hover over you, his tail wrapping around your waist.

The sharp spikes dig into your skin, making your body seize with discomfort until the repeated brush of Sylus’ lips over yours soothes away the nervousness.

Your panties are ripped away too, the fabric laying in tatters in Sylus’ palm. He frowns when he stares at his claws, and you reach for his hand, lips pressing against his knuckles gently.

“It doesn’t bother me,” you whisper.

“It should,” Sylus murmurs, his gaze dipping as he stares at you laying bare before him. 

He can see the mark of his fangs in your neck, the subtle scent of your blood setting his senses alight. You belong here, Sylus thinks, his eyes darkening as he sees the rise and fall of your chest, the pebbling of your nipples in the cooling breeze. 

An undying flame blooming amidst a field of lesser flowers. 

If only he could keep you here.  

The flicker of emotion in Sylus’ eyes makes you uncomfortable and you kiss his knuckles again, lips pressing against the hard scales firmly. He sighs, his hand flexing in your grip, his tail drawing you closer as he kisses your forehead.

You can hear his breath hitch when you fumble with his trousers, undoing the various buckles to have him bare before you as you are before him.

“Greedy mortal,” he murmurs, gripping your chin to plant a kiss to your lips.

“You already knew that,” you smile faintly, nipping his lower lip playfully.

Sylus rumbles, his body shifting to remove his clothing. You swallow when you see the heavy hang of his thick cock. The tip glistens and you squeeze your thighs shut, trying to quell the dull ache that has settled inside of you.

“It- it is different from mortal men,” you mumble, head tilting curiously as you stare at the base of his cock.

“I am a dragon,” Sylus supplies drily, his hand wrapping around his cock.

You watch, mesmerised as he pumps his cock with his clawed hand, brows furrowing when you see the slight swell at the base of his cock, above his heavy balls.

“A knot,” he explains, moving his cock to show you the swell of it a little better, a low hiss leaving him when you reach out to touch it hesitantly. “It- hah- it is useful for mating.”

It gives a little under your prodding, wetness pooling between your thighs at the sight of it. You try to wrap your fingers around it, but the tips of your fingers hardly touch, Sylus letting out a growl at the sight.

“I want it,” you whisper, blinking up at him, “I- I want you to mate me, and- and I want that.” You point to his knot.

Sylus lets out a hoarse laugh, his clawed hand coming up to caress your cheek. 

“And you shall have it when I claim you. Although…” he pauses for a moment, his expression becoming slightly flustered, “I have never claimed anyone before.”

“Oh,” you flush with him, averting your gaze. “I have never been claimed before.”

Sylus sucks in a sharp breath, his nose nudging against yours gently as he plants a soft kiss to your lips. “My first and my last.”

You have to blink away the tears that begin to brim in your eyes, your arms wrapping around his neck tightly. Sylus kisses the side of your head, his body descending further down your body.

Soft noises leave you as he places reverent kisses along the length of your body, his tongue flicking at your nipple experimentally, carmine eyes peering up to watch your reaction carefully. When you gasp, Sylus hums, his mouth opening wider to envelop your breast with his mouth.

Your fingers delve into his soft hair, back arching as you push your breast further into his mouth, his hot saliva making your skin shine. The flowers around you sway, unbothered by the act of intimacy, Sylus’ clawed fingers pinching at your nipple lightly.

He groans when you jerk under him, mouthing at the sides of your breast, pressing wet kisses here and there, tongue swirling over your areolas before granting each nipple a soft kiss.

“You respond well, beloved,” Sylus whispers, beginning to lave over one of your areolas again, seemingly taken with the way you twitch whenever his teeth graze your nipples.

“It- it feels good,” you whine, your thighs sticky with slick.

“Then perhaps I ought to do the same here,” he murmurs thoughtfully, pulling back to pry apart your thighs.

Translucent strings of slick cling to your thighs and the folds of your pussy, Sylus’ head lowering to get a better look.

“So delicate, little sorceress,” he whispers, his claws pulling apart your puffy folds to find your glistening pussy. “A bud,” Sylus continues, the flat of his scaled finger brushing your swollen clit tentatively, “like a flower.”

A needy whimper escapes you, hips bucking up under his exploratory touch. It’s nothing like when you used to touch yourself in the privacy of your small room within the walls of Justitia. Sylus’ touch is rough, textured, heightening the feeling that makes your clit pulse with want.

“Please,” you beg breathily, fingers reaching out to grasp his horns, “please, I- I need more.”

“But I am not yet done,” Sylus replies, peering up at you to watch the expression on your face when he rubs your clit more firmly.

“Sylus!” you whine, “the ache is too much!”

The dragon between your thighs huffs out an amused breath, the hot air making you shiver.

“So demanding,” he sighs, leaning forward to kiss your clit. “Although I do enjoy seeing you so… uninhibited, beloved.” 

You push his head towards your cunt, growing impatient, although being careful not to jostle his horns too much. Sylus groans when he tastes you for the first time, his rough tongue gliding through your wet folds.

A gasp leaves you when he flicks his tongue against your clit, a tremor settling through your bones as you writhe atop the grass. Sylus holds you in place, a pleased purr sounding as he nuzzles deeper into the wetness of your cunt, his tongue lapping and laving over the velvety flesh of your pussy.

“Oh,” you breathe out, eyes squeezing shut when you feel the dig of his claws into your flesh, coupled with his mouth on your pussy, “S- Sylus, oh yes.”

Sylus hums into your cunt, his tongue swirling around your clit, collecting your slick into his mouth, drinking it down as if it were the very essence of your soul.

“You taste sweet, my little love,” Sylus rasps, his claws pulling apart your folds so he can prod at your aching hole, feeling the needy clench of it around his tongue when he presses it in. “Sweeter than any wine I have ever tasted.”

“You- nghh- you exaggerate,” you mewl, tugging at his hair gently, your fingers stroking the base of his horns.

Sylus shudders, his head tipping forward into your touch. “I do not,” he growls, nipping at your thigh in a show of disagreement. “I would keep you on my mouth every night if you allowed me and drive you mad with pleasure.”

You smile hazily when you hear his words, hips rolling up to meet his mouth when he sucks your clit into his mouth, his tongue stroking across the swollen bud lazily.

“Are we not already mad?”

“Perhaps we are,” Sylus responds, his hips grinding into the clothes beneath him. “But I should be glad to be mad with you.”

A soft, content sigh leaves you as you lose yourself in the sensation of his tongue. It swirls through your folds, presses into your cunt every so often whenever Sylus loses interest in your clit for a brief moment.

He never strays far however, his chest rumbling with his own contentedness as he buries his face deeper into your cunt, breathing in your scent. Sylus sucks at your clit with renewed fervor when he feels the tensing of your thighs against his claws.

“I can feel you, little love,” Sylus rasps, his voice low and rumbling. “Come undone on my tongue.” He presses an affectionate kiss to your clit before latching his mouth onto it more firmly.

“Sy- Sylus,” you whimper, legs beginning to jerk as the pleasure grows.

He growls into your pussy, his mouth working faster, tongue swirling and slurping until you have no choice but to cum. You cry out, his name leaving you in disjointed syllables, heavy pants breaking your cries.

Your thighs squeeze around his head, until his tail wraps around one of your legs, pulling you open so he can drink from you until sated. Overstimulation makes you sensitive, whimpers and whines leaving you as you pull at his horns.

“It is too much,” you mewl, “I- I cannot-”

“You can,” Sylus murmurs, spreading you open wider, exposing you completely, “you will for me.”

The dragon devours you again, his fangs sinking deep into the flesh of your thigh. Your blood and slick mixes together and Sylus feels as though he is being torn apart from within, your taste heating his own blood until he can no longer hold back.

You cum again on his tongue, back arching before you writhe violently, fingers grasping for anything and everything, uprooting the flowers nearby as you attempt to gain some semblance of stability.

Sylus gives you some reprieve, his tongue lapping over your puffy pussy gently, his lips pressing against your clit and the mark his teeth have left on your inner thigh.

He rises up to find you limp, unable to stop the shudders that jerk through your body from the immense pleasure.

“Little love?” he murmurs, a claw tapping against your cheek.

A pout makes your lips jut out when you blink up at him blearily, brows furrowing into a glare. Sylus smiles, his head dipping to brush a sweet kiss to your cheek.

“You are beautiful,” Sylus says, his hand stroking over your hair soothingly, claws running through your hair.

“I want to do the same,” you whisper, your hand reaching down between your bodies to find his cock. “I want you in my mouth.”

It’s harder than before, pre-cum smeared across the tip, warm globs dripping onto your stomach. You wrap your hand around him, squirming around in an attempt to get onto your knees.

“Another time,” Sylus murmurs, stopping you from getting closer to his cock, his tongue licking into your mouth.

“Now,” you demand, blinking up at him, still a little dazed. “Now, Sylus.”

“Another time,” Sylus repeats firmly, his lips descending upon yours again.

“There- there will be no other time!” you protest, peering up at him desperately, your lower lip trembling.

You only speak the truth, and it angers you. The cruelty of fate has begun to wrap its remorseless fingers around your heart, squeezing and squeezing until you feel your heart give, clenching painfully.

“Never say that!” Sylus snaps suddenly, his hands cupping your cheeks. He presses himself against you, forehead touching yours. “There will-” there’s a tremor in his voice, “there will be another time. Always.”

How many more lies will you both tell yourselves? 

You bite back the sob building in your throat, crushing the sense of helplessness by pulling Sylus closer and pressing your lips against his feverishly. 

The dragon grips you harder, his tail winding around you tightly, holding you to him as he returns your kisses.

“Take me,” you beg when he lays you down again, “Sylus, claim me, please.”

“I will,” he hushes your cries with a kiss, “I will, little love. You will be by my side till the end of time.”

Sylus grasps his cock, breathing heavily, your panting breaths mixing together. He notches his cock against your drenched cunt, pushing in slowly. You both share a moan, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. The scales dig into your skin, his claws digging into your hips deeper, pain flaring across your skin.

It’s enough to distract you from the rampant thoughts of loss however, your mind clouding with every inch of Sylus’ cock that sinks into you.

“So- so tight,” he grunts out, his hips moving slowly.

You can feel his knot, slipping in and out of you, tugging on the edges of your cunt every now and again with how swollen it’s become. His cock splits you open, your soft moans sounding into the vast flower field as you reach up, hugging him to you.

Sylus thinks you sound as sweet as the scent of the blooming flowers.

He lowers his body, his weight almost crushing you but you need this, need him as close as possible to convince yourself that this is happening.

“More,” you whimper, pressing sloppy kisses to his jaw, “ruin me, take me apart.”

“You- hah-” Sylus’ eyes squeeze shut when he feels the tight clench of your cunt around his cock, “you mustn’t say such things.”

“And yet,” you whimper, dazed eyes finding his, “and yet, oh- I desire- ngh- it desperately.”

“If that is what you wish,” he whispers, kissing your forehead gently.

You moan loudly, the wanton sounds mixing with his low groans and growls when he swirls his hips, cock pressing into you deeper. His heavy balls slap against your ass, both of you uncaring of the lewd sounds as he thrusts his hips in and out of you, cock driving in deep.

Sylus’ knot sinks into place with each deep, rolling thrust he gives you, popping out whenever he draws his hips back. You’re slurring, hardly able to see him properly, clinging to him, legs wrapping around his waist.

He grunts, shifting your legs higher, away from the sharp, spiked scales that line his tails. 

They say the dragon is dangerous, the epitome of sin and yet he cares for you dearly, his lips trailing across your skin with such reverence that makes your body ache.

“You are mine,” Sylus growls, his carmine eyes glowing as he peers down at you. “Every inch of you, half of your soul, it is all mine.”

“Yours!” you hiccup, the pleasure making you feel numb, “always yours!”

Sylus moans deeply, and your hazy eyes catch the frantic sway of his tail behind him, his hips snapping harder and faster, your pussy struggling to accommodate and keep up with the ever-swelling knot at the base of his cock.

The sheer feral nature that seems to take over your dragon has you whining, a sharp scream leaving you when you feel his fangs bite into the still healing wound on your neck.

Blood flows freely from the bite and Sylus growls at the taste, losing his grip before tightening again. His claws prick at your thighs and hips, drawing more blood until it’s smeared across your skin. Your skin is just as red as the flowers in the field.

Your nails rake down his back, feeling driven wild by pain and ecstasy. Your own teeth sink into his shoulder, a soft whimper escaping you.

“Bite,” Sylus rasps, his hand on the back of your head, urging your teeth to sink in deeper, “harder, little love, harder.”

And you do bite. You mewl as you sink your teeth into the flesh of his shoulder, his blood wetting your tongue and lips and the taste is intoxicating. Your mind swirls as you feel the harsh thrust of his cock bullying inside of you over and over again, tongue lapping at the marks your teeth have left on his shoulder.

You can taste his blood and you can feel the searing pain and you- this- this is real.

This is real. This is real. This is real.

Your mind chants the affirmation as you tell it to yourself firmly, biting harder into him as your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Take it, beloved,” Sylus whispers hoarsely, pressing his face back into the crook of your neck, “take my cock and my knot. Let me claim you.”

“W- wait,” you begin to gasp, eyes widening with panic when Sylus manages to bully his cock into your pussy enough, the knot catching finally. 

You squeak, unable to comprehend the feeling of being plugged up so full. It’s entirely too swollen to pop free, your poor pussy fluttering around the thickness of it. Sylus isn’t faring much better, his hips jerking and halting when he feels the clench of your cunt, and how his knot has practically held you both in place.

“Yes,” he snarls, low and throaty, his hips swaying a little to grind his cock into you. “Mine, finally mine, little love.”

The press of his scaled claw against your clit has you screaming again, his name leaving you hoarsely as you cum on his knot. Your orgasm is violent, the tight coil in your lower stomach snapping sharply as you come apart, thighs twitching and body shaking.

Sylus sinks his fangs into your neck again and you cry out, softer this time, holding him to your neck and letting him lap at your blood.

He shudders, the taste of your blood coupled with the feel of your fluttering walls around his knot making his cock jerk and balls clench. Sylus cums with a throaty roar, his claws landing on either side of you as he hunches over.

Pleasure racks through his body whilst hot, thick cum floods your pussy unable to leak out and instead held in place by his throbbing knot. You whimper, mind feeling syrupy when Sylus rumbles and purrs, nuzzling into your breasts and then your cheeks, another hot load of cum spilling into you when his cock kicks at the squeeze of your cunt.

You kiss him clumsily, motions clouded by the haze of intimacy. Sylus sighs into your mouth, stroking your hair gently. You both lay there, surrounded by flowers, panting and unwinding.

His knot deflates after several minutes, softening cock pulling free. His cum spills out of you and Sylus watches with a frown, wishing his cum would stay stuffed inside of you.

Sylus rolls off of you when you tap his shoulder, his tail curling around you to bring to lay atop him. You don’t say anything, face pressing into the crook of his neck.

“Your desires are cruel,” you whisper, feeling his arms tighten around you.

“As are yours, little love,” Sylus says softly.

You sniffle, pressing a kiss to the steady beat of his pulse just under his jaw before shifting to kiss the glowing stone embedded in his chest.

Sylus shudders, his claws flexing around your skin. You kiss the stone again, beginning to cry when the stone’s glow begins to dim.

There’s a strange chill that makes your skin crawl, the familiar scent of the chapel invading your lungs.

“No,” you sob, peering up at Sylus, “not yet, please, please!”

Sylus smiles down at you, his expression forlorn. “I love you,” he says quietly, brushing a kiss to your forehead, sitting up to pull you onto his lap.

“I need more time,” you whisper, kissing him despite the growing coldness in the air. “We need more time.”

Hope had made you both fools. Sylus had claimed you in a withering graveyard.

You’re weeping when you ask him the question.

“Will you make the flowers bloom for me, Sylus?”

Your dragon kisses you fiercely.

“Always.”

Sylus’ emboldened oath is the only memory your fingers can latch onto when the dank atmosphere of the chapel awakens you.

The bell of the chapel rings loudly and you sob, scrabbling at his shoulders, trying to pull Sylus closer. You scream when the Sacred Judicator tears you from Sylus, the pull of his soul tugging violently at your chest. 

A week later, the dragon’s curse rings true. 

You no longer feel the warmth of his soul, for your beloved is dead.

[kabuki-writes]

A Reflection Of Venus

chapter: 1 chapter 2 | 3 | 4

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: For years Acacius was able to keep his precious and only daughter away from the Emperor's eyes. But after his latest victory, he couldn't evade the already inevitable.

warning(s): mention of alcohol consumption | swearing | sexual implications | semi-edited | english is not my first language, faults may occur | please let me know if i missed anything

Note: Reader is the daughter of General Acacius and his wife, which is not Lucilla in this fanfiction.

word count: 3.1k

General Acacius was a hero for the Roman Empire, a sun that was burning brighter with every new victory he won in a new war campaign ordered by Emperor Geta and his twin brother Emperor Caracalla. The reign of the twins was nothing compared to one of their deceased father Emperor Septimius Severus, who was once one of the closest friends and brother-in-arms of Acatius. While Severus fought wars mainly to protect the borders of the already massive Empire, his sons' hunger for expansion became clear from the very first day they inherited the title "Emperor". And general Acacius became their tool in this project. Nothing was too expensive, they backed him with legions, war-ships, the best equipment and supply, and the capable general became an unstoppable force, a soldier of the God Mars himself. But at what cost?

As the years went on, he'd rarely been home, always travelling with his marching soldiers and being on the front line of every battle he fought. And when he came back, he felt sick from all the pomp and gold the Emperor's threw at him, the victory processions through Rome, while the smell of blood still lingered in his nose and the cries of the women and children echoed in his mind. It was one of those days. The sun stood high over the wide street that lead to the Palatin, the sides filled with the cheering crowd - common people, soldiers, slaves, senators, merchants, they all celebrated his victory in a triumphant procession. His marching soldiers were led by Acacius chariot, clothed in the white armor of a victor. His face could've been one to be carved in marble, stoic and upright, facing the great Palatin, where the Emperors would await him.

Geta and Caracalla - the twin-sons of Septimius Severus, Emperors of Rome. They stoof there in golden Armor like sun gods with their golden crowns on top of their short gingerblonde hair. Their unusual pale skin was a testament to their wealth as they could afford to stay out of the sun, which burns especially hot on summer days like this one, and of course on the battlefields in Africa, where Acatius' men had to fight against the rebellious Nubians. They awaited their victor with proud smiles on their lips, while Acacius' procession ended at the footsteps of the Emperor's palace. He walked the marble steps towards them, his long cloak moved in tact with his walk. He didn't look forward to see the faces of Rome's tyrants again, but they hadno idea.

Instead, he greeted them as he was used to. His hand on his chest, speaking the words.

"I greet you, my Emperors. Nubia is no more. I present a new victory to you, to the realm and to the Roman people."

With a proud look on their faces and a wide smile, the twins stepped forward. Emperor Geta hold the laurel wreath of victory in his hands and places it on top of Acacius' greying hair.

"And Rome rewards it's heroes with gratitude and admiration. We bow to your victories, General Acacius."

With those words, he offered him to turn around and face the celebrating crowd. Geta and Caracalla took their places at his side, giving him a moment of spotlight, applauded by the people, while they did benefit from it as well. Acatius was their general, their armored knight. Every victory he presented was another triumph for their own reign and power. After the earned celebration in front of the common folk, the Emperors and Acacius retreated inside, where servants quickly served them wine for a toast.

"Another great victory, you never disappoint us, dear Acatius," Geta expressed and hold his glass up for a toast, his brother Caracalla following the gesture. "To the glory of the Roman Empire".

"To the glory of your reign", Acacius lied and took a sip from his glass, trying to numb himself a bit with the taste of the alcohol. How he hated conversations with both of them.

" But don't get too comfy here, my brother and i were already discussing another campaign soon. You'll get everything you need, just tell us how many soldiers and ships and it will be granted," Geta explained, which left a bitter taste in Acacius mouth. His jaw clenched for a moment, while he tried everything not to show his distaste about another war campaign.

"Please forgive me, my Emperor, but isn't the realm big enough already? Rome has already difficulties to feed the people. Further expansion would-"

"They can eat war", Emperor Caracalla threw in with an almost diabotical grin, while Acacius got a warning eye from Geta. It was clear that his words weren't the ones both wanted to hear right now.

"Don't worry about things like that, Acacius. You're a military general, your job is to win battles - nothing more. Do you understand?"

"I understand," he answered, even though he hated to hear that he was reduced to this. He'd experienced war and peace alike and therefore he knew about the dangers of continuing this madness. Moments like this really let him question if those maniacs were of the same blood as Septimius Severus.

"But you're right, you've earned yourself at least a bit of rest - one or two weeks. Don't worry, we've taken care about the wellbeing of your family. They got everything they needed and more in our attempt to show our gratitude for your service to the throne. Speaking of which.... we expect you to join us for a great feast tonight - here in the palace. A party to celebrate your victory, it is accompanied by a couple of fights in the arena tomorrow," Geta explained joyfully, while Acatius tried to keep his mask up.

"I am incredibly honored, but would prefer to spend time with family after being away for such a long time."

"The Emperors show you their gratitude and you're insulting us. We expect you to come and you will come", Caracalla hissed with a sudden shift of tone, his eyes staring at Acacius in clear anger, while his brother placed his hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down. But his staring eyes were warning Acatius once again.

"Of course, we don't just invite you, but your whole family. Bring your wife and... you have a daughter, if i'm not mistaken? We haven't had the pleasure of getting to know her yet, since you never brought her to any festivities. I am sure she will be delighted, if you don't plan on hiding her again."

Acacius stood there in silence, a reaction that made Caracalla burst out into laughter as if he'd just heard the funniest joke from his brother. The respected general didn't even look at him, why should he. Standing here in front of them should've been an honor, yet it felt like a disgrace. They were nothing but spoiled kids with the power of an empire in their hands. And now they even forced him to reveal his dear daughter to them. Something he tried to avoid for too long, knowing fully well about the debauchery and excessiveness of Geta and Caracalla.

"We're waiting for an answer, Acacius?", Caracalla purred with a wide grin on his pale face, revealing his gold tooth.

"It will be an honor to be your guest... together with my daughter."

_____________________________________________

You watched the face of your father sunken away in his thoughts, as you made made your way to the palace in a palanquin carried by a couple of slaves and protected by soldiers. The city was painted in darkness which made the palace seem like a temple with all the lights that welcomed you. It was an exciting moment for an upper-class lady to be a guest at the palace, especially for you, a woman that usually stayed away from the most parties. Not because you wanted to, but because it was an order from your father. You obeyed, yet it bothered you, even more when you'd reached the age of a young woman - the age in which it was expected from you to find a proper husband.

"Why are you so worried, father?", you finally managed to get off your lips, pulling Acacius out of the battle he fought in his head. He couldn't just tell you that he despised all of this and especially the Emperors himself as he couldn't be sure if someone outside this palanquin could hear him. So he simply took your hand and placed a soft and caring kiss on the ring that had been a present for your last name day.

"I guess I'm rather tired than worried. The parties in the palace are always quite excessive, music, dances, feasts... i just came back from the desert and now i have to enjoy all those things", he sighed and looked at you. "And i don't want to stay too long, especially not till the orgy starts. The servants will come and bring us home before that." And even you knew he would rather go and murder Dyonisos himself than allowing his daughter to stay and witness this.

All those words and yet you knew it wasn't everything.

"I'm glad that you take me with you this time. I've only known the imperial palace from afar," you confessed, while you straightened the long, blue dress you wore. It was decorated with all sorts of silver embroidery and jewelry, encapturing the stars and moon. Your long hair was styled by your servant Yanna into a high braid and finalized with a silver diadem. For the first time you really got the chance to make yourself so presentable that you almost felt like a princess. In the end, you were about to meet the Emperors which made it important to look like the woman you were - the daughter of a general. And you also presented his household tonight, because your mother felt sick tonight. She often suffered from migraine, which kept her a prisoner for days sometimes.

"You really look beautiful", your father said to you, it was honest, but there was a hint of worry in his eyes, which you still couldn't grasp. But there was no chance to take this conversation further as the palanquin stopped. Acacius got out first to help you out. He knew the way as it wasn't the first time for him to attent an official ceremony or party here. Through a long corridor you reached a large room with with an open access to the garden terrace facing the beautiful gardens. It was packed with people from the Roman upper-class, wealthy merchants, politicians and military officers, who were accompanied by their wives, sons and daughters. While they chatted and feasted on the large selection of delicious looking food, a group of musicians played their melodies to which professional dancers moved their bodies.

All those private parties at the homes of your friends seemed to vanish straight from your mind, nothing could be compared to what you were seeing now. It nearly took your breath away, while two royals were watching you from the other side of the room.

_____________________________________________

Geta and Caracalla were sitting on a higher ground, which was highly decorated with two golden chaise longues, cushions and velvet drapes. They were accompanied by a selected group of slaves, women and men, who were assigned to bring them anything they wanted, to do anything they wanted.

While Geta was in in a conversation with one of the senators, which clearly bored him according to his facial expressions, it was Caracalla, who noticed the new guest first, while he fed his little monkey Dondus a grape.

"Such a shame that he hid his daughter for so long. She is a gorgeous looking bird, don't you think? ", he whispered to his brother with a mischievous grin, patting his arm so that he would turn his attention to Acacius and you. Geta's eyes quickly went to you, admiring the way your dress hugged the shape of your curves.

"The gods must've sent us Venus herself to honor us with her presence," Geta answered, while an unreadable smile played on his lips. „No wonder our dear General is so protective of her. Is she already promised to someone?“

„Why do you ask me!?“ Caracalla snapped back, as if his brother didn’t know that he had a lot of spies around the city, who delivered him the newest gossip from the streets of Rome. With an annoyed eye roll, he leaned forward, adjusting the golden laurel wreath on his head. „No, she is a blank parchment. Probably untouched too.“

Geta still watched you with an intense interest as if you were a rare diamond, he needed to claim. But he was not the only one in this room, because Caracalla stared at his brother, noticing the way he looked at you. There it was again, the old melody. Whenever he wanted something, Geta wanted it too. They already shared the title of Emperors, their wealth, their whores… It was already something that cooked in him for a long time. But now he had an eye on you and wasn't happy about the fact that Geta might try to get you too.

Before he could even bring this thought to an end, his twin brother Geta already stood up from his chaise lounge and made his way through the crowd, the direction was clear. Caracalla's nose twitched in a mixture of nervousness and anger, and he got up quickly as well, not as gracefully as he wanted to, but he didn’t care. He had to tame the inner urge to backstab his brother before he could even reach you.

_____________________________________________

You still stood at the side of your father sipping on your first goblet of fine wine, while your eyes went over all the different guests and the excessive decor. Your father was sunken in a conversation with another general, Marcus Galbanus, an old friend and brother-in-arms of Acacius. But their conversation quickly stopped as soon as the Emperors approached them. Both your father and Marcus Galbanus lowered their heads and greeted them according to the etiquette, while you curtsied deep. This was the very first time you got the chance to meet the Emperor's of Rome Caracalla and Geta. And given the importance of those two figures, you even felt a little nervous.

"We almost feared you wouldn't show up to your own party, Acacius. But we're happy you made your way here... we already heard that your dear wife lays sick. Please, send her our best wishes. Nonetheless we would be delighted if you could introduce us to your company tonight", Geta demanded in a playful tone, knowing how much Acacius had tried to delay this. Caracalla stood at his side, his staring blue eyes drilled themselves into your appearence. Even though he was a man that had tasted a lot of men and women, one even more sensual than the other, your whole appearence, your face, your lips, your smile, everything - you reached a sentience in his mind that could only be gifted by the gods. The mere thought of having you infected his brain like a curse.

You could sense the tension that raised in your father as if everything in him resisted the situation. Yet he placed his hand softly on your shoulder and did as they wished. "This is my daughter, y/n..."

"I'm honoured to meet the Emperors of Rome", you said in a soft voice, earning you an appreciating smile by Geta and an unreadable grin of Caracalla.

"Oh the pleasure is on our side, my dearest. How do you like this Ceremony in honor of your father's victories?", Geta asked. But before you could even answer, his brother added, while he took another sip of his wine "Your father is a Roman hero through and through, isn't it right Acacius?" His tone had something else in it, almost as if it was some kind of mistrust. But you needed to ignore the irritation you felt and simply nodded.

"It is breathtaking. I've never witnessed something like this and it makes me incredible proud to see the gratitute he earned himself through the love he has for Rome and its people," you answered, trying to remind the Emperor's of Acacius loyality, which was undoubtful.

"Then you'll enjoy the ceremony in the arena tomorrow as well, i'm sure. Please, we invite your father and you to be our guests."

"I don't think that such entertainment is suited for a young woman of her status," your father suddenly interfered in a calm yet set tone, only earning the laugh of Caracalla. "Let your daughter decide for herself, General."

The atmosphere shifted to an unspoken intensity. You could sense your father's worries and given all what you've heard from the colosseum, you didn't really think of it as something worth to witness. Seeing people die in such a terrible way only for the pleasures of the masses seemed like a farce. Acacius always called it the most needless form of brutality amongst humans, he despised this himself and therefore avoided going into the arena whenever he could. But you also read the eyes of Geta and his brother, who waited for your answer and would not accept a simple 'No'.

"It would be an honour," you answered, and Geta leaned forward a bit, which made your father's jaw clench in anger. Not because of your answer, he was aware that a choice was not existing, when facing an Emperor, but because the way the twins looked at you as if you were a price they could simply claim. But you were a smart girl and definitely not naive, so he fully relied on that.

"So this is a 'Yes'?", Geta asked again and you looked him straight in the eyes, not backing off. "Yes."

"Excellent!", Caracalla shouted and clapped into his hands. "We'll have a lot of fun tomorrow."

The corners of Geta's mouth twitched to a smile and he nodded in response to his twin. Yet he hid his displeasure of having him as a rival in this little game. It was clear that Caracalla had layed his eyes on you too, but he won't allow him to simply take and fuck you like you were a common whore. Maybe you could've potential for something more and strenghten his position as well as his popularity. Because both Emperors were still unmarried - and it was expected from them that this would change sooner or later.

[thetimetraveler24]

Sometimes I think about how people rank Jason as their least favorite because he’s “such a bland character with no personality”, but was he even allowed to have one in the first place?

He’s two years old when Lupa guides him to Camp Jupiter. He’s brought up to be the perfect soldier, the perfect Roman, the perfect hero. He doesn’t know life outside the legion. He’s the son of Jupiter, he has to be great. If he’s not, he’s a failure and a disgrace. If he is then he’s still not the best because there so many other heroes who did it better than him so he has to keep trying harder and harder even though no matter what he’s never going to be good enough because the moment he slips up he’s no longer the perfect hero.

The few times he actually tries to do something he wants, he’s only cut down. Changing the 12th legion to the 1st legion? No, you can’t do that. It’s tradition. You’re wrong. That’s stupid. Joining the 5th cohort? Why would you join those losers? You’re only hurting yourself. You could be great if you join the 1st cohort instead like a good Roman boy.

So why would he try to do anything that cultivates his identity? Why would he try to do anything that brings him joy if everyone around him is just going to suck it right out?

He has no best friends at Camp Jupiter. He has acquaintances. He has people he’s friendly with. Say what you want but Reyna was a coworker. Dakota was cool, Gwen was nice. But none of them make Jason want to stay at Camp Jupiter instead of Camp Half-Blood. He thinks of Reyna but only in terms of he doesn’t want to saddle her with the responsibility of picking a new praetor. He thinks about duty. When he is picking between the camps he’s weighing his options between doing his duty as he’s done his whole life or picking himself for the very first time ever and he picks himself.

And it’s honestly so fucking depressing that the first time Jason picks himself and is actually supported in his decision happens when he is sixteen years old. And most of the people supporting him have only known him for a month.

But then he saddles himself with duty and responsibilities because that’s all he’s ever known and Percy is dying and Jason is a good Roman and a good hero and his job is to sacrifice his life for everyone else because of course it is. So he takes on Pontifex Maximus to build shrines and temples to minor gods and goddesses (not that they shouldn’t be honored but… once again he’s sacrificing his identity for the good of everyone around him).

And then, just as he’s finally discovering an identity for himself—he likes physics, he’s learning about the mortal world and living in it, he’s becoming more than just Jupiters son and Juno’s perfect hero—he’s killed.

Jason never got to be Jason. He only got to be Jason Grace, son of Jupiter, Praetor of the 12th Legion, slayer of Krios, one of the Seven, Juno’s Champion, Pontifex Maximus. He always belonged to someone else and never himself.

All this to say, Jason is my favorite of the Seven and although he’s not the eldest nor a daughter, as an eldest daughter I relate so hard and feel very seen in him.

[stylesispunk]

"Shadows of the love under the laurel"

Marcus Acacius x fem!reader

Summary: In the shadows of the Roman Empire, you, a devoted servant, discover love with the honorable General Marcus Acacius. You both navigate the treacherous current of social expectations when a looming marriage comes to risk everything.

w.c: 13k.

warnings: themes of slavery and servitude, forbidden love, mentions of anxiety, mentions of blood, angst, fluff, poorly written smut, no proofreading.

a/n: I don't know what to write in here, but this one was a request by @negrita2345 i hope I did it justice and I hope you all enjoy it and share your thoughts with me because I really love to read your comments and thoughts. They make my day, so thank you in advance! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💌 happy reading 💌✨

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

The sound of the iron gate clanged shut behind you, a cold finality to another day of servitude. You knew that sound well, it was the only sound you had known since you were born, clamoring as a death knell, just reminder of your place in the world. You didn’t even own your freedom, yet you belonged to everyone who had put their hands on your skin or had thrown daggers at you. As a servant, your life was nothing but an endless circle of command shouted from faces that never bothered to learn your name. They simply called you “girl.”

In your twenty-three years, you had learned to endure the sting of insults, the cruel hands that shoved you from one task to another, and the stares that stripped all your dignity. Respect was something that didn’t exist for someone like you, born in the shadows of Rome’s grandeur. You were a property, a tool to serve, to scrub, to clean, and to remain unseen.

And today was no different. You had been sold again.

The place you now found yourself in was the biggest you’d seen. The walls were taller than the marble floors polished to a gleaming white that made your hesitant to step across them. A legion of other servants moved like silent specters, each one avoiding you gaze as you were ushered through the grand halls. It was as though no one acknowledged the arrival of new blood. In their world, new servants were as replaceable as the jugs of wine they carried.

As you moved through the villa, you hear whispers-murmurs of the man who ruled this place. General Marcus Acacius, a name that belonged to a man who had gained respect and admiration. He was no ordinary master, it seemed. He was a warrior, a man who had earned his position through conquest and battle. A man who stood close to the Emperor himself.

Your stomach knotted at the thought. Men of power, you had learned, were often the cruelest. The more they gained, the more they needed to remind those beneath them how little they mattered. You could only hope that Marcus would be indifferent—that he would not notice you at all.

“Girl, this way.”

A sharp voice broke your thoughts. One of the older housekeepers, her face lined with age and wear, beckoned you down a side corridor. It was darker here, the sunlight from the Roman skies barely reaching the shadowed walls. The keeper’s voice softened as you walked.

“You’ll serve General Acacious directly,” she said. “He’s… not like the others.”

You glanced up, surprised by the odd tone in her voice. You weren’t sure if the keeper meant it as a warning or a reassurance, but you nodded nonetheless, keeping your eyes lowered. You approached a set of heavy doors, carved with intricate symbols and flanked by tall, stoic guards. The keeper gestured toward them.

“The general is inside. Speak only when spoken to. He does not tolerate foolishness.”

With a final nod, the keeper disappeared down the corridor, leaving you alone. You stood for a moment, the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest. There was no telling what awaited you on the other side of those doors. You swallowed hard, brushing a strand of dark hair from your face before you stepped forward.

The guards opened the doors without a word, and you found yourself in a large, open room filled with the smell of burning incense and leather. It was dimly lit, the sunlight creeping through narrow windows high above, casting long shadows on the ground. Your gaze lifted, and then you saw him.

Marcus.

General Marcus Acacius stood by a table, bent over a map with a furrowed brow. His armor was still strapped across his broad shoulders, and the crimson cloak draped over his back gave him the appearance of a man who had just come from battle. He was taller than you had imagined, his presence commanding without a single word. His dark hair was cropped close, and his sharp features bore the marks of someone who had lived a life of discipline and war.

For a long moment, he did not acknowledge your presence. You stood still, your heart pounding as you waited for his command, for the words that would decide the course of your life here.

Finally, he looked up, his dark eyes locking onto yours. There was something in his gaze that startled you, not precisely cruelty, but something else. Something you couldn't quite name.

"You are the new servant?" His voice was low, measured. He didn’t shout like the others.

"Yes, General," you replied softly, lowering your eyes to the floor as was expected.

He watched you for a moment longer, and you could feel his gaze lingering on you, almost burning. It was as though he was seeing something in you that others had never cared to look for.

"Good," he said at last, turning back to his maps. "You will serve me directly. Be quick. Be silent. That is all."

His words were not cruel, nor were they kind. They were simple, matter-of-fact. You let out a quiet breath, your heart still pounding in your chest. You turned to leave, but something held you in place, a curiosity that stirred within you, a question you did not dare ask aloud.

What kind of man was General Marcus Acacious?

As you left the room, the weight of your life as a servant settled back onto your shoulders, but there was something different now, something you had not expected. It was faint, a flicker of warmth in the cold corridors of your mind.

In the days that followed, you learned what it meant to serve Marcus Acacius. His world was orderly, precise, and unyielding. He expected his servants to move with quiet efficiency, anticipating his needs before he voiced them. There was no room for error, but unlike you previous masters, there was also no room for cruelty. Mistakes were met with silence, not blows. It was a strange sort of mercy, one that left you both relieved and on edge.

You were tasked with attending to the general’s quarters, a task that placed you in close proximity to him every day. You polished his armor, prepared his baths, and ensured that the scrolls and maps he studied late into the night were neatly arranged. He rarely spoke to you, and when he did, it was brief and to the point. Yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he noticed you in a way no one else had.

It was in the quiet moments between orders that you caught fleeting glimpses of the man behind the title.

One afternoon, as you were cleaning his quarters, you heard a faint groan of pain. Startled, you looked up to see Marcus standing by the window, his hand gripping his side. His face was tight with discomfort, though he said nothing.

You hesitated, unsure if you should speak. “General… are you hurt?”

His eyes flicked toward you, the sharpness in them softening just slightly. For a moment, you thought he might ignore your question, but then he spoke.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice strained. “An old wound. It… flares up from time to time.”

He didn’t offer more, and you knew better than to pry. Yet, something in his tone—a vulnerability you hadn’t heard before made you want to help.

Without thinking, you set aside your cleaning cloth and moved toward him. “I could bring you something… some herbs. For the pain.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, surprised by your boldness. “You know of such things?”

“My mother… she was a healer,” Your replied quietly, your eyes downcast. “Before…” You trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. The silence filled in the gaps—before you were taken, before you became a servant.

He watched you for a long moment, as if weighing your words. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. Bring it.”

You hurried to the kitchens, your heart pounding. It was the first time Marcus had allowed you to do anything beyond your usual duties. As you gathered the herbs your mother had once shown you, the ones that could ease any pain and swelling, you thought of the strange connection you had felt in that moment. It wasn’t just your desire to help him. It was something deeper, something unspoken that passed between them.

When you returned to his quarters, Marcus was seated at the edge of his bed, the tension in his shoulders evident. You approached cautiously, mixing the herbs into a small vial of oil, then holding it out to him.

“You need to apply it to the wound,” you explained, your voice barely above a whisper. “It should ease the pain.”

Marcus took the vial from you, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. His touch was warm, surprising you. Your eyes met, and in that fleeting second, you felt an unfamiliar flutter in your chest—a burn you quickly buried.

“Thank you,” he said, his tone sincere. It was a small word, but coming from a man like Marcus, it carried weight.

You bowed your head, stepping back as he stood and moved to apply the oil himself. You returned to your work, quietly cleaning the room, but your mind was elsewhere. You had never thought much of men, especially men of power. To you, they were all the same: cruel, indifferent, obsessed with their own glory. Yet, Marcus was different. He was distant, yes, and bound by duty, but he was also… something else. There was a complexity to him, a quiet pain that you couldn’t quite understand.

As the days passed, you found yourself watching him more closely. You noticed the way he carried the weight of command, his posture rigid, his eyes always alert. He was a man constantly at war, not just with the enemies of Rome, but with himself. You saw it in the way he would stare out the window late into the night, lost in thought, his fingers drumming against the hilt of his sword as though preparing for a battle that had not yet come.

And then, one evening, everything changed.

It was late, the rest of the household quiet, and you were tidying the general’s quarters as he sat by the hearth, reviewing maps of distant lands. The flicker of firelight cast shadows on his face, making him appear both weary and resolute. You were just about to leave when he spoke, his voice low and thoughtful.

“Tell me,”He said, following by the use of your name for the first time. “How did you come to be here? In this life?”

Your breath caught. No one had ever asked you that before. No one had ever cared to. You hesitated, unsure if you should answer, but the look in his eyes was not one of command. It was curiosity. Genuine, quiet curiosity.

“I was born into it,” you replied softly. “My mother… she was a healer in a small village outside of the city. But when the soldiers came, they took us. I was just a child then. I don’t remember much before it.”

Marcus’s gaze lingered on you; his expression unreadable. “And your mother?”

“She didn’t survive long after that. She grew sick, and no one would help her.”

There was a long silence after that, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. You stood there, your hands clasped in front of you, waiting for him to dismiss you. But he didn’t. Instead, he sighed, a sound so faint you might have missed it had you not been standing so close.

“Life in Rome is rarely kind,” he said, his voice distant. “Even for those who believe themselves fortunate.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You simply stood there, watching as the general seemed to wrestle with thoughts he could not or would not speak aloud. Finally, he shook his head, as if clearing his mind, and looked at you once more.

“You may go,” he said, his tone once again that of a man in command. But there was a softness to it now, something that hadn’t been there before.

You bowed and left the room, your heart pounding. As you walked down the dark corridors of the villa, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you, that the lines separating servant and master had blurred, if only for a moment.

Weeks passed, and Your role in Marcus’s household became routine, yet far from ordinary. You had served many masters before, but none like him. There was a strange rhythm to your interactions now, a wordless understanding that passed between you in brief glances and moments too fleeting for anyone else to notice. Marcus was still the general, the powerful, untouchable figure, but there were cracks in his armor that only you seemed to see.

The changes were small at first. A few words exchanged at the end of the day, a subtle shift in the way his eyes lingered on you when you thought he wasn’t looking. It was during one such moment, late in the evening, that your quiet bond deepened.

You were clearing away the remains of his evening meal, the room lit only by the soft glow of a single oil lamp. Marcus sat at his desk, writing a letter, his brow furrowed in concentration. You moved silently, careful not to disturb him. But as you turned to leave, your hand brushed the corner of the table, knocking over a small cup.

The sound echoed in the stillness.

Your heart leaped into your throat. You had been so careful, always careful. You froze, waiting for the rebuke, the sharp words you had heard from other masters a hundred times before.

But instead of anger, Marcus’s voice came, calm and even. “It’s alright. Leave it.”

You paused, your fingers trembling as you stooped to pick up the cup, determined not to disobey. But as you did, Marcus spoke again, his tone softer this time.

“Do you always expect punishment so quickly?”

You straightened slowly, unsure how to answer. “It’s what happens when mistakes are made, General,” you replied quietly, your eyes still downcast.

Marcus stood, his towering frame casting long shadows in the flickering lamplight. He approached you slowly, the silence between you thick with unspoken words.

“Not here,” he said, his voice low. “You don’t have to fear that here.”

His words, though simple, carried a weight that you weren’t prepared for. For a moment, you dared to look up at him, meeting his eyes. There was something in his gaze—a gentleness that you had never expected to find in a man like him. It made your chest tighten, and you quickly dropped your gaze again.

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t know what kind of men you served before, Mea Columba, but cruelty… it does not make a man stronger. It only makes him feared.”

He was quiet for a long time after that, standing just a breath away from you. You could feel the heat of his presence, the nearness of him unsettling but not unpleasant. You could sense the tension in the air, something unspoken hanging between you like a thread stretched too tight.

“You deserve better than that,” he said finally, his voice almost too soft for you to hear.

Your heart raced, your thoughts a tangled mess. How could he say such a thing? You were nothing more than a servant, a slave, how could someone like him believe you deserved anything at all? But in his words, you heard the truth of what he felt, and it terrified you as much as it filled you with something dangerously close to hope.

Before you could reply, before you could make sense of the moment, the door creaked open, and a soldier entered the room, interrupting them. Marcus immediately stepped back, his expression shifting into the impassive mask of the general once more.

“General Acacius,” the soldier said, bowing. “The emperor has requested your presence tomorrow. Urgent matters to discuss.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “Very well. Inform the Emperor I’ll be there.”

The soldier bowed again and left the room, leaving you and Marcus standing in the silence. The air between you had changed, something fragile, something delicate had passed between you, but neither dared acknowledge it.

“You may go” Marcus said, his voice once again composed, though you could sense the tension beneath it. “Get some rest.”

You bowed quickly and left the room; you heart still pounding in your chest. As you walked back through the dim corridors, you replayed his words in your mind

“You deserve better”

and wondered how dangerous it was to believe them.

You hadn’t expected him to say your name, less to hear a name with such affection from him It startled you, but in a way that made you feel seen, in a way that sent warmth through you despite the cool evening air.

“It’s all I’ve known,” you whispered, barely able to speak the words.

Days passed in a quiet blur, and the memory of that evening lingered between you, heavy and unspoken. Marcus was the same outwardly, maintaining his stoic demeanor in front of his soldiers, the senators, and his household. Yet, when he looked at you, when your eyes met across the room during your brief encounters, you could feel the shift in him, the way his guarded exterior faltered for just a moment.

It was in these fleeting moments that you began to understand the gravity of what was growing between you. You had never been close to a man before, not like this. Your world had always been one of shadows, of quiet obedience. But now, Marcus’s presence lingered in your thoughts, his words echoing in the stillness of your nights.

"You deserve better."

You couldn’t stop hearing it. And it frightened you. How could someone like him, someone with power, command, and the loyalty of an empire, care about someone like you, a servant who had spent her life in the background? The idea felt dangerous, as though it could upend everything you knew, yet it was there, undeniable.

The tension between you simmered, growing with each passing day. You never spoke of that moment again, but it hovered between you, thickening the air whenever you were alone.

One afternoon, you were attending to the general’s chambers when he returned earlier than expected from the training grounds. His tunic was damp with sweat, the edges of his dark hair clinging to his forehead, and a fresh bruise marked his arm.

He entered the room quietly, not saying a word at first, watching as you busied yourself, you’re your work. You tried to remain calm, to focus on your duties as you had always done, but the awareness of his gaze unsettled you. Finally, Marcus broke the silence.

he said your name, almost sounding hesitant.

You turned to face him, your heart quickening at the sound of your name. He had been saying it more often lately, and each time it carried a weight that made your pulse race. “Yes, General?”

For a moment, Marcus seemed to struggle with himself, his expression hard to read. He took a step closer, the air between you humming with tension. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, though the statement felt more like a question. “Are you… well?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. “I am, General. I—” You hesitated, unsure how to respond. The truth was, you had been keeping your distance, afraid of what might happen if you let yourself grow any closer to him. “I’ve just been… busy with my tasks.”

His eyes searched yours, as though he could see past your words to the truth beneath them. “You don’t have to keep your distance, mea columba,” he said quietly. “Not from me.”

The words sent a shiver through you. You wanted to step back, to remind yourself of your place, but something in his gaze held you still. There was a tenderness there, a vulnerability that you hadn’t expected to see in him.

“I’m only a servant,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You… you don’t have to concern yourself with me.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, and he took another step toward you, closing the distance between you. “You’re more than that,” he said, his voice firm but soft. “You’re more than what this life has made you.”

Your breath caught. You didn’t know what to say, how to respond to the depth of his words. You had spent your whole life believing that your worth was measured by your service, by how invisible you could make yourself. But Marcus… he saw you. And it terrified you as much as it filled you with warmth.

“You deserve more than this life, mea columba” Marcus continued, his hand lifting ever so slightly as if he wanted to reach for you but stopped himself. “More than this… than the way others have treated you.”

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. You couldn’t let herself believe in what he was saying. It was impossible. He was a general, bound by duty and honor to Rome. And you were, no, you had to be nothing to him. Anything else was too dangerous to even imagine.

“Please,” you said, almost pleading, “don’t say such things. I can’t…” You trailed off, your words caught in your throat.

Marcus’s eyes softened, the hard edges of his face relaxing just slightly. “I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know we can’t… but it doesn’t change how I feel.”

The admission hung in the air between you, raw and real. Your heart pounded, your mind reeling from the weight of his confession. You wanted to step forward, to reach out and touch him, to tell him that you felt the same—that his kindness, his quiet strength, had stirred something in you that you had never thought possible.

But she couldn’t. The world wouldn’t allow it. He was a man of power, and you were a servant. Their lives were too different, their paths too far apart.

And yet, standing there in the quiet of the room, with only the soft flicker of candlelight between you, it felt as though the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving only the two of you in the stillness.

Marcus reached up, his hand trembling ever so slightly as it brushed against your cheek. You gasped at the touch, your skin tingling under his fingertips. It was the first time he had touched you like this, softly, tenderly, as though you were something fragile and precious.

“I wish things were different,” he murmured, his thumb gently caressing the curve of your jaw.

You closed your eyes, leaning into the warmth of his hand despite yourself. You knew you shouldn’t, knew that this moment could only lead to heartache, but you couldn’t stop herself. “So do I,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

For a long moment, you stood there, suspended in the silence, the weight of your unspoken feelings pressing down on you. But then, just as quickly as it had begun, Marcus pulled away, his hand falling to his side. The mask of the general slipped back into place, his expression once again composed, though his eyes still burned with the emotions he couldn’t voice.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, stepping back. “I shouldn’t have—”

You shook your head. “No, it’s… it’s alright.”

But it wasn’t. You both knew it.

“You should go,” Marcus said, his voice rough with regret. “We… we can’t.”

You nodded, though your heart ached. “Goodnight, General.”

You turned and left the room, your heart heavy with the weight of what had just happened.

The days that followed were unbearable. You tried to go about your duties as usual, but you couldn’t shake the weight of Marcus’s words, the feel of his hand against your cheek, the unspoken desire that lingered between you. It haunted you in the quiet moments, in the stillness of night when you were alone with your thoughts.

And you could see it in him, too.

Every glance you shared, every brief exchange, held a tension that had not been there before. Marcus’s eyes lingered on you longer than they should, his gaze filled with something he dared not speak aloud. You could feel the conflict within him, the struggle between his duty and what lay deep in his heart.

One afternoon, as you were preparing the general’s chambers for the evening, you heard footsteps behind you. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was. You could feel his presence, the energy in the room shifting the moment he entered.

“Columba” he said softly, his voice different from the tone he used with anyone else. There was no command in it, no expectation—just a quiet plea.

You turned to face him, your heart already racing at the sound of your nickname on his lips. He stood in the doorway, his posture rigid, yet his eyes betrayed him. They were filled with the same turmoil that had been building between you for weeks.

“General,” you said, your voice steady though your heart was anything but.

He stepped forward, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. “Marcus,” he corrected, his gaze fixed on yours. “When we’re alone, please… call me Marcus.”

The intimacy of his request made your chest tighten. You had spent your life addressing him with titles, always reminding herself of the distance between you, but now… now he was asking you to cross that distance, to meet him as something more than a servant.

“Marcus,” you repeated softly, the word feeling foreign yet familiar on your tongue.

A small smile touched his lips, but it was strained. He walked slowly toward you, his movements careful, as though he was afraid to shatter the fragile space between you. When he stopped just a step away from you, you felt the air grow thick, the unspoken emotions pressing down on you both.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Marcus said, his voice low and rough with honesty. “I’ve tried… I’ve tried to bury it, to remind myself of who I am, of what’s expected of me. But every time I see you, every time I hear your voice… it’s like I can’t breathe.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. You had never imagined a man like Marcus, a man of such power and command, could feel this way about you. You had always been invisible, always kept in the shadows. But with him, you felt seen. And that terrified you.

“Marcus, we can’t…” You shook your head, your voice trembling. “You know we can’t. You’re a general. You serve Rome. I’m nothing more than a servant.”

“You are not nothing,” Marcus said sharply, his eyes flashing with a rare intensity. He reached out and gently grasped your wrist, his touch sending a jolt through you. “Don’t ever say that. You are everything I—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening as if he were trying to restrain words he couldn’t say.

Your heart pounded in your chest. You could feel the heat of his hand on your skin, the warmth of his breath as he stood so close. Every instinct told you to pull away, to remind him of the impossibility of this, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t deny the pull between you, the feelings that had been growing in your heart, no matter how forbidden they were.

“Why me?” you whispered, your voice fragile as your heart. “Why would you care for someone like me, when you could have anyone?”

Marcus’s gaze softened, his grip on your wrist loosening but not letting go. He lifted your hand slowly, his thumb brushing over your palm in a gesture so gentle it made you ache. “Because you see me,” he murmured. “Not the general, not the man who leads armies or answers to the emperor. You see me.”

His words made your chest tighten painfully. You had always tried to stay invisible, to keep your head down and avoid the eyes of those who held power over you. But with Marcus, it was different. You saw the man beneath the armor, the one who carried the weight of duty and responsibility on his shoulders but longed for something more—something real.

“I can’t stop what I feel for you,” Marcus continued, his voice filled with raw honesty. “Even though I know it’s wrong, even though I know what the world would think if they knew… I can’t stop.”

You felt your resolve crumbling. You wanted to tell him that you felt the same, that his kindness, his gentleness, had woven its way into your heart. But the fear of what could come from this, the danger of their impossible love, held you back.

“I feel it too,” you admitted softly, you voice barely above a whisper. “But we have no future, Marcus. You know that. You’ll be expected to marry—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice tight. “I know I’m bound by duty. I’ve spent my whole life doing what Rome asks of me. But for once, Livia, I want something for myself.”

His words hung in the air, thick with longing and pain. Your heart ached for him, for the man who had given so much of himself to an empire that would never give him the freedom to love who he chose. And yet, even as you felt the weight of his confession, you knew the truth.

“Even if we want this,” you whispered, “Rome will never let it happen.”

Marcus’s face tightened with frustration, his hand still holding yours as though he couldn’t bear to let go.

You stood in silence for a long moment, the weight of your love pressing down on them. Your heart pounded in your chest, torn between the desire to give in to the feelings you had tried so hard to suppress and the reality of the world they lived in.

Finally, Marcus spoke again, his voice heavy with resignation. “I don’t know what the future holds,” he said softly. “But I know that for now… I need you here. By my side. Even if that’s all we can have.”

You swallowed hard, tears burning at the edges of your eyes. You knew he was right. Your love, if it could even be called that, would never be allowed to flourish in the light. But in the shadows, in the quiet moments you shared, it was real. And maybe, for now, that had to be enough.

You nodded, your voice barely audible as you whispered, “I’ll stay.”

Marcus’s shoulders seemed to relax, and for the briefest moment, a small, sad smile crossed his face. He gently released your hand, stepping back, the distance between you once again restored. But the bond you shared remained.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice filled with emotion. “For staying.”

It was a few days later, and the weight of your shared confession still lingered in the air. The nights had grown heavier with unspoken feelings, and each day, the tension between you and Marcus became harder to ignore. You told yourself to be content with what little time you could have by his side, though it tore at you, knowing that it would never be enough.

That evening, you were cleaning his quarters, your movements methodical, when the door creaked open behind you. You turned and saw Marcus step in, but this time he wasn’t the composed general you had grown used to. His tunic was torn at the shoulder, a dark patch of blood staining the fabric. His brow was furrowed, his jaw set in pain. He tried to stand tall, but there was no hiding the wince as he moved.

"Marcus," you gasped, forgetting all formality in the moment, rushing toward him. Your heart hammered in your chest, worry washing over you at the sight of him.

“It’s nothing,” he said gruffly, waving off your concern, though the tightness in his voice betrayed him. “Just a training injury.”

You moved closer, eyes searching his. You had seen him injured before—he was a soldier, after all—but this felt different. There was a vulnerability in the way he looked at you, as though he had allowed himself to come to you in a moment of weakness.

“You should sit,” you said softly, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. “Let me prepare a bath for you.”

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded, walking slowly toward the bed and sitting on its edge, his movements stiff and labored. His dark eyes followed you as you quickly went to work, preparing the bath with warm water and fragrant oils to ease his wounds and the tension in his body.

When you returned, you found Marcus removing his tunic, the fabric peeling away from the gash on his shoulder. His skin was marred with bruises, old and new, the marks of a warrior who had seen countless battles. But it was the fresh wound that made your heart ache, the sight of him in pain stirring something deep within you.

“Let me help you,” you whispered, kneeling beside him. He met your eyes, his expression unreadable, and then he nodded, allowing you to step closer. With trembling hands, you gently unfastened the remaining clasps of his armor, your fingers brushing against his skin. You tried to keep your touch professional, but each time your skin met his, a jolt of electricity shot through you.

Once he was bare to the waist, you guided him to the bath. He lowered himself into the warm water with a sigh, his muscles relaxing as the heat enveloped him. You sat on the stool beside the tub, gathering a soft cloth in your hands. You hesitated for a moment, the intimacy of what you were about to do settling heavily in your chest.

When you began to gently scrub his skin, the water rippling with each movement, Marcus closed his eyes, leaning back slightly. His breath came in slow, deep draws, and for a moment, it was as though the world outside the room no longer existed. There was just you, him, and the quiet sound of water.

Your hands moved carefully over his skin, your touch tender and cautious, tracing the contours of his shoulders, his back, the lines of his strong arms. You could feel the tension in his body slowly easing, though your own pulse raced with each moment that passed. The intimacy of the act was overwhelming, but Marcus made no move to stop you.

As you worked, you couldn't help but steal glances at his face, at the way the flickering candlelight danced across his strong jaw and the softness in his expression that he only ever showed when you were alone.

He opened his eyes after a long silence, catching your gaze. “You don’t have to do this,” he murmured, his voice husky from the warmth of the bath or perhaps something more.

“I want to,” you whispered, barely able to meet his eyes. “Let me take care of you.”

The vulnerability in your voice, in the gesture of your care, seemed to affect him deeply. Marcus’s eyes softened, and he reached out, his fingers brushing against your wrist in a silent gesture of thanks. The warmth of his touch lingered on your skin long after he pulled away.

For a long while, you continued in silence, the only sound the gentle splashing of water as you washed away the blood, the dirt, and the exhaustion from his body. Each stroke of the cloth felt like a confession, a quiet way of telling him what you couldn’t say aloud. That you cared for him. That you wanted to protect him in whatever small way you could, even though you knew you couldn’t keep him from the dangers of the world beyond these walls.

When you reached the wound on his shoulder, you were as delicate as possible, your touch light and careful. Marcus winced slightly, but he didn’t pull away. His eyes remained on you, dark and intense, watching every movement of your hands as though you were something precious.

“You’re always so careful,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why?”

You paused, your heart tightening at the question. How could you explain it? How could you put into words the way your heart ached for him, the way you wished to offer him comfort in a world that demanded so much of him?

“Because you’ve given me more kindness than I’ve ever known,” you whispered, barely able to say the words. “I want to give some of it back.”

Marcus’s gaze softened even more, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might say something, something that would change everything between you. But instead, he closed his eyes, leaning back into the water, his hand slipping beneath the surface and resting on the edge of the tub.

You continued to wash him in silence, your heart heavy with the knowledge that these moments, these stolen moments in the shadows, were all you would ever have. And yet, they felt so real, so profound, that you couldn’t bring yourself to regret them.

When the bath was finished, you helped Marcus stand, wrapping a towel around his broad shoulders. He stood before you, his body strong but weary, the weight of his duties ever present in his posture. You couldn’t help but reach out, your hand brushing lightly against the wound on his shoulder.

“Does it hurt?” you asked softly.

He shook his head, but his eyes told a different story. “Not as much as other wounds,” he said quietly, his gaze meeting yours. “Not as much as the ones I can’t show.”

Your heart clenched at his words. You understood. The wounds of battle were visible, but the wounds of the heart—the ones inflicted by duty, by honor, by a world that wouldn’t allow him to follow his desires—were far deeper.

Marcus’s hand reached out, his fingers gently curling around yours, and for a moment, he held on as though you were the only thing keeping him grounded. His eyes searched yours, filled with emotions too complex to name

Marcus’s fingers curled around yours, and in that moment, the air between you seemed to shift. The world outside his chambers fell away, leaving only the two of you, standing so close, bound by an unspoken connection that had been building since the moment you first laid eyes on him. The intensity in his gaze sent a shiver through you, and you felt your breath catch in your throat as his thumb gently brushed over the back of your hand, a simple touch that carried a weight neither of you could ignore.

His hand lingered, holding yours as if it was the only anchor he had left. His eyes were darker now, filled with emotions too complex to name—longing, conflict, something deeper that neither of you had dared to speak aloud. The space between you felt fragile, like a thread stretched too tight, and yet neither of you could pull away.

“Mea columba” he murmured, his voice rough, barely more than a whisper. The way he said your name sent warmth coursing through your veins, and you felt yourself trembling beneath the intensity of his gaze.

You opened your mouth to speak, to say something—anything—to break the silence, but the words wouldn’t come. You didn’t need them. Everything was in his eyes, the way they searched yours, as though he were trying to find an answer to a question he hadn’t yet asked.

Slowly, cautiously, Marcus took a step closer, his hand still holding yours. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, the pulse in your ears deafening as the space between you closed. His breath was warm on your skin, mingling with your own as he stood so close that the air felt charged, thick with something unspoken.

He reached up with his free hand, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed a strand of hair from your face. The touch was so tender, so careful, that it made your heart ache. His thumb lingered on your cheek, his palm cradling the side of your face, as though he were afraid to break the moment, afraid to shatter the delicate connection you shared.

“I’ve tried to fight this,” he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet desperation. “I’ve tried to remind myself of what’s right, of my duty, of all the reasons why I can’t—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. You already knew. You knew the weight of the world that rested on his shoulders, the impossible choice he faced between the life he was bound to and the feelings that had grown between you.

But in that moment, as you stood in the dim light of his chambers, none of it seemed to matter. It was just the two of you, and the pull between you was too strong to deny.

“Marcus,” you breathed, your voice trembling as his name passed your lips, a quiet plea for something you both knew couldn’t be undone.

He hesitated for just a moment, his gaze searching yours one last time, as if waiting for a sign, for permission to take that final, forbidden step. And then, with a soft, broken sigh, Marcus leaned in.

His lips brushed yours, so softly at first that it felt like a whisper, a question, a promise. The world seemed to still around you, the moment suspended in time as he kissed you with a tenderness that made your heart ache. His hand tightened around yours, holding you close, as though he were afraid to let go, afraid that this fragile moment would slip away if he loosened his grip.

And then, slowly, the kiss deepened. His lips pressed more firmly against yours, and all the emotions that had been building between you, longing, desire, love, poured into that single, desperate kiss. It was as though every unspoken word, every hidden glance, every touch that had lingered too long was finally allowed to come to life.

You kissed him back, your hand finding its way to his bare chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath your fingers. It beat in time with yours, fast and hard, as if it, too, was caught up in the storm of emotions swirling between you. His other hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer, his body warm and solid against yours.

For a moment, nothing else mattered. Not the rules, not the expectations, not the world outside these walls. There was only Marcus, his lips on yours, his hands holding you like you were something precious, something he had longed for but never thought he could have.

“I don’t know how we’ll keep this secret… but gods, I can’t stop myself. I don’t want to stop.”

You felt the same. You didn’t know how you would hide this, how you would keep it from the eyes of the world, but in that moment, you didn’t care. You had already crossed a line, and there was no going back.

“I don’t want to stop either,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “But we’ll find a way… we have to.”

Marcus’s hand slipped from your waist to your cheek once more, his fingers brushing softly against your skin. He leaned in again, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment as though he were trying to hold on to the peace you had found in each other, but as soon as your eyes connected in unspoken pleas, his lips found yours again, this time his kiss screamed desire for you.

The way his right hand slipped down your arm, his touch soft but filled with purpose, sent a shiver through you. His fingers trailed along the curve of your waist, pulling you closer as his lips remained firmly attached to yours, deepening the kiss with a slow, deliberate intensity that made your head spin.

His body pressed against yours, strong and warm, as if he were trying to merge your very beings into one. The world around you seemed to melt away, your senses consumed by the feel of him, the taste of him, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. Each moment felt suspended in time, the quiet intimacy of the moment holding you both captive.

You could feel the heat radiating off his body, his chest rising and falling in time with yours as the kiss grew more passionate, more desperate. His hand at your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him, as though he needed to feel every part of you, to confirm that this wasn’t a dream.

Your own hands, trembling with the weight of the moment, slid up his arms, feeling the strength beneath his skin, the tension coiled in his muscles. You had never been this close before, never allowed yourself to imagine being this close to him. And now, here you were, pressed against him in a way that defied everything you had been told about your place in the world, everything you had believed about what you deserved.

His lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched the fire burning in your chest. It wasn’t just desire, there was something deeper, something raw and unspoken that neither of you had been able to express until now. Every kiss, every touch, was a release of all the feelings you had kept locked away for so long.

As his lips parted from yours for just a moment, his breath hot against your skin, Marcus whispered your name again—so soft, so reverent that it felt like a prayer. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes half-closed, his voice thick with emotion.

“I can’t…” he whispered, his hand still resting firmly at your waist, holding you close as though he couldn’t bear to let go. “I can’t stop this.”

Neither could you. You didn’t want to. You were lost in him, in the warmth of his touch, in the way he held you like you were the only thing that mattered. You could feel the conflict within him, the weight of his duties and the forbidden nature of what was blossoming between you, but none of that mattered in this moment.

His lips found yours again, this time slower, more tender, as though he were savoring every second, memorizing the feel of you in his arms. His hand slid up your back, pulling you even closer, as if he needed to feel the beat of your heart against his own. You melted into him, your own hands finding their way into his hair, threading through the dark strands as you kissed him with a longing you had kept buried for far too long.

No long after, his fingertips caressed your shoulders, slipping the strips of your dress down your arms. None of you stopped locking your gazes as you felt you dress slipping down your body. You were completely bare in front of the man who had made your heart race like never before.

You had never felt like this before, and the fire in the pit of your stomach was a new sensation for you. There was fire everywhere.

Marcus swept his eyes down your body, clearly reacting to the sight in front of him. The dim light of the moon danced across your skin. Marcus couldn’t believe it. You were the most beautiful woman he laid his eyes on, and under his stare he could swear God had made you just for him to find you, to find love in your eyes and in the way they looked at him now.

He placed his right hand on your neck, before trailing the path down to your neck, your breasts, your stomach as if you were the most delicate map he had ever touched in his life.

Goosebumps arise on your skin as you gasped under his touch. The way he unbraided your hair and swept it, looking at you with adoration. He wasted no time to devour your lips with his, stealing the moaning sounds out of your mouth, when his fingers slipped into your entrance. He worked his was in and out, your mouths attached, and his tongue caressed your swollen lips.

Your hands made their way to his back, his chest, his stomach. A groan came out of his throat when your fingers found his cock. Before you could even react, he carefully laid you on your back, his eyes bored into yours. Your lips were parted by the surprise of his sudden movement, and yet you looked beautiful under his stare, and you could feel beautiful too. It felt like a dream, to had found love in someone like him.

Marcus reached out and cupped your breasts. Your nipples hardened at the touch, and he duck down taking one in his mouth. You whispered his name making his cock throb at the sound of you pleading him, clearly enjoying the was your stomach trembled under his body. He then spread your legs to find the place where you needed him the most.

“Marcus” you whispered; voice weak “please.”

He grumbled and buried his entire face on your cunt. Your legs tightened in surprise, but he kept them open by draping one over his shoulder. He'd done this before, but with you, it seemed different. This time, he couldn't contain his thrill at the thought of making you pleased. He wanted you not only for this reason, but also because you cared for him and he for you, and he desired to prove thar by making love to you and waking up next to you for the rest of his life.

He continued sucking on your clit until you gasped for air. You felt hot under his tongue, and the flavor of you drove him crazy.

“You’re so beautiful mea columba” he whispered, pushing your thighs further apart and took his cock to press the head into your cunt, pushing it with pressure. You both moaned. He dropped his head to your shoulder, inhaling your exquisite scent.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, voice trembling at the thought. You were tight. He knew for the way your eyes looked that you never had done this before, so he tried to be as careful as he could.

“Marcus” you moaned, whimpering. He was all the way inside you. He felt embarred as how weak he seemed because of you. He tried not to come so fast, while glancing between you every second to make sure he wasn’t hurting you.

When he felt himself getting close, he tried to lift your back, holding onto your waist, his chest against yours, lips devouring each other.

“I’m in love with you, mea columba” he whispered, while pounding into you with a steady but delicate force it made you squirm.

your lips and bodies moving in perfect harmony, the rest of the world slipping away as you both gave in to the feelings you could no longer deny. The weight of the consequences lingered at the edges of your mind, but in that moment, nothing seemed as important as this. As him. As the way his hand cradled your waist, the way he kissed you like he had been waiting for this his entire life.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads still resting together. The silence that followed was heavy, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was filled with the quiet understanding that you had both crossed a line, and there was no turning back now.

Marcus’s eyes flickered open, his gaze locking with yours, the intensity of his emotions shining clearly in the dim light of the room. His thumb brushed lightly against your waist, a touch so gentle, yet filled with a quiet urgency that made your breath catch in your throat.

“I meant it,” he whispered, his voice low and rough with emotion. “I’m in love with you.”

His words hung in the air, thick and heavy with a truth neither of you could deny anymore. And then, without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed his lips to your forehead, the kiss soft and lingering, filled with a tenderness that made your heart swell.

You felt a rush of warmth flood through your body, his confession sinking deep into your chest. You had heard it in his voice before, seen it in his eyes, but hearing those words—words you never thought someone of his stature would say to you—made everything feel real. His love was dangerous, forbidden, but it was also undeniable.

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, not out of sorrow, but from the overwhelming emotions that surged through you—relief, joy, and the painful knowledge that this love, as real as it was, lived in the shadows.

“I…” your voice faltered, barely above a whisper. “I never thought I’d hear you say those words.”

His forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he closed his eyes, his hand tightening around your waist, pulling you even closer. “I’ve tried to fight it,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet anguish. “I’ve tried so hard to push it away, to tell myself it can’t be. But I can’t… I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

You felt the trembling in his voice, the vulnerability in his words, and it mirrored the storm of feelings inside you. You had spent so long burying your own emotions, convinced that someone like Marcus could never see you as more than a servant, more than someone beneath him. But here he was, his love laid bare, his heart in your hands.

A tear slipped down your cheek, and before you could speak, Marcus lifted his hand to your face, his thumb brushing the tear away with the same care he had shown you so many times before. His eyes were filled with something so raw, so real, that it made your chest ache.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words escaping you before you could stop them, but you didn’t want to stop them. They were the truth, and in this moment, you had no reason to hide.

Marcus closed his eyes again, his lips parting in a quiet, shaky breath, as though the sound of your confession had taken away the last of his restraint. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a tenderness that made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

“I’ll protect you,” he said softly, his voice filled with quiet resolve. “Whatever happens, whatever comes next… I won’t let anything take you away from me.”

His words were a promise, one that felt as fragile as it was powerful. You both knew the risks, knew the world wouldn’t accept this love, but in his arms, in this stolen moment, you believed him. You believed that somehow, against all odds, you might be able to hold on to each other.

As the night deepened, the warmth of Marcus's arms around you became a cocoon of safety and comfort, unlike anything you had ever known. The intensity of your shared confessions, the raw emotions lingering between you, began to soften into a quieter, more intimate connection. His hands, once rough with battle, now caressed your skin with the gentleness of a man who had found something worth protecting, something precious.

You remained in his embrace, the two of you sitting on the edge of his bed, the flickering candlelight casting soft, golden shadows across his quarters. Marcus's thumb traced slow circles against your back, his touch reassuring and grounding, as though he was afraid that letting go would make this moment slip away into a dream. His forehead still rested gently against yours, his breathing steady but deep, as if he, too, was caught in the weight of everything you had just shared.

“I never imagined feeling like this,” you whispered, your voice barely breaking the silence of the room. You weren’t sure if you were confessing to him or simply speaking aloud the truth of what was in your heart. “I never thought I’d ever know this kind of closeness, this… love.”

His grip on you tightened slightly, his lips brushing the top of your head. “Neither did I,” he murmured, his voice thick with sincerity. “Not like this. Not with you.”

For a while, neither of you said anything. The quiet sounds of the night outside his window drifted in—a soft wind, the distant murmur of soldiers on watch, the occasional flicker of torchlight from the corridors. But none of it touched the stillness that enveloped the two of you in this space. Here, with Marcus, the world felt far away.

You felt the exhaustion from the day, from the intensity of everything, slowly creeping into your limbs. Your eyelids grew heavy, and despite the swirl of emotions still lingering in your chest, a deep weariness began to settle over you.

Marcus must have sensed it too, because his hand moved to your cheek, lifting your face gently so that your eyes met his. His expression softened, the hardness of the general gone, replaced by the tenderness of a man who cared deeply for you.

“You’re tired,” he said quietly, his voice filled with concern. “You should rest.”

You opened your mouth to protest, not wanting to leave his embrace, not wanting to lose the warmth of his presence. But he only smiled, his thumb brushing across your cheek in a soothing motion. “Stay here. With me.”

It was more than just an invitation. It was a promise, a reassurance that you didn’t have to return to the cold solitude of your small, servant's quarters. Tonight, you could stay here, beside him, and find some peace in his arms.

You breathed in the scent of him, your heart finding a slow, steady rhythm against his, and in the safety of his embrace, you finally let go.

Marcus’s hand continued to stroke your hair, even as sleep pulled you under. You could feel his heartbeat beneath your palm, strong and sure, and it lulled you into the sweetest, most peaceful sleep you had known in years.

And just before the darkness of sleep claimed you completely, you felt him press one last kiss to your temple, his lips soft and warm against your skin.

“Goodnight, my love,” he whispered.

And with that, you fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, wrapped safely in his arms.

The days that followed were filled with an eerie calm, the quiet before the storm neither of you could ignore. You and Marcus fell into a rhythm of stolen moments—brushed hands when no one was looking, lingering glances that spoke more than words could ever say. In the dim light of dawn, in the safety of his quarters, your world shrank to just the two of you, the outside concerns held at bay for a little while longer.

But the world, especially one as ruthless as the Roman Empire, couldn’t be held back forever.

It began with hushed whispers from the servants, news of political maneuvering at the highest levels. You heard it first while fetching water from the well. Two women were gossiping, their voices low but clear enough for you to overhear.

“The Emperor’s orders,” one of them said, her tone almost gleeful. “General Acacius is to marry Lucilla, they say. It’s all but decided.”

Your stomach dropped, the bucket in your hand suddenly too heavy. You froze in place, the weight of those words sinking into you like a stone. Marcus is to marry. The Emperor’s will was absolute, and any personal desires, any feelings, would be swept away like dust in the wind.

You barely remember how you made it back to Marcus’s quarters, your mind a blur of emotions—dread, anger, helplessness. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing with the terrible reality you were trying to push away. By the time you arrived, your hands were trembling, your breath shallow as if the air itself had become too heavy to breathe.

When Marcus walked in later that evening, you could see it in his face before he even spoke. The weight of duty, the burden of decisions not his own, bore down on him like a heavy cloak. His eyes, once so full of warmth when they met yours, were shadowed with the knowledge of what was to come.

You tried to speak, to find the words to ask him if it was true, but they caught in your throat. Instead, you stood in silence, waiting for him to tell you.

“They’ve ordered it,” he said quietly, his voice strained. He didn’t meet your eyes as he spoke, as if doing so would make it all too real. “The Emperor has arranged a marriage.”

Your heart shattered at that moment, but you willed yourself not to show it. You had always known this was a possibility—he was a man of power and status, and the empire would always demand his obedience. Still, knowing didn’t soften the blow. You felt like the air had been knocked out of your chest.

Marcus took a step closer to you, his expression pained. “I didn’t want this,” he murmured. “I don’t want her.”

He reached for you, his hand hovering just above your arm as if unsure whether he still had the right to touch you. The distance between you felt insurmountable now, the shadow of his impending marriage looming over everything you had built together.

You pulled back, just enough to break the unspoken promise of his touch. “But you must,” you said, your voice trembling. “You have no choice.”

Marcus’s eyes finally met yours, and the anguish in them was more than you could bear. “I swore I would protect you, that I wouldn’t let anything take you from me.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to stay strong even as the tears threatened to fall. “And I swore I would stay by your side, no matter what,” you whispered. “But Marcus, this… this is the world we live in…I can’t stay here just to watch you being married to a woman who is not me.”

“I can’t lose you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I can’t pretend this marriage means anything to me. It’s politics, nothing more. You are what I want.”

You felt your resolve crumbling, the enormity of what you were facing pulling you under. “But once you’re married…” The words felt like poison on your tongue. “Once you’re bound to her…”

He shook his head fiercely, stepping closer again, this time not hesitating as he took your hands in his. His touch was warm, familiar, but it couldn’t erase the reality pressing down on both of you. “I won’t let her come between us. I won’t.”

Tears filled your eyes despite your best efforts to hold them back. You couldn’t stop the ache in your chest, the knowledge that your love would now have to exist in the shadows of Marcus’s new life—hidden, secret, and forbidden.

“What kind of life is that for us?” you asked, your voice breaking. “A love hidden away, always in the dark?”

Marcus’s jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with desperation. “We’ll find a way,” he insisted. “Even if the world says we can’t… we’ll find a way.”

You wanted to believe him, you wanted to hold on to the love that had grown between you, but the cold reality was seeping into every corner of your heart. This marriage wasn’t just an obstacle—it was a wall that you couldn’t break through.

You stepped away, pulling your hands free from his grasp. The distance between you felt like a chasm now, one that neither of you could cross. “I don’t know if love is enough,” you whispered, the weight of the world pressing down on your chest. “I won’t have my heart broken every day of my life just for you to see me from afar.”

Your words hung heavy in the air, each one a dagger piercing both your hearts. Marcus's face fell, the determination in his eyes flickering like a candle in the wind. He reached out once more, but hesitated, his hand hovering between you as if unsure whether he still had the right to touch you.

"Mea columba, please," he pleaded, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Don't say that. Don't give up on what we have."

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly brushed it away, straightening your spine to muster whatever strength you had left. "I'm not giving up," you replied softly. "But I can't live a life where I'm constantly in the shadows, hiding what I feel, watching you build a life with someone else."

He shook his head vehemently. "My marriage to Lucilla will be in name only. It means nothing compared to what I feel for you."

"But it changes everything," you insisted, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. "She will be your wife. She will stand beside you in public, share your home, perhaps even bear your children. Where does that leave me? Sneaking around in the dark, pretending I don't exist whenever others are near?"

Marcus's expression crumpled, pain etched into every line of his face. "I would never ask you to diminish yourself like that."

"But that's exactly what this would be," you said, stepping back further to put some distance between you. "I deserve more than to be a secret, Marcus. And deep down, you know that."

He opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. The silence stretched between you, filled only by the distant sounds of the bustling city beyond the walls—a world that seemed determined to keep you apart.

Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse. "What are you saying?"

You took a shaky breath, gathering the courage to face the truth you'd been avoiding. "I'm saying that perhaps it's time for me to leave."

His eyes widened in alarm. "Leave? No, you can't. I won't allow it."

A bitter smile tugged at your lips. "You can't keep me here, not like this. Not when staying would mean watching you live a life, I can never be a part of."

Desperation flashed across his face. "I can speak to the Emperor. I can refuse the marriage. There must be a way—"

"And risk everything you've worked for? Your honor, your position?" You shook your head sadly. "You and I both know that's not possible. The Emperor's command is absolute. Defying him would only bring ruin upon you."

"I would risk it for you," he insisted, taking a bold step forward. "For us."

"And that's precisely why I can't let you do that," you replied gently. "I won't be the cause of your downfall.” You inhaled “Because you would end up despising me for it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every movement. "So, what then? We part ways? Pretend none of this ever happened?"

You felt your heart break a little more at the pain in his voice. "I don't want to forget," you said softly. "I will cherish every moment we've shared. But sometimes, love isn't enough to overcome the obstacles before us."

Marcus's shoulders sagged, defeat washing over him. "I can't accept that."

"Neither can I," you admitted, tears welling up once more. "But it's the only way we can both move forward without destroying each other."

He looked at you with a profound sadness, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hope. "Where will you go?"

You offered a small, sad smile. "I'll find somewhere. Perhaps another household, or maybe I'll find a way to make a life for myself beyond these walls."

A tense silence settled between you. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely audible. "When?"

You swallowed hard. "Soon. Before the marriage takes place."

He closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to steady himself against the inevitable. "At least allow me to ensure you're safe. Let me arrange for you to be placed somewhere you'll be treated well."

You considered refusing but knew it would ease his mind. "Alright," you agreed quietly. "Thank you."

Marcus stepped closer once more, and this time you didn't pull away as he reached out to cup your face gently in his hands. "I love you," he whispered, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "That will never change."

A sob escaped your lips, and you placed your hand over his. "And I love you. More than you could ever know."

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, and for a moment, the two of you stood there, memorizing every detail of each other's faces—the warmth of your breaths mingling, the softness of his touch, the sorrow in his eyes.

"Promise me something," he said softly.

"Anything."

"Promise me you'll find happiness," he murmured. "That you'll live the life you deserve."

You nodded slowly. "I promise."

A single tear rolled down his cheek, and he pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you as if it were the last time—as indeed it might be. You clung to him, wishing you could freeze time, keep this moment suspended forever.

After what felt like both an eternity and a mere heartbeat, you pulled away, knowing that if you didn't leave now, you might never find the strength again. "Goodbye, Marcus," you whispered.

He reached into the folds of his tunic and pulled out a small object—a simple silver pendant engraved with a laurel wreath. "Take this," he said, pressing it into your hand. "So you'll always have a part of me with you."

You looked down at the pendant, your vision blurred by tears. "I will treasure it always."

With a final, lingering glance, you turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last. As you left his chambers, the weight of your decision settled fully upon you, but beneath the pain, there was a quiet resolve. You were choosing your own path, difficult as it was.

Behind you, Marcus remained standing, watching you go until you disappeared from sight. The echo of your footsteps faded, leaving him alone with the emptiness of the room and the ache in his heart.

The days that followed were a blur. True to his word, Marcus arranged for you to be placed in the household of a kind widow on the outskirts of the city. The woman, Julia, welcomed you warmly, unaware of the depth of your connection to the general. To her, you were simply a skilled servant in need of a place, and she was grateful for the help.

Life in Julia's home was peaceful, a stark contrast to the turmoil of your emotions. Each day, you performed your duties diligently, but your thoughts often drifted back to Marcus—the sound of his voice, the warmth of his embrace, the intensity of his gaze as he declared his love for you.

News of his impending marriage reached you through whispers in the marketplace. The union was to be a grand affair, solidifying political alliances and elevating Marcus's standing even further. You tried to steel yourself against the pang of jealousy and sorrow that accompanied these rumors, reminding yourself that this was the path he was bound to follow.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, you found yourself standing on a hill overlooking the city. The distant sounds of celebration drifted up to you—the marriage ceremony was taking place. Clutching the silver pendant around your neck, you closed your eyes and whispered a silent farewell.

"May you find happiness," you murmured into the evening breeze. "And may our paths cross again in another life."

As the first stars appeared in the sky, you took a deep breath and turned away from the city. There was a whole world beyond Rome's walls, and perhaps, in time, you would find your place in it—where you could heal and maybe even find joy once more.

Weeks passed, each one heavier than the last. You had settled into Julia’s villa , trying to find peace in the simplicity of your new life. But the ache in your heart remained, the thought of Marcus and his looming marriage never far from your mind. Each night, you clutched the silver pendant he had given you, hoping it might somehow tether your heart to his, even from a distance.

It had been months since you had last seen him, and you had resigned yourself to the reality that Marcus’s life had moved on, even if yours still felt frozen in time. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

One late afternoon, as you were tending to the garden outside Julia’s villa, you heard the distant sound of horses approaching. You looked up, wiping your hands on your apron, and saw a group of soldiers in familiar Roman armor riding up the path. Your heart skipped a beat. Could it be?

When they came to a stop, your breath caught in your throat. There, dismounting from his horse, was Marcus—his eyes searching frantically until they landed on you.

Your heart raced, and before you could even process what was happening, Marcus was striding toward you, his face a mix of determination and relief.

"Marcus?" you whispered, barely able to believe your eyes.

Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, as if he had been afraid you might vanish if he let go. His warmth surrounded you, and for the first time in months, you allowed yourself to hope again.

"I found you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I told you we'd find a way."

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, confusion clouding your thoughts. "But… your marriage? Lucilla?"

Marcus shook his head, his gaze locked with yours. "It's over. The Emperor himself annulled it."

Your breath caught in your throat. "What? How? Why?"

A faint smile touched his lips, though his eyes were serious. "Lucilla… she didn’t want this marriage any more than I did. She petitioned to me, and together we spoke to the emperor. She’s in love with someone else, someone who she could never marry while bound to me." He paused, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. "And the Emperor, surprisingly, agreed to release both of us."

You stared at him, stunned, unable to fully comprehend what he was saying. "So, you’re free?"

He nodded. "I’m free, mea columba. I can choose my own path now. And I’ve come to ask you to walk it with me."

Tears welled in your eyes, but this time, they were tears of joy. "Marcus, I…" you stammered, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of emotions. "Is this real? Are you really here?"

He smiled then, the first genuine smile you’d seen from him in so long. "Yes, it's real. I love you. I don’t care what anyone else says or thinks. I want you by my side, not in the shadows. I want you to be with me—openly, proudly."

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Everything you had feared, all the obstacles that had once seemed insurmountable, had fallen away. And standing before you was the man you loved, offering you the life you had once thought was impossible.

You smiled through your tears, your heart bursting with happiness. "I love you, Marcus," you whispered. "And yes, I’ll walk that path with you. Wherever it leads."

With that, he leaned in and kissed you, a kiss full of promise and hope, sealing the future you would share. At that moment, everything felt right. The shadows of the past no longer held power over you, and the weight of uncertainty had lifted from your shoulders.

Marcus took your hand when he finally pulled away, lacing his fingers through yours. "Come," he said softly. "Let’s go. There’s a whole world waiting for us."

A few months later...

The soft morning light filtered through the open window of the villa, casting a golden glow over the room as you slowly stirred awake. The cool breeze carried the scent of wildflowers from the hills, filling the air with the promise of a new day. You lay in bed, nestled in Marcus's strong arms, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.

For months now, you had known peace, a life far removed from the chaos and expectations of the Roman court. Marcus had retired from the military, choosing a quiet life with you in the countryside. The villa had become your sanctuary, a place where you could live freely, without the burden of secrecy or fear. No more hiding in the shadows—your love had found the light.

Gently, you shifted in Marcus’s embrace, your hand resting over your growing belly. A small, soft smile spread across your face as you felt the faint flutter of movement inside you. Marcus stirred beside you, his arms tightening around you instinctively, as though even in sleep, he wanted to protect you.

You gazed down at your hand, marveling at the life that grew within you—a symbol of the love you and Marcus had fought so hard to protect. This child, your child, was the future you had once feared might never come.

Marcus’s eyes slowly opened, and he smiled sleepily as his gaze met yours. "Good morning," he murmured, his voice deep and warm.

"Good morning," you whispered back, your hand still resting on your belly. His eyes followed the movement, and his expression softened as he reached out to place his hand gently over yours.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice filled with tenderness.

"I'm well," you replied, your smile widening. "The baby’s been very active this morning."

Marcus’s face lit up, and he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “And he will know freedom.”

His gaze lingered on you, filled with a deep, unwavering love. "I still can’t believe this is real," he said quietly, his thumb gently brushing your hand. "After everything, we’re here—together—and soon, we’ll have a family."

You felt tears prick your eyes, not of sorrow this time, but of pure happiness. "It’s everything I never thought I could have," you admitted softly. "But now, I can’t imagine life any other way."

Marcus leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a tender kiss, one that spoke of all the joy and gratitude you both felt. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, as if savoring the moment.

"I love you, Mea columba" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "More than words can say."

"And I love you," you replied, your heart swelling with happiness. "For always."

Together, you lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of your journey behind you and the promise of a bright future ahead. The child you carried was a testament to your love, a symbol of the life you had built together despite all the odds.

Outside, the world continued to turn, but here, in this quiet, peaceful place, you had everything you had ever dreamed of, Marcus, your love, and the family you would soon welcome into the world.

The future stretched out before you, filled with light, joy, and hope. And as the first rays of sunlight touched the horizon, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you and Marcus would face them together, stronger than ever, bound by a love that had defied the impossible.

Your love had triumphed. And now, the greatest adventure of all was about to begin, the creation of a family, born out of that love.

[gojoux]

『 𝐍𝐎 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐄 』

· Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

· Summary: Life has decided to lead you to him or lead him to you, knowing that you two are destined together despite your differences. This told story is just a glimpse of a few memories between you and him, one that he remembers dearly.

· CW: 8.6k // Mostly fluff. True Form!Sukuna. Heian Era. Overprotective + Possessive Sukuna. Very subtle sex scenes. Slight violence.

Late post because the app screwed me over a divider. As you see... it’s thicker like him than usual.

The infamous King of Curses had only one weakness—you.

Ryomen Sukuna, the most fearsome sorcerer (or used to be one) alive, would melt in your presence. His usual cold and cruel demeanor vanished when he was with you, replaced by a gentle sweetness he showed to no other.

From the very first moment your paths crossed, he was utterly enthralled, something he would never expect to feel in his life. You’re someone he doesn’t even know or heard of and he doesn’t find the appeal from you, but there’s just something about you that makes him enchanted at first sight.

Your luminous soul called to him like a song. He knew you were destined to be his. And so he courted you as tenderly as his blackened heart would allow, coaxing you to return his affections.

Slowly, gently, he broke down your defenses. His smoldering gazes made your heart flutter. His feather-light touches from his big, strong hands and fingers sent shivers down your spine. Before long, you realized you were falling for this demon who looked at you with such longing in his crimson eyes.

He could shower you with all the passion and devotion he had been holding back. He cherishes you, catering to your every desire. Just being near you was euphoric for him.

When apart, he counted the seconds until he could see you again. And when reunited, he was unable to keep his hands off you, showering you with passionate kisses and whispers of sweet words.

“You are mine. Remember that,” he would murmur against your skin as he held you close. “Always.”

You had tamed the beast. Or so you thought.

While Sukuna was nearly defenseless against your love, it also ignited something far more sinister—his jealousy.

The mere idea of losing you made his blood burn with rage. Other men were not even permitted to look at you, lest they get torn limb from limb.

Though deeply in love, Sukuna’s possessive nature remained. And woe befall any who dared threaten what was his.

The first time it happened was weeks after you’d become his. A young lord from a clan sent you gifts and flowers, seeking your affection. When Sukuna discovered this, the fury in his eyes turned them molten gold.

“He dares think he can steal you away from me?” Sukuna seethed. In an instant, he vanished to hunt down the offending lord.

He returned hours later drenched in blood that was not his own. You shuddered to imagine what cruel fate had befallen the misguided young man. Sukuna said nothing of it, simply pulled you into a bruising kiss and swore you’d never leave his side again.

After that, the corpses started piling up.

A guard who eyed you lasciviously, eviscerated.

A peasant whose longing stare lingered too long, executed.

Anyone who so much as looked at you with desire was signing their own death warrant.

You begged Sukuna to show mercy, but your pleas fell on deaf ears. “They try to take what is mine,” he would snarl. “They deserve no less than agony and death.”

His demonic nature had fully resurfaced, and you realized just what you had unleashed. Sukuna would slaughter legions and burn the world to ashes if it meant keeping you.

You were terrified of what he had become. Yet some traitorous part of you thrilled at being so coveted, so passionately loved, even if it came at a bloody cost.

He was an obsession incarnate, and you, his obsession.

No matter where you turned, his shadow loomed.

There would be no escaping the King of Curses’ dark desires.

You were his.

How did it all start? It’s been too long since it went past your head already.

But you do remember vividly when you were walking that one night when your gut told you not to, you did.

You should have listened to your instincts. But there was something about the forest at night that called to you, beckoning you to explore its moon-bathed paths and whispering trees.

Curiosity won out over caution, and you decided one quick walk couldn’t hurt.

You set out just after sunset, relishing the kiss of cool night air on your skin. The woods were serene and lovely in the deep blue hush just before true darkness fell. Night blooms perfumed the air as you wandered along aimlessly, simply savoring this secret world.

Until you realized you had lost your way. Suddenly the trees seemed more ominous, the shadows deeper. You paused, peering anxiously through the gloom.

How long have you been walking?

Which way was home?

As you turned around in circles trying to get your bearings, a blow of wind appeared behind you. You froze, heartbeat thudding in your ears.

“Well, what do we have here?”

You whipped around with a gasp. Emerging from the trees was a tall, powerfully built man. But what drew your wide-eyed stare were the four arms crossed onto his bare, toned chest.

You stumbled back in terror, but he moved unnaturally fast, appearing before you in an instant. Up close, details that had escaped you at a distance were now frighteningly clear. Tattoos are carved on his face and body. His eyes burned crimson.

You were face to face with the King of Curses himself.

“Please…” you whimpered, trembling. “I mean no trespass...”

Sukuna tilted his head, considering you with evident amusement. He reached out an arm towards you, his fingers gliding along your jaw, tipping your chin up. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for death.

But instead of tearing you apart, he simply chuckled. “Open your eyes. I will not harm you.”

You cracked them open hesitantly. Sukuna was observing you closely now, intrigued.

“Fear not. I merely wondered who was wandering my woods at this late hour,” he purred. “But I see now… you are no threat at all.”

His touch was surprisingly gentle as he traced the line of your throat. You shivered but did not dare pull away. The heat of his skin felt feverish against yours.

“What brings you here to me, I wonder?” he murmured, his piercing gaze seeming to lay your soul bare.

He tutted, circling you slowly. “These woods are dangerous at night, especially for tempting morsels like yourself. Do you have any idea what lurks in the shadows?” He paused expectantly, but you were too petrified to respond.

You licked your dry lips nervously. “I… I was simply exploring. I did not mean to disturb—”

“Quiet.” A finger pressed lightly over your mouth. “How shall I punish this trespass? I do hate uninvited guests.”

You finally found your voice, though it trembled pitifully. “P-please, I meant no intrusion. If you let me go, I swear I will never—”

“Let you go?” Sukuna tilted his head, looking almost offended. “Now, why would I do that? No, you will not be leaving.”

Your heart hammered at those enigmatic words. Just what did this dangerous being want with you? Surely not anything good.

As if reading your mind, Sukuna laughed once more. “Worry not, little one. I only wish for some company.” In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance between you, caging you with his body. This close, the heat pouring off him was incredible, the coils of his tattoos seeming to slither and shift before your eyes with your heart hammering wildly.

A violent shudder went through you, though not entirely from fear now. Being clasped in his strong embrace had stirred something unexpected within you. A strange exhilaration at having caught the eye of this exotic and terrible being.

He leaned down, inhaling deeply near the crook of your neck. “Mm, such fear. I can taste it rolling off your skin… intoxicating.” His lips grazed your fluttering pulse, making you shudder. “You are afraid, yet also thrilled to see me, aren’t you?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. Was it that obvious, the traitorous excitement you felt being so close to this dangerous demon? You just couldn’t tear your eyes away from his unusual beauty.

“I thought so,” he purred, looking utterly satisfied. He brushed a finger lightly down your cheek. “It seems fate has brought you to me for a reason.”

Sukuna sensed your reaction and made a small pleased noise. In one smooth motion, he swept you up into his arms and started carrying you deeper into the woods.

You gasped, hands braced against the solid muscles of his shoulder. “Where are you taking me? Please, I never meant to intrude! I am sorry! just—”

“Shut it.” His grip tightened. “Do not fight me. Submit, and it will go easier for you.”

Tears of panic spilled down your cheeks. But despite your fear, you felt your body responding to his proximity, pulsing with alarming warmth. Your thoughts scattered as Sukuna claimed your mouth in a searing kiss, tasting your helpless whimper.

“What are you…” you gasped, too speechless to find a word to fight back.

As if reading your mind again, Sukuna adjusts the way he’s carrying you to brush his lips against your own in a feather-light caress. “I hope you are not too afraid, little one. I have been alone for so long, you will keep me company. And I have no intention of letting you go.”

Some part of you recognized the truth in his words. No matter how your mind recoiled, your body was betraying you, longing for more of his addictive caresses. He sensed your crumbling resistance, his smile triumphant.

“You are mine now. Do not fight it.”

You stared around in awe at the sprawling shinden-zukuri as Sukuna placed you down and led you inside. Paper screens glowed warmly with lantern light, illuminating opulent tatami rooms decorated with priceless scrolls and vases, and through meticulously tended gardens dotted with tranquil ponds. Everything about this place spoke of immense power and wealth.

It was a far cry from your own humble village dwelling. You could scarcely fathom how a demon lord had come to possess such a magnificent noble estate out here in the remote forest.

As Sukuna guided you deeper into the manse, you passed several elegantly dressed women in simple yet elegant kimonos, all keeping their gazes demurely lowered.

‘Servants,’ you realized. But where had they come from? Were they taken like how you are now? Were you about to become another of his servants?

When you reached the main manor, Sukuna slid open the screen to reveal a grand receiving chamber. Priceless ink scrolls and painted silk screens adorned the walls. The opulence was staggering.

“Do you like it?” he asked, noting your awe. “I claimed this estate long ago from its previous owners.”

You shivered at the implication behind those words but said nothing as he guided you deeper inside.

Your bemused wondering was interrupted when Sukuna slid open a screen door, ushering you into a lavish bed chamber. A large futon covered in silks took up most of the space.

“You must be weary, little one,” he stroked your hair. “Rest now. I will have my servants draw you a bath.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead before gliding from the room. Still stunned by your opulent surroundings, you wandered over to the open window. Beyond the manicured gardens and koi ponds you could see nothing but dense forest stretching endlessly. Just how far had Sukuna brought you?

You had little time to ponder before two servant women appeared, bowing deeply. They poured hot water into a carved wooden tub and then added cherry blossom-scented oils.

You let them help you disrobe and sink into the fragrant bath, the tension in your muscles unwinding. The demon’s domain was still terrifying and foreign, but you couldn’t deny the comforts he lavished upon you. His possession had a gentleness to it that left you conflicted.

This place treated you better in less than two hours than your whole life in the village.

After your bath, the servants dressed you in silken robes layered in rich hues of wisteria and spring leaves. Darkened your lips with crushed berries. They arranged your hair with jade combs and dabbed perfume at your wrists in a courtly fashion.

Examining their work in a bronze mirror, you barely recognized yourself. The simple village girl staring back from the bronze mirror was gone, replaced by someone who looked like a noblewoman.

Sukuna was waiting when you emerged, hungry eyes sweeping over you appreciatively. “Beautiful,” he pulls you close to him. His lips grazed your wrist, inhaling the perfume there. “You will come to appreciate the comforts of being mine.” His words sent an illicit tingle through you.

“Thank you,” was all you could say as you felt your body sway toward him, eyelashes fluttering downward demurely. His attentions were clouding your caution, making you forget the circumstances that had brought you here.

Sukuna seemed pleased by your response. He took your hand and led you to a candlelit room where a feast awaited. You kneeled on plush cushions across from him. There, your eyes widen at the sight—dishes you could only dream of tasting.

“Uraume is my best cook. They know how to make delicious food,” he brags, pointing at the person with white bob hair with his eyes. Uraume bowed respectfully before excusing themselves.

As the night deepened, Sukuna kept your cup full, his burning gaze holding yours in the romantic glow. Here in this place of luxury, it was easy to forget he was someone who had stolen you away.

“Come.” He held out one of his hands. “It is time you rested.”

Back in the bed chamber, he guided you down onto silken sheets while your pulse quickened. His eyes roamed your body hungrily before he leaned down to claim your lips in a deep kiss. You knew you should resist, but his touch ignited a dangerous fire inside.

His fingers trailed delicately along your skin as he peeled away each layer of your robes until you were laid bare before him. “You are so lovely, little one,” he rasped. He pressed you down into the silken futon, his eyes focused on you. “I will teach you pleasures fit for an empress,” he growled.

“And you will learn to crave my body above all else.”

His words sent a spike of fear through you, even as your traitorous body responded hungrily to his. His burning caress left no doubt of his intentions. You trembled, but didn’t refuse him.

Here in this beautiful prison, you were his to do with as he pleased. And some traitorous part of you craved to experience the passions he promised.

As Sukuna’s body covered yours, you surrendered completely to him. Within these walls, you now belonged utterly to him.

You had been living as Sukuna’s pampered pet in his lavish manor for several days now. He gifted you an ornate silk kimono, adorned your hair with jeweled combs, and ensured you lacked nothing. At night, he would lay you across silken futons and set your body aflame with new realms of pleasure.

But each morning after, as he caressed your skin and murmured endearments, doubts crept in. Were there others that he touched this way? The thought filled you with unease.

You wanted his passion reserved only for you.

When Sukuna appeared in your room this evening, he found you quiet and distant, your smile restrained. Brow furrowing, he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze.

“What troubles you, little one? Have I not provided for you well?”

You gathered your courage. “I… I have a request, My Lord…”

He raised one brow, “Oh? Speak.”

“If we are to share such intimacy, I wish it to be only between us. No other lover, in any way.” You held his gaze evenly. “Will you vow this, please?”

For a moment Sukuna only stared, stunned by your bold demand. Then a sly smile curved his lips.

“My little one wishes to tame me, is that it?” He trailed a finger lightly down your cheek. “You seek to bind me to yourself alone?”

Heart pounding, you gave one short nod.

Sukuna threw back his head with a delighted laugh. “You fascinate me endlessly. No mortal has ever dared make demands of me.” His expression softened by looking at your innocent face. “But for you, I will agree.”

He leans down, face to face with you, “From now on, I am yours alone.”

Relief washed through you at his oath. As Sukuna drew you into a passionate kiss, you yielded completely for the first time, holding nothing back.

“My sweet, little love…” He lifted you in his arms. “I will make you forget any existed before this night.”

And he did. Laying you down, hands and lips he worshiped you, wringing gasps and cries from your lips as you arched desperately, mindless and pleading beneath him.

At the height of ecstasy, his burning gaze held yours. His heated gaze seared into yours at the pinnacle, fierce and possessive. “No other shall ever know you as I do.”

The feeling when your body joined, the sensation was beyond words, it felt like coming home. Like a missing piece of your soul had been restored. Wave after wave of bliss crested over you both, leaving you entwined in breathless ecstasy.

As lantern light faded to silvery moonbeams, Sukuna held you close, your heartbeats synchronizing. You now belonged only to each other in body, heart, and soul.

“Mine,” Sukuna rasped against your skin, his canine digging into your neck, marking you as his. “Just as I am yours. This, I vow to you, little one, from now until the end of days.”

His words echoed long in your mind, even as spent passion gave way to sleep in his enveloping embrace. The King of Curses himself was now bound to you irrevocably. And you to him.

The vow had been spoken, the ritual complete.

The days had settled into a predictable routine in Sukuna’s residence. He would vanish for hours or even full days to attend to mysterious “business”, leaving you to wander the chambers and gardens alone. You never ask where he went or what occupied him. Some fears were best left unspoken.

But your heart would lift eagerly whenever Sukuna returned, no matter how late the hour. Just knowing he had come back to you was enough. You took to waiting anxiously by the engawa, ready to greet him.

At first, he returned spotless and composed. But soon the blood became noticeable.

It would decorate his arms, spatter his chest and face in drying rust-colored patterns. The life essence of whatever poor souls had crossed him in the nearby villages. You didn’t need to ask how it got there.

The first time, you gasped and shrank back in horror. But Sukuna just smiled and opened his arms to you. “Come, let us get cleansed of the day’s exertions.”

You forced yourself to look past the gore, seeing only your demonic lord who needed tending. Taking his hand, you led him to the bath chamber.

There you gently sponged away the carnage, breathing relief when his skin emerged clean again. Sukuna watched you intently, eyes glowing with unspoken emotions. You didn’t dare examine it too closely.

When you were done, he would pull you into his lap, nuzzling against your throat almost tenderly. As if your ministries had tamed the beast lurking within.

“My little one,” he would rumble. And your heart would swell under his praises.

Before long, you began living for his returns. The hours apart stretched endlessly, your thoughts consumed with concern for his well-being. Your chest would tighten with loneliness in his absence. Maybe you craved him because you have no one to come home to, that’s why you are willing to be with him.

Surely he must share your needs, right?

The moment his shadow appeared down the corridor, you flew to him, embracing him heedless of any lingering blood. Sukuna laughed indulgently, hands gentling your desperation.

“Such passion, little one. Did you miss me so terribly?”

You nodded, not caring how you exposed your dependence on him. He tipped your chin up, his sharp eyes looking at you softly. “As I missed you. The time apart is agony.”

His admission made you smile in relief. After bathing him, you would prepare tea and draw him into quiet conversation, savoring this domestic intimacy. Here with you, he almost seemed content.

At late night, his lovemaking took on new urgency, as if reaffirming your bond. You matched his intensity, wanting to erase any distance the day had built between you.

“You are all I need,” he whispered afterward, cradling you close. And you knew then you were hopelessly lost to this dangerous creature. He had become your entire world.

When Sukuna departed each morning, part of you went with him. Until he returned to make you whole once more. There was no denying the truth—you were his, mind, body, and soul.

You see, life with Sukuna provided came at a terrible price—the waiting.

And so you hatched a plan.

You requested the finest silks from the seamstress and described the revealing garment you wished to craft. An elegant yet alluring yukata, hinting at the beauty beneath.

On the night of his homecoming, you adorned yourself carefully, arranging your hair over your bare shoulders, sketching your lips crimson. The ensemble left you feeling exposed, but also powerful.

When Sukuna entered the bed chamber, the sight of you made him halt in his tracks. Eyes widened as they traced over you hungrily, taking in every contour the diaphanous fabric outlined.

“Little one,” he rasped. “You look like divinity itself. What is all this for?”

You steeled your nerves and went to him, guiding his fingers to untie your sash with hands that trembled.

“I wish to ease your burdens tonight, My Lord. Will you permit me?”

A growl escapes his throat as your robes slip to the floor. The intensity of his gaze seared into your skin everywhere it touched. Strong arms pulled you fiercely against him.

“You test my restraint, beloved. Are you certain?”

At your whispered yes, his control shattered. With infinite care he bore you down onto silken sheets, praising every inch of newly bared flesh until you were dizzy and pleading.

Even at its peak, he kept the pace languid—long, delirious strokes of passion. The pleasure was sweet agony. You arched and moved as one, minds entwining as deeply as your bodies.

When it ended, you were changed. Sukuna held you tenderly as languor claimed you both, as if you were the most precious treasure in the world.

Perhaps you should have been afraid of this obsessive devotion. But you could not imagine life without him now.

As nice as it is living comfortably with everything provided for you, sometimes his residence becomes a gilded cage. You yearned to walk beyond the gardens, to visit the nearby villages you glimpsed from afar.

After much pleading, Sukuna finally relented. “If it will make you happy, we shall go. But you must stay close to me.” His eyes held an unspoken warning.

The day came at last. Taking his arm, you ventured out onto the winding forest paths, buzzing with excitement. Sukuna watched you closely, as if to imprint each delighted reaction.

When the first simple thatched dwellings came into view, you gasped. “Oh, look! Real village life, just as I remembered.”

“Then let us explore it,” he said indulgently, strolling by your side.

You moved through stalls selling woven reed baskets, hand-dyed yukata, and carved jade amulets. The smells of grilling fish and blossom-scented steam from tea houses mingled in the air. Your smile was radiant.

Most villagers averted their eyes and scrambled away at the sight of his presence. But their fearful deference only seemed to amuse Sukuna as he guided you along.

Pausing by a fountain, you turned joyfully to him. “Thank you for this, My Lord. I haven’t felt this happy in…” Your voice trailed off as you noticed a young man staring from across the village square. His gaze was fixed on you, his handsome face breaking into a flirtatious grin, looking at you with his eyes signaling interest.

Before you could react, Sukuna had crossed the distance between them in two swift strides. You watched in horror as he seized the insolent youth by the throat and slammed him against a wall, baring razor fangs.

“You dare look at her that way?” he thundered. The young man choked out pleas for mercy as Sukuna’s grip tightened relentlessly.

“My Lord! Stop!” You rushed over, clutching his arm. “I beg you, let him go!”

With obvious reluctance, Sukuna released his hold and stepped back. The terrified man crumpled to the ground, wheezing with his face pale. You tugged Sukuna (he didn’t resist) away quickly as onlookers gaped.

Once you were back within the secluded forest path, he rounded on you. “Why did you stop me?” he demanded, eyes still burning with fury. “That whelp was openly desiring what is mine.”

You trembled. “He meant no true offense, My Lord.”

Sukuna exhaled harshly, drawing you against him. “You are too forgiving, little one. Next time I may not be so lenient.” The promise in his voice chilled you.

Nonetheless, in the days that followed, you persuaded him to let you visit the village markets again. Sukuna acquiesced, but his mood turned brooding whenever you went out together.

It was not long before a repeat incident occurred. A passing noble’s gaze lingered on you a moment too long. Sukuna's reaction was swift and merciless. Before you could intervene, the shrieking lord was engulfed in infernal flames, his ashes scattering to the wind.

This time, Sukuna was deaf to your pleas for restraint. “They continue testing me, presuming they can admire my possession with impunity,” he snarled. “I will suffer this insult no more.”

Numb with horror, you could say nothing as he took your arm and led you from that place of death.

Sukuna would never change his nature. His jealousy and possessiveness were as innate as the demonic power coursing through his veins. And you were helpless to curb them.

Trying to tame such a savage spirit had been foolish. Where his claim over you was concerned, no mercy would ever sway him.

The journey back to the estate was made in tense silence. You could feel the rage rolling off Sukuna in scorching waves as he strode ahead. His jaw was granite, fists clenched and shaking.

Only once you were behind the privacy of the chamber walls did he finally unleash it.

“How can you defend him?” he roared, making you flinch. “Those pathetic mortals who dared to covet what is not theirs. It is unacceptable!”

You stood your ground. “I make no defense, only ask that you temper reactions. This endless jealousy causes nothing but suffering.”

Sukuna’s eyes blazed, his voice dropping to a dangerous hiss. “You ask me to watch passively as they dishonor my claim on you? To permit their vulgar ogling?” He swept a hand savagely across a lacquered table, sending the vase crashing.

You jumped at the destruction but forced yourself to meet his volcanic glare. “I am not possession or prize to be claimed, My Lord. You cannot punish all for one foolish man’s gaze. I have told you this before, but I am not harmed.”

“Not harmed?” Sukuna bellowed, slamming his fists into the bloodwood pillar with a crack. “Not yet! But their desire will grow brazen if I do not act decisively now.”

He stormed toward you, making you back away instinctively. “You are mine. No other shall covet or touch what belongs to me. I would see this whole wretched village burn first.”

As his tirade raged on, you felt tears rising, spilling silently down your cheeks. The possessive diatribes, the limitless fury—you were exposing the folly of trying to gentle the devil’s heart.

Sukuna abruptly halted his pacing at the sight, chest heaving. His blazing eyes took in your hunched, trembling form. For an instant, something like shock flickered across his face. He blinked rapidly, swaying slightly.

“No… My little love…” All at once, the frenzied anger seemed to drain from him. He reached for you hesitantly, as if expecting you to recoil. When you stayed rooted, he enfolded you in his shaking arms.

“Forgive me,” Sukuna whispered. “I should not have raised my voice. But the thought of losing you…” One hand stroked your hair, then gently tipped your chin up. His thumb brushed away the tear tracks on your skin.

“You are everything to me in this wretched world,” he murmured. “I could not bear it if harm befell you.” His eyes were molten and his voice raw. “Tell me you know I would never let anything hurt you, not even myself in the madness of my rage.”

You searched his face and saw the sincerity burning there. With a fragile nod, you laid your head against his chest. His exhale was ragged with relief.

“I will try to be more merciful. For you, at least,” he sighs. “But you must understand it rages in my blood when I see them desire my most precious treasure.”

You stayed silent in his embrace. Perhaps this was the most he could concede—ferocity tempered with remorse. You could not change his possessive heart, only help him master what flowed within it.

And for now, it would have to be enough. His jealousy was a storm that would never fully be calmed. But like the storm’s eye, at the center there was still tenderness he reserved only for you.

Once more, the days dragged endlessly when Sukuna was away. You had explored every corner of the estate a dozen times over. The loneliness gnawed at you.

So when he left at dawn one morning, you made an impulsive decision. Donning a cloak, you slipped outside the manor walls while the servants slept. Your steps quickened as you neared the hill path leading down to the village.

You had only meant to take a brief, harmless walk to lift your spirits. But the smells of grilled squid and sweet adzuki buns drew you like a magnet. Your stomach rumbled, reminding you it had been ages since you tasted simple street food.

Checking over your shoulder, you darted to the nearest food stall when no one was looking. The elderly vendor smiled in delight as you pointed to the snacks that tempted you most. It felt deliciously naughty, this minor rebellion.

You were waiting for the bamboo skewer of piping hot squid when someone jostled you from behind. Whirling around angrily, you found yourself staring up at a rugged, unkempt man looming over you. His bloodshot eyes raked down your body in a way that made your skin crawl.

“Well now, what do we have here?” His words slurred drunkenly. “You’re that demon’s little toy, ain’t ya? His pretty pet.”

When you shrank away, the brute caught your wrist in a painful grip. Revulsion rose in you. “Let go of me!”

The man just sneered. “Where is your master now, hmm? Bet he doesn’t like you sneakin’ off alone.” He swayed closer, sour breath hot on your face. “Maybe I oughta teach you some manners, whore.”

Outraged tears stung your eyes. You opened your mouth to scream for help when suddenly the man’s hand was wrenched away from you with a sickening crack. His shriek split the air.

Whirling around, you saw Sukuna standing there, eyes blazing infernos. The man who had seized you was now suspended off the ground, clutching his mangled, dangling arm.

“Please, mercy!” he whimpered piteously. But Sukuna’s face was a merciless stone.

With a snarl, he slammed the offender down, pinning him by the throat. “You dare speak to her that way?” His voice was deathly quiet. “Dare lay your filthy hands upon her?”

The man gurgled pleas, legs kicking uselessly. Sukuna tightened his grip. “No. There will be no mercy for you.”

And before your eyes, he ripped the man’s head from his body in one savage motion. Blood sprayed hot across your face and cloak. The headless corpse slumped with a wet thud that echoed horribly in your ears.

You stood there, frozen. You’re sick to the stomach—it’s nauseating—looking at the brutal sight that your lover could do.

Rooted in shock, you barely registered Sukuna turning to you. He grasped your shoulders firmly. “Did he hurt you?” At your numb shake of the head, fiery rage flooded back into his eyes.

“Good. Because I would have drawn out his torment for years if he had.” With that, Sukuna flung the lifeless body contemptuously through the door of a nearby hut.

Screams arose from within as you stared at the gore coating Sukuna’s hands. The brutality finally jolted you from horrified paralysis. Voice trembling, you begged him to take you home.

The journey back was made in silence. Once behind the walls, Sukuna rounded on you like the last time.

“How could you go without my permission?” He paced like a caged beast. “See what nearly befell you? The filth who could do anything to you?”

You flinched beneath the verbal onslaught, too numb to defend yourself as he kept raging.

“You are forbidden from leaving again! Do you understand?” He seized your shoulders roughly. “It is too dangerous for you.”

You nodded, mute and hollow. With a harsh exhale, Sukuna pulls you against him as four of his arms envelop you in a warm embrace, some of the frantic anger leaving him.

“Forgive my harsh words, my little love. But I do not like you being treated like that.” His voice broke on the last word. He clutched you tighter, as if to reassure himself you were real.

After that day, whispers followed you through the residence like ghosts, for no clear reason. Servants offering polite smiles that never reached their eyes, only to resume their hushed gossip once you’d passed.

At first, you tried ignoring the sidelong glances and murmurs. But still, the cruel words leaked through.

“She is just a plaything to him.”

“Once the master is bored, she will be discarded.”

“He is only using her on the bed.”

“Once he tires of those pleasures, her time here will end.”

Their cruel words haunted you, sinking claws into vulnerabilities you’d buried deep. Did they speak the truth? Was your whole purpose here just to entertain Sukuna’s baser appetites? The thought you might be expendable shook you to your core.

You managed to conceal your anguish and distress at first. But the doubts festered, stealing your appetite and sleep. When Sukuna finally noticed the toll on your health, alarm flared in his eyes.

Gently taking your hands, he scoops you onto his lap, facing him. “What is bothering your pretty little head, hm? You know you can tell me anything.”

You shook your head, “It is nothing, My Lord. Not a big problem.”

“I do not like you lying to me, little one,” he shakes his head, not buying your secrecy.

“I am okay. Please, no need to be concerned about me.”

“How can I not? What is it? Tell me,” he holds your chin still to make you look at him.

Both of your stubborn banter goes back and forth until you’re both getting impatient.

You wavered, then spilled out the vile gossip you’d endured in silence. Sukuna listened gravely, thumb idly stroking your wrist. When you finished, he let out a long breath, gazing at you earnestly

“You believe their hateful lies? That you are some plaything to me? You know in your heart these claims are untrue.” He grasped your shoulders, staring intently into your eyes. “You are everything. Your faith in me is worth more than a million mortal lifetimes.”

He brought your hand to his chest, holding it over his steadily beating heart. “Do not let petty jealousies make you doubt what we share.”

Overwhelmed, you buried your face against him. “Forgive my doubts, My Lord,” you whispered.

“There is nothing to forgive. The fault is theirs, not yours.” Stroking your hair, he pressed a fierce kiss to your head. Then his tone turned cold. “As for these spiteful women, I will make them regret ever speaking such lies.”

You quickly squeezed his hands. “Please, do not harm them. I only wished to explain my melancholy, not see others punished.”

Sukuna frowned. “You ask me to ignore those who hurt you so? Who makes you doubt my devotion?” His grip on you tightened. “I cannot be so forgiving.”

“I know it comes from care,” you soothed. “But replying to anger with more anger will only breed misery.”

He paused, then exhaled harshly, pulling you close. Resting his forehead to yours, he went on. “I swear to you, my feelings run deeper than they comprehend.”

“Leave this to me now, little one. Just rest easy.”

True to his word, the gossip ceased quickly. You didn’t ask what Sukuna said or did to silence loose tongues. But the servants now bent over backward to please you, their once spiteful eyes now carefully respectful.

Their newfound reverence somehow bothered you more. But Sukuna seemed satisfied. “Let the wretches make amends for causing you pain,” he said nonchalantly.

Some part of you recoiled at his methods. Yet it warmed your heart to know he would avenge any slight against you without hesitation. Perhaps it was wrong to take comfort from his possessiveness.

But you needed to feel cherished after so much doubt. And Sukuna left no room for uncertainty in how deeply he treasured you. Each tender glance and touch slowly healed the wounds until you were whole again.

When he came to you beneath the silken sheets now, the passion held new meaning. A reaffirming of what you were to each other.

You were his sanctuary. Just as he was yours.

The gossip no longer stung when you knew his heart with such certainty.

Sukuna had told you he was taking a few days off to spend with you. With him home beside you for a blessed few days, the gloom cast over the estate seemed to lift. His four muscular arms caged you securely against his broad chest as you sank comfortably into his embrace.

He was attentive in ways you’d never seen before, constantly drawing you into his arms, asking questions about your childhood, your dreams, anything to get to know you better.

At first, you were shy, unused to being the object of such focused interest. But Sukuna’s patient gentleness soon had the words spilling freely from your lips.

You happily opened up to him in turn, chatting lightly about your days spent tending the garden, studying scripture with the monks, or watching the koi fish circle lazily in their pond. No detail was too small or mundane—he drank in every insight into your character with eyes that never once glazed in boredom.

He listened intently, his crimson eyes focused solely on you. As frightening as he could be, you knew this powerful being cherished you in his own way. You were likely the only person in the world he cared for.

When you finally worked up the courage to ask about his early life in turn, his gaze darkened briefly. “There is little of worth to tell,” he muttered.

He went on tonelessly to describe his parents casting him out as an infant, cursing his existence. Forced to eke out a living on the streets, he learned quickly that mercy was for the weak.

“I was not always like this,” he rumbled. “Once I was a human, born to parents who did not want me.” His fingers tensed where they rested on your back. “As an infant, they discarded me on the streets to die. But I survived, growing up feral and alone.”

You looked up at him sadly, heart aching at the thought of him helpless and abandoned with no one to care for him. You raised a hand to gently stroke his cheek.

Sukuna closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. “I do not tell you this for pity,” he said firmly. “My past made me strong.”

His eyes opened again. “When my cursed technique manifested, I used them without mercy, cutting down any who dared stand in my way. I reveled in my growing strength, the thrill of battle and blood... they satisfied me. I honed my skills until I became unmatched.”

You nodded solemnly. His description matched the legends told of the terrifying Ryomen Sukuna.

Now you know why he lacked mercy.

You take his hands in yours, kissing his palms. “The past is behind you now,” you told him. “What matters is who you choose to be from this day forth. My love for you is unconditional.” You smiled up at him warmly. “But I promise to teach you the ways of empathy and love, even if you protest.”

Sukuna huffed in amusement, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “Little one, you may try, but do not expect miracles. I am what I am.” But his embrace around you was gentle, belying his words.

You poked his chest teasingly. “I will make it my mission to show you how wonderful love can be, the joys it brings to our lives.” Laughing, you added, “Just you wait, I will have you reciting poetry and picking wildflowers before long!”

“Hmph, do not get carried away,” he grumbled, but you could tell he was secretly pleased by your playful vow.

You cuddled against his chest, determined to shower this damaged soul with all the love and tenderness he had missed in his tragic early years.

The next morning, as soft sunlight filtered into the bedroom, you lay wrapped in Sukuna’s strong embrace. Your head rested on his muscular chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. His breathing was slow and even, still asleep.

You traced idle patterns on his bare skin, your fingertips grazing over the tattoos adorning his body. Your mind drifted back to the conversation from the night before when Sukuna had told you a bit of his past.

Abandoned and unloved, forced to survive on his own from infancy. Your heart ached for the small, helpless babe he had been. The thought of him growing up without affection or care weighed heavily on you.

You understood now why love and empathy were so foreign to him. But you were determined to show Sukuna what he had missed, to fill his long existence with the warmth and joy he deserved.

Your short mortal life worried you, however. Sukuna had lived for centuries, he would go on existing long after you passed on. Would he find someone new to love? How would losing you affect him? Immortal beings were not meant to give their hearts to fleeting humans.

You must have tensed in concern, because Sukuna began stirring, his four arms instinctively tightening around you. “What troubles you so early, little one?” his deep voice rasped, still groggy with sleep.

You tilted your head up to peer at him. “I was thinking about what you told me last night, about your past. My heart breaks imagining you alone as a child.”

He regarded you seriously. “It was long ago. Dwelling on what cannot be changed is pointless.”

“I know,” you murmured. “I only wish I could have cared for you then. But now I worry… what will happen when I am gone? My life is so short compared to yours. Will you find someone new to love?” Your voice caught on the last word as you averted your gaze. You weren’t sure you even wanted to hear the answer.

He was silent. When you worked up the courage to look at him again, his crimson eyes were looking at you intensely. With a swift, motion he flipped you beneath him, bracing his weight above you and capturing your face between his big hands.

“You think I could simply replace you when death takes you from me?” His thumb brushed your cheek tenderly. “No other has touched my soul as you have. Long was my existence before you, yet I was empty.” Leaning down, he touched his forehead to yours.

“Your fragile mortality may one day steal you from my side, but what we have cannot be replicated or replaced.” He lifted his head to gaze deeply into your eyes.

“When you are gone, I will be lost again. I accept that your life must end as mine continues.” His jaw clenched. “But I will find no peace with another. What we have is beyond replacement.”

Tears blurred your vision at his heartfelt words. You had not realized the depth of his attachment, that the absence of your love would leave him emotionally desolate.

You threw your arms around his broad shoulders. “Then we must make the most of the time we have,” you declared. “Fill our days with so much joy that you will carry the warmth of our love for eternity.”

Sukuna wrapped you tightly in his embrace. “Yes,” he agreed, nuzzling your neck. “I will cherish every precious moment with you, little one.”

His words made your heart clench, but you understood, he would never love another as he had you. Your lives were tragically misaligned, yet the love you shared transcended such limits.

You spent the day wrapped up in Sukuna, exchanging tender caresses, murmuring sweet nothings, strolling the grounds hand-in-hand. Every shared laugh, every affectionate glance was savored, imprinting your bond ever deeper.

As the sun sets in glorious color, you lay entwined together beneath the cover of a wisteria tree. Your head rested over Sukuna’s heart as he gently stroked your hair. His steady heartbeat and the rhythmic rise of his chest were deeply comforting.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” you whispered.

“As do I, little one,” he replied, his voice tinged with melancholy. “But we cannot halt the merciless passage of time.”

You leaned up to press a soft kiss to his jaw. “No matter how short my life, I am grateful every moment of it is spent with you.”

Sukuna cradled you close, distress evident in his eyes. “When I am alone again, I will find comfort in the memories we have.”

His grip on you tightened, as if he could hold you to this world through will alone. You tilted your head back to peer up at him. “And when I am gone, will you be okay?”

“I will endure it. As I have endured all hardship in my long life.” He traced his thumb lightly down your cheek. “It will not feel the same, my little love. But do not worry about me, I will be fine.”

Your heart clenched at the raw honesty in his normally stoic demeanor. On impulse, you stretched up to press a soft kiss to his lips. Sukuna went still for a heartbeat before responding in kind, lips moving gently against yours.

“Then do not dwell on the inevitable end,” you cup his face in your hands. “Think only of how much we mean to each other now. If my love can sustain you even a little while after I am gone, that will be enough.”

Sukuna pressed his forehead to yours. “I will brace it when the time comes. But for now, my world is only you.”

You kissed him tenderly, then settled against his chest once more. Bittersweet joy swelled your heart, knowing you had brought some warmth into Sukuna’s grim existence. Though fleeting and painfully finite, your mortal love was a balm to his ancient, scarred soul.

The years passed swiftly. Sukuna remained your steadfast companion as you grew from a young woman into old age. He was always there to hold you close, whisper endearments, make you laugh with his wit.

In the blink of an eye, your hair became streaked with silver. Your smooth skin wrinkled and your energy waned. But your love never faded.

Sukuna stayed by your side as you grew frail, cradling you tenderly through restless nights, patiently spoon-feeding you broth when eating became difficult. His eyes reflected centuries of sadness knowing your time grew short.

Finally, you lay weakly upon your futon as he stayed close by your side. Your breathing turned ragged and a violent cough wracked your body. He gathered you gently into his arms.

“The end is near, my little one,” he murmured, smoothing back your thin hair.

You gave him a quivering smile. “I am ready. Just stay with me, please.”

He pressed his lips to your wrinkled forehead. “Always.”

You spent your final moments gazing up at his face, etched into your mind after so many years together. His image would be the last you saw in this life. With a contented sigh, you closed your eyes for the final time.

Sukuna let out a broken noise, pulling you tightly to his chest as your body went limp. Rocking your still form, he wept for the first time in his long existence. Anguished sobs wracked his powerful frame.

He had known this moment would come, yet nothing could have prepared him for the sheer devastation of losing you. It felt as though part of his soul had been ripped away.

Sukuna had guarded your mortal form night and day in those final years. Now you slipped away before his eyes, leaving him utterly alone. The crushing pain made him understand the human concept of a “broken heart”.

But he took comfort knowing you had passed peacefully in his embrace. The only mercy was that you were spared a drawn-out decline. He had filled your short life with as much love as one man could give. He has known you for a short time compared to how you’ve known him for most of your life.

Wiping his eyes, Sukuna pressed final kisses to your cooled skin. He would honor you with a funeral befitting royalty. Then he must decide where to wander next. This place held too many haunting memories now.

Sukuna laid you gently on the futon and stood. He cast one last anguished look at your still face.

“My beloved…” he whispered. “No other shall ever take your place.”

Then he turned and strode from the room, jaw clenched against a fresh onslaught of grief. His steps were heavy with the unbearable burden of immortality and loss.

No, he doesn’t cremate you despite having the ability to do so. He doesn’t even want to think of burning you to ashes, or he might as well lose it and burn the world with it for taking you away too soon.

He buried you beneath the cherry tree where you’d spent so many blissful hours in his arms. He marked the site with a stone monument etched with his promise:

“In this life or the next, you are mine. None will ever love you as I have, little one.”

His task complete, Sukuna wandered for many years after. Though the sharp pain dulled to a persistent ache, the emptiness inside him never abated. He fulfilled his promise and took no other lovers, knowing they could only ever be hollow substitutes.

He will wait until his time comes no matter how long it takes to see you again in the afterlife.

He will wait long enough to see you reborn and claim you one more as his.

But the thing he knows for sure, you will always belong to no one but him.

I got emotional and carried away, I’m sorry 😭😭

[msflora-lynn]

Rating the fanbase of every Primarch & their legions.

This is my opinion, I love all of you ㅤ♡ྀི ₊

Lion'El Johnson & Dark Angels fans (8/10): I like the fanarts they make, also 100 points for portraying Lion like a rouge kitty cat sometimes. Oh I also like how the Lion fans are embracing the 'our primarch is obviously neurodivergent and we love him for it'

Fulgrim & E.Children fans (10/10): This part of the group always produce the best fanart?? Or at least a lot of artworks for E.Children in general. Though browsing his fanart must be done with caution cause 20% chance I might see schlongous or booty.

Perturabo & I.W fans (8/10): I'm sorry about your favorite character. Not many of them are around though :( But so far their fanart production have been solid. I like how they kinda just chill and embrace the 'neurodivergent manchild' persona for Bo and makes no attempt to refute it.

Jaghatai Khan & W.Scars fans (8/10): Surprisingly not many of them. I'm kinda bummed out about it since I like this character. Though his fanarts are mostly adorable! They're always chill, I'm happy to see them on my feed -`♡´-

Leman Russ & S.W fans (7/10): I would rate it 8/10 but I hate stimky wolf grrrr so -1 point (msflora found dead in fenris more at news 6). Anyways fanart-wise, they're so good!! I like how they always draw Leman like a scrunkly lil guy. I also love to read their fanfictions.

Rogal Dorn & I.Fists fans (6/10): WHERE ARE YOU PEOPLE?! I CAN'T FIND YOU!! I RATE IT LOW BECAUSE I'M SCRAPING THE GROUND FOR ROGAL DORN CONTENT! But in all seriousness, loving how they embrace the 'fortify' meme. I don't like the weird Black Templar larpers from twitter, but that's just a 1% of the fanbase

Konrad Curze & Night Lord fans (8/10): Your fanfictions scares me, most of the hashtags are nowhere written in the bible, but I read them all so who am I to judge. I love how this side of the fandom just embrace the 'we are bad and disturbing and creepy' schtick and go ball. I blame this side of the fandom for making me love Jago Sevatar tho.

Sanguinius & Blood Angels fans (10/10): Insane artworks from this side of the fandom, always impress me. A lot of vampire and angelic stuff, I love you guys. Sorry about your primarch tho.

Ferrus Manus & I.H fans (all six of them) (7/10): I'm sorry about your primarch, I'm sorry he get crumbs in the lore. I rate it low because I'm scraping for any IH/Ferrus content here....

Angron & World Eaters fans (8/10): Loving the contents you guys made here! A lot of red, so many red, oh god. I'm sorry about the sinking ship of Argel Tal x Kharn though.

Roboute Guilliman & Ultramarine fans (9/10): Spoiled, well-fed, their favorite guys have insane plot armor and I'm jealous >:(. Keep the bulky half-naked Rob fanarts coming tho I have them all liked & downloaded.

Mortarion & D.Guards fans (6/10): I do not like Nurgle stuff so I rarely go there... But my god most fanfictions yall made for Mortarion x reader is heartbreaking. Rating it low because I get scared of some fanarts they make, but pre-heresy Mortarion is kinda baddddddd👅

Magnus the Red & Thousand Sons fans (100 Tzaangors/10): We are so cool and awesome, not a biased rating. In all seriousness we Tsons fans r eating GOOODDD this year (thx SM2). Though we suffer from a disease called 'inconsistent writing of our favorite primarch's power levels' and it's not getting better.

Horus & L.Wolves fans (9/10): Guys I understand, Horus is big daddy, a father, he's an icon, you guys made it clear with the abundant of breeding tags in your fanfics. Sorry that the way he's corrupted into chaos is kinda bootycheeks tho :( Wishing they explore more into his corruption.

Lorgar & WB fans (Where Are You Guys/10): While being small, they make the best artworks for Lorgar. Questionable fanfic tags, but I love yall regardless. They kinda eats with all the Word Bearer fanarts tho I've seen. Sadly, Erebus is from here and everyone hates him.

Vulkan & Salamander fans (8/10): I would like to pet them. In all seriousness I'm happy to see the majority of Vulkan fanarts are created with African features in mind ♥︎!! Everyone from this fanbase are cute and sweet!!

Corvus Corax & RG fans (Birds/10): I love all the raven aesthetics often seen in their fanworks. Corvus having wings is so cool, and often I see amazing OCs spawning from this legion.

Alpharius Omegon & A.L fans (What are you guys doing/10): I can't find much about them but I fw with the entire 'we dont know what our primarch is doing so we just ball it'. BUT HEY CONGRATS ON YOUR PRIMARCH COMING BACK!!!

:3 And I love all of you... Thank you for reading this nonsense of a post.

[authorhjk1]

Dea Romana

(Minatozaki Sana X Male Reader)

(Author's note:

Hi everyone! Thank you for patiently waiting for me! I'm done with writing my exams now, so I will be able to write more again until Juli. Since I like history a lot, the beginning got a bit longer than originally planned, but I hope you will be able to enjoy it nonetheless. I tried to make everything as historically accurate as possible, but please don't expect everything to be true.

Stay healthy! I will do my best to upload the next piece as soon as possible!)

Every muscle feels like it's burning. Your legs and arms feel heavy. Your feet barely lift off the uneven ground with every step you take.

Dried blood stains your face. Your armour doesn't look much better. The shield you are holding, has a big dent in it. The javelin in your right hand feels like it's made out of steel. The chainmail on your chest weighs heavier than usual.

"Marius!"

Your second in command shouts at you from the back.

"The women need a break!"

You sigh in annoyance. It's bad enough that you almost got your whole century killed. Now you have to delay your reunion with the rest of the legion because of those Gaul captives.

"We will take a short break."

You announce to your eighty legionaries and the twenty rebels you captured.

Spotting a small stream near by, you walk closer, while most of the soldiers sit on the ground, some are standing guard.

Taking off your helmet, you start to wash your face. The dried blood sticks to your skin. After some effort, you are just a little bit cleaner.

Another sigh leaves your lips as you kneel in place. In front of the small stream, your century in the back, looking into the deep forest.

You have lived a hard life. You were not born a Roman. Not born a free man. But you took your life into your own hands, instead of hoping for the mercy of the gods. Because gods don't have mercy. Only you can change your own destiny.

"Let's keep marching. We are almost there."

You go back to the front of the century, your men following your orders. Most of the Gaul rebels you captured are women and children. Their husbands and fathers killed by your swords and javelins.

Orders are orders. To kill or to be killed. These are the only two principles you live by. At least most of the time.

"Have you heard yet?"

Quintus asks from behind you, catching your attention. You silently wave for him to walk next to you. It's not necessarily the gossip you're interested in, but you did learn that it's important to know what is going on inside your century and the legion itself.

"Aelius fucked up some of his soldiers."

You raise your eyebrow while you keep walking. Nothing new there. Aelius is a spoiled son of a whore. He only became centurion in the tenth, because of his family's status. And he is usually unnecessarily brutal with his century.

"Reason?"

"They ate some of the extra rations we all got a week ago. Aelius said that they are meant for centurions only. Not for legionaries."

You have to stop yourself from spitting onto the muddy path you are walking on.

Aelius paints the perfect picture of the Roman nobility. Rich assholes. Nothing more. Nothing less.

"Did he kill someone again?"

Quintus shakes his head.

"But I heard that the premus pilus had a talk with him."

You let out a dry chuckle.

"All the centurions of the first cohort are the same. Do you really think he got in trouble?"

"No. But I thought you would be interested. It's not like you have very good connections with-"

"Shut it, fool."

It's not really a secret in the tenth legion that you and Aelius are bitter rivals. The two of you are the completely opposite of one another. A rich brat, who is the centurion of the third century in the first cohort. And you. The former slave, who climbed the ranks to be the centurion of the first century in the second cohort.

There aren't many ranks that separate the two of you. But making the jump into the first cohort as a former slave is nearly impossible.

Your century walks in almost complete silence for the next couple of hours. Despite being one of the most feared soldiers in the legion, you can't help but be cautious. In case there are more rebels lurking in the shadows of the large trees.

"Marius!"

The scout you send out to check the path ahead is jogging in your direction.

"We take another short break."

A light murmur of gratitude echoes through the ranks.

You wait for the young man, barely older than a boy, to reach the spot where you are standing.

"Someone seems to be traveling towards the camp. Our paths are going to cross, once we reach the small clearing ahead."

"Do you know who it is?"

"It looked like a person from the nobility. There was a carriage. And a couple of men with spears. Probably guards."

"We can't be too cautious. Titus!"

You shout for your second in command to walk to the front.

"Take your contubernia and make fast pace. I want to make sure that everything is going according to regulations."

"Yes, Marius."

The rest of the century starts marching at normal pace again, while the eight men rush ahead. The scout leading them towards the small crossroads.

"You know what's going on?"

You shake your head at Quintus' question.

"Might be a politician from Rome. Or a nobleman's wife."

"You know that that's against the law."

Of course everyone knows. It's illegal for a legionary to be married. And yet, some centurions always think that they are above the rest of the legion, when it comes to this kind of rules.

"What is the meaning of this?!"

An angry shout echoes around the forest, just as you and your men reach the small clearing.

The scout was right. A carriage, pulled by two grays, accompanied by a handful of men, armed with spears, and some servants.

An older woman is standing in front of the carriage's door, screaming at the poor Titus. Glancing over his shoulder, your optio rolls his eyes.

"Woman. Don't scream at a Roman legionary."

You make your presence known as you keep walking towards the middle of the clearing.

The servant, probably around forty to fifty years of age, looks at you with anger in her eyes.

"Do you even know, whom you are holding up?!"

"No."

You state bluntly, finally standing in front of her. Behind you, you can hear your men take their positions. Not to threaten the travelers, but to guard the area.

"Well, she is one of the most prestigious women in all of Rome."

"And what is a woman like her doing so far away from the city?"

"Visiting her husband."

You click your tongue. As far as you know, none of the centurions in the first cohort have wives. Which means, she must be the woman of a centurion, who ranks lower than you.

A smirk, which you can't suppress, plays around your lips. How are you able to enjoy a higher position than a noble in this republic?

You walk off without another word, leaving Titus in charge. There is no need to bother with this stuff. Some of the Gaul rebels fell a little behind earlier. You have to check on them. In case they are sick or badly injured.

"Her name?"

You hear Titus ask, before the woman let's out an exaggerated gasp.

"Sana Lucii."

You groan in annoyance. By Jupiter. Is this really his wife? Lucius Aelius? Just when you thought, you couldn't hate that man even more.

You despise men, who don't follow the law and rules of the republic and the legion. Of course, sometimes you can define them a little different for your own gains, but this is just breaking them.

Trying to stay calm, your fingers tap the pommel of your gladius. You don't hear a response from Titus. He must know which Lucius the old woman ment.

"Marius?"

He finally makes you turn around.

You walk back up towards the carriage, just as the door opens.

"By Bellona! What is taking so long!"

You have to say, you are amused by the woman's expression. You didn't expect her to call out for the goddess of war.

"Just doing our duty, lady."

Titus answers politely, although you know how hard it is for him to not lash out. He hates Aelius just as much as the next soldier. Especially, since he is your optio.

You are stunned, once the woman actually shows herself. Her beautiful face is slightly twisted with annoyance. Although, you would be sure that she could look like Venus herself, when she smiles.

She is wearing a turquoise stola, which also covers her brown hair. The thin material enables you to have a look at her white tunic underneath. Her skin looks flawless and pure. A golden necklace adorns her neck and collarbone. It's probably worth more than a whole year of your salary.

An image of a goddess.

"I hope we can speed up this process. I'm supposed to be by my husband's side."

Lucky bastard.

"Please. Speak respectfully with my legionaries."

Her gaze meets yours. You can feel your heart skipping a beat. Not one woman has looked as pretty as she does. Not one.

"Who are you to lecture me on speaking?"

"Salve."

Your fist meats the blood stained chainmail on your chest.

Maybe, if you behave respectfully, so does she. The army is for her protection after all.

"My name is Marius. And-"

"What's your first name, centurion?"

A cute smile suddenly plays around her lips. Maybe this will get her out of here faster.

"Gaius."

"I see, Gaius. I'm sure you have more important things to do than stop me from traveling further? My husband must be waiting for me."

If she didn't know better, Sana could swear that she caught a glint of hate in your eyes.

"This is protocol. We have to check on everyone, who approaches the camp."

"I'm a noble woman. Can't you make an exception for me?'

You don't fall for her sweet smile. You are on duty. Not even Venus herself could distract you. Well, maybe a little bit.

"Your choice. Here, or at the gate in front of even more legionaries. Like everyone else."

That last part makes her glare at you. You won this round.

Not waiting for a response, you gesture for your men to search the woman's belongings. Your Imperial legate has more than enough enemies in Rome to be cautious of. And you don't want him to end up dead inside his own camp. Even if she is allegedly Aelius' wife.

Quintus nods in your direction after going through her belongings, signaling that everything is alright.

"We will accompany you on your way to the camp. We are on our way back, anyway."

You turn around without looking at Sana again. A signal for your men to get into formation.

It feels like she stares at your back for a second longer, before you hear the door close behind you. You don't like the Roman nobility. At all. There is only one man you are willing to follow.

After two more hours of marching, your century and the noblewoman's entourage finally reach the camp's gate.

"The village, where the senior officers are staying, is right behind the camp. You can't miss it."

The older woman, who screamed at Titus earlier, still looks at you as if she is holding a grudge.

"I hope you enjoy your stay in these wonderful lands, lady."

You raise your voice a little, making sure that Sana can hear you. It drips with sarcasm and you can hear Quintus chuckle behind you.

"Vale."

With a dismissive wave of your hand, you walk past the old servant. Her shock at your rudeness visible on her face.

Already making your way past the guards, you can't hear Sana's scoff.

Who are you to talk to her like that? If she is gonna tell her husband about this, you are going to be in trouble for sure.

Sana will never be able to get used to this. She was able to decide that, immediately after she stepped out of her carriage. It took her only a couple of steps to enter the small house her husband is living in right now. But that was enough for her already.

Nothing here looks like Rome. Even the legionaries look out of place. And their shouts and the sounds of shields and stuff isn't what she hears when she is home. Sana is already missing the comfortable house with the atrium. She likes to bathe in the sun throughout the day, while sipping on a really good wine.

"You're late."

Lucius doesn't even look up from his small table as he hears his wife coming in.

"That's how you great me after a year?"

"You know how I value punctuality."

"Out of my hands. Some centurion insisted on searching my luggage. He was really rude."

Now Lucius is looking at her. Sana knows that he can't stand someone disrespecting him. And when she gets disrespected, it goes deeper. He is affected as well.

"Who?"

She can see his eyes becoming a little darker. He bites his lip, maybe trying to prevent himself from shouting.

"His name is Garius Marius. I think?"

"That son of a whore. How does a slave dare to stop you?"

Now, Sana feels shame run down her spine. If she knew that he was born a slave, she would've hit him for talking to her like that. No matter his rank, he is and will always be beneath her. Once a slave, always a slave.

"I swear to Jupiter. One day in battle, I will..."

Lucius takes a deep breath, before focusing back on his wife.

"We are eating dinner with the Imperial legate, the leader of these legions tomorrow, and the senior generals. I expect you to impress them."

"I'd be happy to, love."

Sana almost spits out that last word, but Lucius doesn't seem to notice. He sits back down, opening an envelope. She can see how his eyebrows are still furrowed. He won't let this incident pass without consequences.

Sana eventually leaves the house to explore the small town and it's market. Despite being married to Lucius, she can't stay around him for too long. She is only his wife, because of his money and connections. As soon as she can find someone better...

Sana feels a little dizzy as she steps out of the big house. Lucius told her to be on her best behavior. But that idiot was behaving the worst throughout the dinner.

She hated how calm and reserved the other centurion was, the man who stopped her. He was the lowest ranking soldier and yet, everyone listened to his advice and thoughts about future and past battles. And how is he on a first name basis with the imperial legate? And why is Lucius too incapable to enjoy the same treatment? How can he do worse than a slave?

Sana holds onto the wall, standing right next to the entrance. Suddenly, two men walk out the door. They don't see her because it's dark. She tries to find out who they are. The first one is a little taller, while the second has broader shoulders and looks more muscular.

"We can't do this forever, Gaius. We need a plan to wipe him out. I expect you to help me with that."

"Of course, Gaius."

Sana almost groans in annoyance. Of course it's that Gaius Marius. And the other one is the Imperial legate. Gaius Julius Caesar.

"Rome is an empire. We will defeat Vercingetorix sooner rather than later. His supporters will crumble soon."

"You did a good job today, centurion. You've proven once again, why you rightfully carry the name I gave you. Gaius Marius Antonius."

Sana assumes they are talking about some barbarian leader. But Caesar gave him that cognomen? She can't help but wonder what he must've done to be called "priceless".

"You know the political situation in Rome. The more time I waste conquering Gaul, the more powerful my enemies become."

"I swear to Mars. I will cut down anyone who tries to oppose you, Gaius."

She sees Caesar put a hand on the centurion's shoulder.

"It's only a matter of time, until you will be one of the Tribuni angusticlavii, leading the tenth legion into battle. And I will make sure, you will eventually become a rich senator."

Sana has heard enough. It's so disgusting to her. A slave becoming a senator. She is working so hard to become the most powerful woman in Rome. And with that in the whole empire. How can that lowlife become something better than she herself? Sana either needs to push Lucius further up the ranks, or she needs to find someone, who can match Marius' new found status.

Sana groans in relief, when she can finally leave the small village. It's not like someone forbid her to leave, but there just wasn't something to do in and outside the village. What was she gonna do in a forest? A very dangerous one at that?

But now, she heard of a big market place around two hours away. Sana is still looking to buy some oils and pottery. She could do that in Rome of course, but she is hoping to find them cheaper in their land of origin.

Looking out of her carriage, Sana leaves behind the village and the big camp right next to it. The constant noise made her head spin. Not that Rome isn't loud, but this is something else.

After about an hour, Sana hears a troop of men marching in front of her. She became familiar with that sound after a few days. She doesn't look outside, despite being curious. Why would a century be here? The battles would take place in the opposite direction. Right?

Sana hears how the carriage passes the back of the century. The heavy steps of the legionaries kick up some dust. Her old servant looks outside, curious herself.

"It's him again."

The older woman grimaces, before letting the curtain drop back into place.

"Who?"

"The man who stopped us a couple of days ago."

Sana's attention is now on the men outside. She remembers the conversation you had with Caesar.

"Really?"

She pretends to be cold, not wanting to get caught. After having seen you around a couple of times, the young noble woman is unsure on how to feel about you.

Yes, you are a former slave. A peasant. But you are also a great centurion. A trusted man to Julius Caesar.

Despite being not the highest ranking officer, Sana did notice how the other men look at you. She catches an occasional whisper of your brave actions in battle. She sees the men greet you with almost too much respect. Even the other centurions seem to want to be on your good side.

Maybe that's what Sana has to do too. In order to further climb up the ladder. It is risky. And it's still a long time in the future. But if Caesar can really make his ambitions reality, you will be one of the first people who benefit from it. And if Sana plays her cards well, she can benefit too.

For a moment, she wonders what a man like you would need. Something she could have to bargain with. Money? You probably earn quite a lot already. Especially compared to your earlier environment. Land? You will get that too, if you stay long enough in the army. A wife? You are a soldier. You are not allowed to be married.

As Sana is still pondering on what to do to convince you to help her gain more power, she gets closer towards the front of the century.

And it's not like she doesn't have influence. She could maybe even get you a promotion into the first cohort. Of course without her husband finding out.

Sana draws back the curtain a little with only one finger. Just a few meters ahead, she can see you walking.

Your helmet is decorated by a big crest of red horse hair. The back of the helmet and the rest of your armor shimmer in the light of the sun. She remembers your first encounter. Your armor was full with blood, indicating that you were more than able to fight a battle.

You turn around as you hear horses behind you. It wouldn't have been a surprise. One of the auxilia officers could be taking his men out to train.

Surprised at the sight of the carriage, you catch a glimpse of the passenger. Her eyes meet yours, a big golden ring decorates the finger that holds back the curtain. You could swear you see a small hint of a smile play around her lips.

"Salve."

You great her by hitting your armored chest with your fist. Not because you like her, but out of politeness.

"Salve, centurion."

Her passive aggressive mentioning of your rank indicates that she is still not over that incident a couple of days ago.

"Are you visiting the market?"

"I am. I suppose you are not here to buy pottery?"

A mocking smile replaces the earlier one.

"It may sound unbelievable, but I'm not."

A cute chuckle escapes her mouth.

"Well, I hope you enjoy this beautiful day."

Is she still mocking you, because you are on duty? You are not sure, but you can see her lazily wave goodbye as the carriage drives past you.

"Don't get too close to her. She is only gonna be trouble."

You look at Quintus.

"I'm merely being polite. I don't need trouble with angry nobles. At least not now."

"By Jupiter. One might think you've become a responsible, grown man now."

"Fuck off."

You raise your hand, but Quintus ducks away, avoiding a potential slap.

Only listening with one ear to the conversation next to you, you scan the market for the young noble woman. Despite her attitude and the fact that she is married, you can't help but glance at her occasionally. Plus, the market isn't as safe as it might seem. Cunning merchants, thiefs and rebels might roam the place, ready to strike at any moment. And being a beautiful Roman woman makes her one of the most desirable targets right now.

"Listen, Roman! I barely sell anything! How do you expect me to pay your unreasonable taxes?!"

"Shut it."

You turn back to the stall holder. Titus' and his conversation got heated.

"We are not hear to argue. We are here to collect taxes."

The man grits his teeth.

"I'm telling you! I don't have anything to give away!"

The other people around you look at the scene, before walking past. Only you and a couple of legionaries are here. The rest of your century is patrolling another village nearby and the rest of the market, making sure you are not getting ambushed.

"Don't scream at me, old man. Pay up."

"I don't have a fucking coin!"

You know he is lying. You saw someone buy his fabric from a far as you entered the marketplace. And, judging by the money bag he held earlier, it wasn't cheap at all.

"We can do this the easy way, or the heard way."

You take a step forward, towering above him.

"But the hard way won't end well for you."

"I already told you, I-"

You let your head fall back in annoyance. Collecting taxes is a necessity. Not something to be proud of. It's not as honorable as fighting in battle.

"Do you really want to go this far?"

You look down at him again, your hand now resting on the pommel of your gladius.

He caught the movement of your hand, worry creeping onto his features.

"What is it gonna be? Your life? Or coin?"

The old man is not stupid. And a couple of moments later, you walk away from his stall. The tinkle behind you indicates, that Titus is adding the silver denarii into the bag with the rest of the already collected money.

"Are you trying to rob me, old man? You are a con artist!"

Women screaming at a merchant are as common as clouds under the sky, so you don't pay much attention to it as you hear someone scream.

"How can you demand so much for this lousy work?"

You keep walking, although you kinda feel, like you heard this voice before. It sounds oddly familiar.

"By Bellona! I'm going to have you beaten for your rudeness!"

And there it is. With an annoyed groan, you immediately recognize, who is disturbing the rather peaceful market.

If she was a common local woman, you would've kept walking. The Galli could solve their own disputes.

But Sana is, as unfortunate as it is, not a local. She is a Roman woman. A member of the elite even.

You take a deep breath, before walking towards her screams. You can already guess whom she is screaming at.

"Keep going."

You tell Titus over your shoulder, as you approach her from behind. Her servant must have stayed with the carriage, because Sana is standing in front of the stall of the potter all alone.

Before the young woman can scream another word, you grab her arm.

"What-"

You spin her around and walk away, pulling her with you.

"What do you think you are doing?!"

"Silence."

You didn't say it in a loud voice, but your tone makes her go silent.

After a couple of meters, you stop, turning around to look at her.

"You're welcome."

"Excuse you?"

Her hands now rest on her hips. You can't help but catch how slender her waist seems to be.

"I just saved you from embarrassing yourself even further. You owe me."

You turn away, ready to reunite with Titus and your men.

"What the-"

It's now Sana's turn to grab your arm, stopping you from leaving.

"I don't owe you shit."

"Really?"

You turn to look at her again.

"Your temper is as bad as your observation skills. Minerva would strike you down for your utter incompetence."

You said the words, before you thought about them. You are aggravated. Because of the merchant earlier, because of her causing a scene, because of Lucius (as always) and because of her being his wife. Alright, maybe that last one was a little jealousy.

"How dare you? You are some rude-"

You stop her from saying another word by grabbing her shoulders and spinning her around.

"Look. Look and tell me what you see."

"What are you talking about?"

You see her frowning. An act that makes her beautiful face a little less flawless.

"Tell me what's going on."

You realize you are using the same tone as with the men during training. Harsh, straight forward, a little condescending. But not rude. Just factual.

"The merchant is still selling his stupidly expensive pottery."

You don't answer, waiting for more.

Sana, visibly annoyed, struggles against your grip for a moment, before giving in. You are a seasoned legionnaire. There is no way she is gonna get out of your hold on her.

"There are a couple of women and men who browse his items."

"Keep going."

"Someone is buying a bowl and an amphora."

"What is the woman on the right doing?"

"She is paying for her stuff. What-"

"Can you see how much she is paying?"

"Way too much for a stupid-"

"Do you see any of the locals complaining?"

Sana hesitantly shakes her head.

"Do you know the reason?"

"Because they are stupid. In Rome it's cheap-"

"We aren't in Rome, woman. This is Gaul."

You stand behind her, both of you silent for a couple of moments. You give her time to think about the possible reason. Although she is probably just complaining about you to the gods in silence.

"They all pay the price he demands, because he and his work are respected here."

"But they look-"

"Yeah. Some of his pieces aren't pretty."

You admit that.

"But he is an old man. His hands aren't as good as they used to be. He is obviously regarded with a decent amount of respect."

You gesture for Sana to look around the market.

"Most of the people here bargain over every single item. Food, cloth, tools and even pottery."

You turn her back towards the old man's stall.

"But not there. They respect him too much to try to get a better price. His work might not be the very best anymore, but his skill is known by everyone here."

Sana groans in annoyance and anger as she sees you coming out of the biggest tent of the camp. A week has gone by, since you treated her like a child at the market. Her blood still boils, whenever she sees you from a far.

She decided against telling her husband, not wanting to cause unnecessary friction. And if you have the favor of Caesar, it might be a bad idea to egg on her husband.

And Sana is still debating on your ability to help her seize more power. She is ready to do anything to get to the top. Even if it means working together with someone as low born as you.

Sana stops in her tracks as she sees her husband walk towards you.

"Aelius."

You don't greet him like any other lower ranking centurion would. The young woman can feel the tension between the two men, despite standing barely in earshot.

"Marius."

His face shows a disapproving twitch.

"It seems like we are catching up to Vercingetorix. I hope you don't make any mistakes in battle. I would hate to lose a lower ranking officer."

You click your tongue, taking a step forward.

With the two of you standing right in front of each other, Sana realizes that you are bigger than her husband. Not just in statue, but also in the way you carry yourself. With slightly less arrogance and more discipline.

"Don't worry about me, Aelius. As you know, I always make sure my men are taken care off."

Sana feels a shiver run down her spine. She heard more than enough stories about the battles of the tenth legion since she joined her husband. The amount of times that you were mentioned in one of them was noticeably high.

The young woman heard of a battle two summers ago. You weren't a centurion at the time. Merely a soldier of the second cohort. But in battle, your centurion chose to let his men die, while he stayed behind, watching his century getting slaughtered. After half of the eighty men were dead, you walked straight towards the cowardly centurion. A nobleman, which the storyteller didn't fail to mention with a hint of disgust. Your gladius seperated his head from his shoulders in one swift motion and you took command of the second century until the end of the battle. Caesar honored your bravery and agreed with your actions. Instead of getting executed, you got promoted.

"Are you implying I'm not leading my men well?"

Sana hears you chuckle.

"News travel fast among the younger men, Aelius."

"Maybe you should discipline your soldiers like I do. Your century is a disgrace to the tenth legion."

"Nugas garris. You are pathetic."

You walk off, leaving him behind.

Sana almost expects her husband to draw his gladius. How can you call him a disgrace? And idiot? He is higher ranking than you and he is a member of the elite.

But Aelius just watches you leave, before entering the tent you just came out of.

That short interaction reminds Sana of the power you actually hold. You might not be the highest officer, but almost the whole legion treats you as such. If it wasn't for your low birth, you might have been able to be the centurion of the first century of the first cohort.

Sana's decision is slowly forming in her mind. A plan to gain more power than she has right now. Siding with you might be risky. But the rewards could be great.

Sana glances at you from across the room as you stare at Caesar, who is currently talking. She is still not quite sure what she can offer you to make you join her side. But when the leader of the legion mentions the nobility in his speech, she sees your expression change for just a second. It is obvious that you hate all the wealthy and arrogant men and women. Maybe Sana can offer you something to get back at them. Or at least get back at Aelius.

"And that's why the tenth legion outshines any other. Your bravery and honor are praised throughout the whole empire. Rome is grateful for what you have done. And the gods smile down at the men, who give their lifes to the republic."

Caesar ends his speech. And with that, the long meal is finally over. It is night time already. Only the moon and the stars still shine.

You walk out of the large tent, ready to sleep. It has been a long day and there is no doubt that you will be fighting soon. Caesar's promise to promote you to such a high position still rings in your ears. You can't believe you've come this far.

"Gaius."

Her sweet voice makes you stop in front of your tent. She doesn't sound as angry as she usually does.

"Yes?"

You turn around, standing face to face with Sana.

"I'm here to ask you for something."

You look at her, waiting for an explanation.

"I heard that you are the bravest and most powerful man in this legion. At least unofficially."

You raise an eyebrow.

"Where is all of this honey suddenly coming from?"

Sana gives you a melodic chuckle. Only now do you realize how close she is standing. Her oils make you breath in the flowery air that surrounds her.

"I want to strike a deal with you."

"What would you want from such a low ranking officer like me?"

Your sarcasm makes it hard for Sana to not lash out. Just because she needs you, doesn't mean that she likes you.

"As far as I've heard, you won't be a low ranking officer for long."

"Is that so?"

You cross your arms in front of your chest.

"Well, it's actually quite simple. You have something I want. And I have something you want."

"I highly doubt that."

You watch Sana turn her head left and right, making sure that no one is around.

"There is a always something a man wants from a woman."

You are surprised at what she is suggesting.

"Judging by the look on your face, I can comfortably say that I'm right."

You shake your head, which seems harder than usual.

"Have you never thought about having your way with me? A noble woman?"

She takes another step closer. Now, Sana's sandals are touching yours.

"A married one at that? I bet you would love to destroy my husband. This could be your first step to success."

You narrow your eyes, still unsure of what to do. You've never been in this kind of situation. Is she making fun of you? Did Aelius put her up to this, setting a trap for you? Or is she genuine?

"What would you get in return?"

"Your power. Your influence. I can't live, knowing that another person might have more power than I do. I need to be at the top of the republic."

"And you think, I can get you there?"

Sana nods.

"With my support? Definitely."

She looks at you, waiting for a response.

You are still torn. She has a nice body, yes. But you're not fond of her attitude. She is a noble woman. And she is married. Getting caught would have serious consequences. For the both of you.

But the chance to use her? A noble woman? Fucking her, while her husband is only sleeping a couple of tents away? More than just tempting.

You look around the camp yourself. No one in sight.

"Get in."

A victorious smile forms on her lips. As she walks past you, she lets her finger glide over your armoured chest.

You follow her immediately after.

"Now that we have come to an agreement, I-"

You push Sana forward, bending her over the wooden table.

"What-"

You don't give her time to speak. If you're going to do this, you're going to do this quickly.

Hiking up her red stola, you reach underneath her tunic. The smoothness of her legs makes you hard as you reach between them.

"It seems like you are enjoying this more than I expected."

Your fingers graze her lower lips. She is not just a little wet.

"Hey, I didn't give you permission to-"

You shut Sana up by covering her mouth with your other hand.

"I don't need you permission. I'm going to ruin you anyway."

Her gasp is muffled by your hand as you push your first finger inside.

You haven't slept with a lot of women, the army being mainly responsible for that. Nonetheless, you do know how to pleasure a woman.

Sana's moan escapes between your fingers as your digits slide along her wet walls. Her pussy is already gripping them tightly.

If it weren't for your hand, her head would've sunk onto the table already. But you are holding her in place, which ultimately makes her arch her back.

She tries to say something, but your grip on her mouth makes it impossible for her to speak properly.

You are surprised at how wet Sana is.

"Was your desire for power just an excuse? Do you just want me to fuck you?"

She tries to shake her head. You don't let her.

"Do you get off, knowing that a lower born man is fucking you?"

Sana is unable to respond, when you let go off her face. Her whole upper body is now lying on top of the table. You drop your belt and hike her clothes up a little further.

"Don't get confused. I still don't like you."

Sana's growl doesn't sound very convincing with your fingers inside of her.

"Might be true. But you aren't married to Aelius because of his personality anyways."

Pulling your fingers out of her core makes Sana moan loudly. She blushes in shame. Doubt starting to rise inside of her. Is she really only doing this to team up with you?

"You only seem to care for power."

"So? Only a coward wouldn't want power."

You shut her up by letting your tip graze against her lips. Sana hisses through her teeth, unwilling to moan again.

"I'm just curious about how far you would be willing to go. How dedicated you are to this cause."

"Don't worry. I'm ready to do anything."

"Anything?"

You raise an eyebrow, which Sana can't see.

"Anything."

"That's reassuring."

Your nonchalant tone makes Sana shiver.

Finally, you push inside of her.

"Fuck, woman."

You can't help but marvel at how tight she actually is.

"Fuck me already."

It's a mixture of plea and demand.

With one hand you grab her hair, pushing her cheek against the wooden surface. Your other hand holds her waist.

Another moan escapes Sana's lips as you thrust forward. Before she can react, you pull back and push inside of her again.

After just a couple of seconds, you start to fuck her hard. The table rocks back and forth with every thrust. Her moans escape her lips, whenever you bottom out inside of her.

"Harder!"

Sana holds onto the edge of the table, her knuckles slowly starting to turn white.

Because you keep pushing her upwards with your thrusts, the young woman's feet eventually dangle in the air.

You are now able to fuck her even deeper. Her moans become louder when she feels your cock invading her pussy even further.

At this point, Sana is merely a hole for you to fuck. She doesn't move. Only your thrusts rock her body back and forth. The thin material of her clothes makes Sana's nipples rub against the wooden surface. They've become hard due to her arousal and are now adding to the pleasure she is already feeling.

"So good!"

She moans yet again. You suddenly realize, that this isn't really a save place to be this loud.

"Shut up."

You growl into her ear, trying to quiet her.

But Sana can't help it. She has already lost control over her body. Your cock is parting her walls again and again, making her clench around it tightly.

She is even unable to produce a disappointed whine, when you stop fucking her. You leaver her snug pussy, before getting her off your table.

Turning her around, you push Sana against the wooden post, which is holding up the roof of your tent. Reaching for your belt, you hold her arms up, before tying them together.

Sana is now unable to leave. You pick up her light frame, making her impale herself on your cock.

"By Bellona! Fuck!"

"I told you to stay quiet."

Your faces are barely an inch apart.

Because you push her body against the post, you are able to lift her up with only your left hand. Your right one moves upwards to wrap its fingers around her throat.

"One more word..."

You let the threat of unknown punishment linger in the air for a moment.

But you can't hold yourself back for long. Sana's pussy drips her juices onto your cock, coaxing you into resuming your pounding.

A whimper escapes her mouth, when you start to fuck her again. You can tell she is at least trying to stay quiet this time. While you make her bounce on your cock, you thrust upwards. It makes her eyes roll back, whenever she feels your cock pushing against her guts.

"Venus!"

A louder sigh escapes her mouth yet again. You close your fingers around her throat a little further.

"Behave."

The conflict in Sana's eyes amuses you.

She should be the one in charge. She is the noble one of the two of you after all. But here she is, bound to your post, your hand around her throat as you fuck her as hard as you can.

Sana tries to fight the belt, wanting to tell you that you have to choke her harder. She can't keep quiet when you fuck her like this.

Another moan escapes her lips and you tighten your grip yet again.

"I warned you."

You hiss into her face.

Sana's wide eyes look beautiful. The way she stares at you, begging you to fuck her harder, while she tries her best not to make any noise.

But she fails miserably. A loud sigh echoes through the tent.

Without a word, you reach upwards. The sound of metal on metal cuts through the night as you pull your pugio out of its sheath. You let Sana get a good look at it. Then, you slowly part her lips with its blade.

"If you don't want to hurt your pretty face..."

You don't continue your sentence once more. But Sana is well aware of the risks.

With your dagger in her mouth, Sana has to pull back her lips, while simultaneously biting onto the blade, to make sure it doesn't fall or hurt her.

You see her closing her eyes as you keep fucking her. She is now really quiet, focused on keeping your pugio in place.

"Finally. Your voice so annoying."

Sana blushes in shame, able to see your honesty in your eyes.

"At least you have a nice body. I could fuck you every day."

The young woman almost lets out another moan. She really has to hold herself back. This was the first time someone reduced her to nothing but a wet hole to fuck. She didn't expect it to feel this good.

You suddenly hear footsteps outside. You stop moving, almost making Sana whine in disappointment, but then she hears it too. The two of you hold your breath. Neither of you wanting to get caught.

As the footsteps disappear into the night, you resume your fucking.

You make Sana bounce up and down on your cock. She glides along its full length. Whenever you impale her on it, Sana's eyes shoot wide open. She would scream if it wasn't for the dagger between her teeth.

"I'm gonna cum."

You hiss into her face, unable to hold back longer. Her tight pussy has been working on draining your cock this whole time. It feels perfect, almost too good to pull out. But cuming inside is obviously not an option.

You put Sana back onto her own two feet, taking the knife out of her mouth. Undoing your belt, you free her arms. Sana drops to her knees, opening her mouth. You catch a couple drops of blood on the corners of her mouth, before she wraps her lips around your cock.

Your pugio falls out of your hand and you take a fistful of her beautiful hair. Her eyes look up at you, telling you to finish inside her mouth. Her tongue glides over every inch of your cock it can find, while her lips are tightly sealed around it.

"Sana."

You manage to groan her name, before you unload inside her mouth. You feel dizzy, having to close your eyes for a moment.

When you open them again, you see Sana gulping down your cum.

"How often do we need to do this, so that we have a deal?"

"I think you know the answer."

It's so dark that Sana's face is barely lit by the torch outside. You could swear a small smile plays around her lips though.

[shadowdarlings]

Blood Will Rain

Azriel x Reader

Synopsis : During the war with Hybern when all seems lost a surprising new/old face makes an appearance to turn the tide in Prythian’s favor. None other than Rhysand’s long lost sister who was believed to be dead. This revelation is shocking for the entire IC but none more than Azriel himself.

Pairings : AzrielxReader , ReaderxInnerCircle!Platonic , ReaderxRhysand!Siblings

A/N: part one? this is my very first fic EVER so let me know what you guys think! not very canon but i can’t get it out of my head.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Blood was everywhere. It soaked the muddy ground of the battlefield and clung to the air like a sickness. Azriel felt as though every heavy breath he heaved in was coating his throat in the thickness of blood. He couldn’t keep track of how many of Hybern’s soldiers he had cut down with his siphons and blade, but it didn’t matter. They were losing, and he knew it. Yet he never faltered as he continued his brutal slaughter of any enemy he could set eyes on. Azriel caught a glimpse of his brother Cassian not 30 feet away slicing and brutalizing with the same vigor as himself. It still didn’t matter, they were losing. Sweat, mud, and filth coated his entire being. The battle had been raging on for hours, yet how many he did not know. The sounds of screaming, bone crunching, and organs being cut from their rightful place had long since drowned in his ears. All he could hear now was a dull buzzing and the occasional order from Rhysand in his mind’s eye. Exhaustion had not yet set in as adrenaline fueled him through most of the battle, but he could tell that Prythian’s forces were starting to slow down. He was not the only one that could knew they were losing. They had exhausted every resource, every viable power play had been made and they held no more cards in their hands. All that was left to do was fight until they couldn’t anymore, or die trying. He didn’t mind the thought as it crossed and then floated away. He would gladly give his life in the name of freedom and peace for humans and fae. The horrified faces of his comrades haunted him, but he knew they felt the same. So the battle would rage on until their very last breath.

In the distance a high pitched shrieking noise shook the buzzing from his ears. It sounded like a scream, but not quite. Azriel cut down the solider in front of him before leaping into the sky to get a better view. The noise was not coming from the distance, it was coming from the sky… and fast. Pummeling straight towards the center of Hybern’s forces a single winged creature plunged into the slick mud and hit with an impact that shook the ground for miles around. The blast radius flung the surrounding soldiers into the air and backwards, and then the creature stood. Azriel’s heart skipped a beat at the sight, yet he was too far away to identify this new player. It raised its hands and with it a large section of Hybern with it. The screaming coming from the floating bodies was a horrific symphony, and then… silent. All at once at least 30 soldiers turned from solid to liquid. Their insides and outsides turned to a red mist that rained down in a thick syrup. Again the creature raised its arms and brought down a storm of blood upon the battlefield. Five more times this happened, all within a span of a minute. Hybern’s legion was being turned into liquid dust at a rate that could give Prythian the upper hand.

Azriel tore his eyes from the creature and scanned the field for his family. His gaze landed on Rhysand who appeared frozen, eyes locked onto the carnage the winged creature was unleashing onto their enemy. They needed to regroup. Azriel soared with vigor towards Rhys and landed directly in front of him, yet his High Lord did not acknowledge him. “Rhysand!” he shouted over the screams and clashing of steel. Rhysand had paled and seemed as if he was going to be sick. Azriel gripped him by the shoulders and shook him yelling his name once more. Finally Rhys looked in his direction, his eyes glassy with tears that threatened to spill over. “It’s her,” he said, “It can’t be..” his midnight voice cracked. Although every cell in Azriel’s body screamed at him to ask who Rhys was talking about he knew that strategy must come before curiosity. Seconds later, Cassian landed with wild eyes and a heaving chest. “I don’t know what in the ever living fuck is going on, but we need to take advantage of this,” he said with ragged breaths. Azriel turned towards his other brother and the two of them began reconstructing a battle strategy that would surely beat Hybern down so they could subdue the King and lay this conflict to rest. Rhysand seemed disengaged but gave his approval nonetheless. So, with the last drops of their immortal energy, they launched a final attack bringing their enemy to bended knee.

It was Nesta that cleaved the King’s head from his shoulders, and the High Lords of Prythian that brought back Azriel’s brother from the grasps of death. Amidst the chaos of it all Azriel felt a lingering pull in his chest and was reminded of the creature that rained down on Hybern. Then almost as if on cue a long forgotten but familiar scent overwhelmed his senses. Rhysand paled once more and Azriel’s head snapped to look behind him. The sight he took in was utterly and entirely unbelievable. Instantly he fell to his knees before you. Rhys almost toppled over himself. You were drenched in blood, some of it already drying and crusting on your skin. The entire Inner Circle beheld you as if the could not register what they were seeing. For it was not a creature that came to their rescue, it was you.

“Sister,” Rhysand choked out, “wh- how? what is this?” Then with a flash of speed he had you pinned to a nearby tree, his claws at your throat and his teeth flaring in a snarl. “What is this,” he now demanded, thinking this was some final cruel joke meant to completely break him. Azriel stood just as fast, placing a warning hand on his brother’s shoulder. Cassian and Mor wore faces of complete shock. You summoned any air you could through the grip of your brother’s talons, “It’s me,” you choked out. You met his violet eyes with a set of your own and willed him to understand that it was truly you he was squeezing the life out of. It was Azriel that spoke next. “Rhys,” he said in a dangerously careful tone, “you’re hurting her.” He sincerely doubted the validity of that statement based upon what he had seen just an hour ago on the battlefield but he thought it might shake his brother from doing anything rash. Rhys slowly loosened his grip on your neck and took a stumbling step back.

“I’ll explain everything,” you said, “I promise.” Azriel took only a slight step behind you, his hand resting on truth teller’s hilt. He gestured for you to sit on the small boulder to your right. You followed his silent instruction, looking at him briefly and noticed something in those hazel eyes that you could not yet identify. Sucking in a deep breath, you launched into the story of your whereabouts for the last 500 years. You explained that when Tamlin and his father came to slaughter yourself and your mother there was a last minute alteration to their plan. They had decided instead to detain you and gift you to the King of Hybern as a gesture of good faith in their alliance. Ever since then you had been the King’s personal pet. He had done countless cruel things throughout the years, torturing and experimenting on you. When the King came into possession of the cauldron he was curious not only what it could do to humans, but High Fae as well. You were his first and only test subject as the cauldron deemed fit to gift you with extraordinary power. Power that rivaled Ameren before she had turned into fae herself. He found that it was growing increasingly difficult to keep you under lock and chain, and when the time for war came you knew it was your chance for freedom. The castle had been lightly guarded as most of Hybern’s soldiers had been called to action and your escape had been carefully calculated for centuries. The moment you tasted fresh air again you soared for your long lost family. Pent up rage from 500 years of captivity along with the surge of power gifted from the cauldron is what you unleashed upon Hybern’s massive legion, ultimately turning the tide of the war.

There was a weighted silence after you finished your story. Everyone’s eyes were pasted on you in a horrified realization. 500 years. You had been trapped for 500 years. The guilt of not knowing, not saving you, rested heavily upon each member of the Inner Circle. The crushing quiet was killing you, but it was interrupted by a deathly grumble from behind you. “You saved us,” Azriel spoke, “You saved us when we did not save you. After all this time.” You pivoted your torso to look up at the shadowsinger. His eyes were clouded with the same guilt written on the rest of the faces in front of you.

“Always,” you stated plainly.

[toto-the-cactus]

Primarchs + Daughters (2)

Finally finished the damn part two. Been kinda busy here and there with my new job but lo and behold, the one yall asked for. Soon enough, yall find out why it took me a while writing this one for the two main guys I had to add here.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Konrad Curze

A’right, I’ll open this one with the fact we all know that this man shouldn’t even be legally allowed to have children. I’m gonna be real for a hot second and admit that I stared at the screen for HOURS not knowing what to write because any poor little girl that is born from this guy will have the dubious privilege of being the most sheltered and hidden secret the Primarch ever kept close. With all those visions of death and inevitable doom mixed with the sudden power rush that fatherhood gave him, it left in its wake a perfect storm for this lunatic to develop a paranoid and obsessive need (NEED) to keep his daughter safe; something hard to achieve when he already knows the essence of his Legion. His fatalistic nature regarding his own future would suddenly clash violently with the Primarch’s new found protective stance concerning his child. It's almost sad to consider that this poor man GENUINELY wished to avoid becoming the monster his visions showed, but knowing that he’ll be balancing in the thin line of one day hurting his precious girl (or worse than that) it'll put him in the hard decision of having to let go of her eventually. He is no Perturabo, for that matter. In the rare and far away moments of lucidity, I can see Konrad choosing to protect the innocence and life of his child by trusting in the last person ANYONE might expect the Night Hunter would seek help: Vulkan. Honestly this is just plain sad, man.

Sanguinius

This is it! The golden boy, yall! We all know the kind of person Sanguinius is, but add a precious little daughter in the equation and all you get is the perfect example of textbook girl dad. No matter how busy this man is, somehow he’ll squish some playtime with his baby and enjoy every bit of it. Seriously, this guy acting like a dedicated father is worth being in a stockphoto image. His baby girl asks him to play tea party? Some astartes will find their Primarch hunched over, awkwardly holding a comically small cup between his thumb and index while his precious princess pretends to pour more tea for herself. The daughter of Sanguinius doesn't go a single day without knowing that her papa loves her a lot and when the man isn’t around, the Blood Angels Legion are close to keep her company to the point that even she calls them ‘big brothers’. No one is safe when she wants to play dress-up. The single problem I see with Sanguinius when raising his little girl is that he sins of being completely oblivious to the more mortal side of his daughter’s needs. He easily gets so wrapped up in his role of The Perfect Angel that he doesn’t realize his tiny princess has boundaries that are being constantly crossed, but since she feels the need to prove that she can be like her father, endures all those problems and refuses to seek help about anything. It becomes a kind of toxic mix considering how much Sanguinius is loved and adored by others, to the point that his daughter becomes like a coveted gem too by relation, making her need to prove her own ‘perfection’ an unconscious action the older she grows. I’m not even gonna touch with a ten feet pole the “fun fact” called the Red Thirst on this one because, let's be fair, that would require for me to write more than 3 pages with ONLY Sanguinius and his daughter in the spotlight and that’s only assuming his baby girl didn’t inherit it. I specialized in visual arts and marketing, not psychology jfc.

Ferrus Manus

It took me a while but after some investigating and more reading I can safely put this man in between the Papa-tier and ‘tough love’ guys. His practical mentality and belief of the strongest are (oddly enough) healthily separated from his parenting skills. This is one of the few Primarch that can see their daughter as an individual of their own and makes sure to be as present as possible in her life but the loyalty of this man to the Emperor is his own flaw. Not in the case that he’ll choose the Imperium before his little girl, but because it’ll put him in the dreading and guilty notion that he’ll always prioritize his daughter despite his oath to serve for the Great Crusade. Most of his brothers (except maybe Jaghatai and Konrad) just assume or don’t even think about the long term future of their daughters or simply presume that they will become a great part of the Imperium’s well oiled structure. Not exactly their fault since they never grew up with anything resembling normal. On the brighter and wholesome side (whiplash change!), this is a man who finds handmade gifts more meaningful and always makes sure to explain the reason behind them mostly out of the enjoyment of watching his little princess look so amazed at her papa’s skills. More often than not, Ferrus’ belief of the strongest would falter a little as he perceives the true fragile nature of his daughter and, even if she share the resilient blood of a Primarch, that isn’t enough to convince him that she isn’t vulnerable but instead of letting the worry fester, he’ll try to teach the girl the art of fighting. That’s where the ‘tough love’ kind of guy I mentioned comes out to light. He will not spare kind words during those moments of teaching, as he wishes for his princess to prevail any difficulty but he’ll make sure to always end any sort of training with “I love you so much that the idea of one day not being there to protect you, pains me beyond any form” to make sure that his harsh actions have a reason behind. Honestly, it's the kind of father-daughter relationship that possesses so many shades that makes its own drama novel. Good thing that uncle Fulgrim is always there to smooth the hard edges that may come in the future and makes up for the lack of spoiling the little girl deserves. Ferrus is not amused by it. Forgot to mention that the Primarch will be even more motivated to take off the metal of his hands, for he has yet to truly feel the warm and soft flesh of his baby’s hand. It's the one feeling he keeps missing and craves so much.

Angron

Oh man, another of the hard ones. Okay, if I managed with Konrad, I can tackle this bitch too. You need to comprehend that we are talking about a guy that has been so intimate with the meaning of pain that it's amazing he’ll be capable of ranging through other emotions that don’t involve fury into that combo too. That being said, this whole shitshow of being the father of a young girl can only be described as sad AND tragic. First off, Angron’s daughter wouldn’t even be allowed to leave her chambers at The Conqueror for obvious safety reasons and having her stay on Terra can’t be an option too, as Angron would rather be death than leave in a silver plate this one single pittance of good he helped to create under the light of the Emperor. That being said, any little girl born from Angron would be terribly isolated and one can’t even blame the Primarch for that as he, despite his disposition, finds his daughter as a genuine reflection of what he could never ever dream to have or be. That sometimes results in him feeling short and spontaneous moments of anger from the impotence of not being able to be close to his daughter, let alone console her with anything resembling compassion. This is a man that is horribly aware that he’s away from one sharp stab of the Nails to his brain to end up killing his little girl in one single swat of his hand. The moments of anything resembling fatherly love are few and very tense, for Angron has to constantly be focused on not letting the pain control his actions and that always looks as if he’s dismissing his child’s love language or actions. What else can I say that most people don’t know already? This is just a sad story waiting to end in tragedy and had it not been for how Sanguinius ended during the heresy, I can see The Great Angel taking Angron’s daughter under his care as the only consolation and promise to his corrupted brother before his demise. After becoming a Daemon Prince, Angron’s only genuine and foggy memory of his little girl is her crying while calling him with heavy despair. Goddamn I almost tear up with this one.

Roboute Guilliman

Look at my big nerd! One of the few guys that actually is humble enough to feel more human than any of his brothers… sometimes. I gotta say it, Roboute has the vibe of what happens when someone incredibly autistic suddenly becomes a parent; expect lots of books to try and be prepared for what entails to take care of a mortal baby. He’ll have a wholeass strict routine of activities and diets that you AND the baby must follow to ensure both of your health along with “fun facts” regarding a toddler’s development that half of the time lack the keyword ‘fun’ in there. Honestly, Euten will be a BLESSING sent, for she’ll be the one railing back the most extreme attempts of her adoptive son to try and raise his little princess like she was just another task of paperwork. Over all his quirks, the Primarch of the Ultramarines is absolutely trying his hardest to be a good father just as the one that raised him, but this is a man that half of the time ends up clumsily trying to spend time with his little girl only for it to backfire as he simply doesn’t understand how to entertain his daughter. Good thing the child will simply be happy to spend time with her papa despite his weird personality. More often than not, some of the astartes will see the young lady at her father’s chambers in a little booster chair beside him, doodling on some papers to pretend that she’s a big girl helping her papa with his very important job. It's probably the most adorable sight anyone can ever get the chance to see. Just like most of his brothers, Roboute isn’t that good at expressing his love towards his daughter with words, so he simply let his little princess be on his lap and hug her as if it will be the last time.

Mortarion

I’ve written enough of this man being a father that you all can get a wild idea of how he will be when confronted with parenthood. Even if he believes himself to be undeserving of anything resembling happiness thanks to his perception of being nothing but a tool of the Emperor, this guy will only need to see his precious little flower and feel like everything in the world can be forgotten, including his ever festering negative emotions. His daughter is the single light of love that he selfilish believes is his right after such torturous upbringing although that mentality rarely affects his princess, as he simply shows nothing but care and tenderness towards her. He may be a nervous trainwreck, fully aware that his Legion and himself aren’t exactly safe-hazardous, but that never has stopped him from doing his utmost best to protect the little girl from anything that may hurt her. Like most of his traitorous brothers, Mortarion would not hesitate to bring entire worlds into devastation if it meant that his family can be safe, even if that’ll end up making a terrible gap to grow between him and those he loves. It's quite terrible and sad to know that, unlike Fulgrim or Angron, Mortarion was the closest to his daughter and showered her with as much genuine love as he could in an attempt to avoid being anything like his supposed father (adopted or creator equally), so when he turned into a Daemon Prince, the festering and rotting resentment that consumes him sometimes simmers down when he remembers the laugh of joy his little princess often released when he would carry her up in his arms. Oh yes, some good ol’ gut-wrenching emotional damage, teehee.

I will not apologize for being a mean bitch by writing sad shit. XOXO

[jessamine-rose]

˖⋆˚♱ଘ Angel’s Tears ଓ♱˚⋆˖

*cries* I thought I was done with Church AU after Priest! Dottore yet here I am with more unholy ideas. Welp, Guardian Angel! Capitano x Nonbeliever! Darling, here we go (；ω；)

Tw:: yandere, psychological trauma, blood, violence, death, religious abuse, MDNI

Note:: fictional depictions of religion

♡ 3.8k words under the cut ♡

♡ From the moment of their creation, angels are classified into the Nine Orders. This hierarchy determines their roles in Heaven and Earth, with higher ranks assigned greater levels of power and authority. A special exception is The Strongest Angel, an individual who is neither a Seraph nor an angel from the First Sphere. Rather, the moniker belongs to Il Capitano, the leader of the Powers.

♡ The legitimacy of his title has never been questioned. As a warrior angel, Capitano’s purpose is to vanquish evil. He is the chivalrous knight in bloodstained armor, the nigh-invincible being who strikes fear into the hearts of demons, the ever-righteous angel bound by a paradoxical duty to partake in violence for the sake of everlasting peace.

♡ It is in a small town in Mondstadt, following his victory over a legion of demons, that Capitano encounters you. It is the hour of mass yet you are nowhere near the Church; rather, you have taken sanctuary in a secluded meadow. A book sits on your lap, not a religious text but a tale of dark fantasy. There is a saintlike quality to your countenance, an air of melancholy as delicate as the flowers which surround you.

✿ ⚘

The moment Capitano appears before you, all peace leaves the meadow.

No, this isn’t right. It is normal for humans to feel fear in the divine presence of angels, yet he is donning his human guise. Nonetheless, as soon as his shadow touches your form, you look up and suppress a shriek, your face losing its veil of apathy.

So what exactly did he do wrong?

For your benefit, he remains rooted to his spot. Clarity comes in the form of your gaze flitting to your book, its title printed on the cover in conspicuous letters, the whispers which leave trembling lips.

“I…I can explain! This book—it’s just fiction! There are no real curses or spells inscribed in the text; it doesn’t promote any form of blasphemy!”

Ah, now he understands. You weren’t afraid of him.

Carefully, Capitano takes a step forward and raises his hand in a calming gesture. A gentle expression adorns his false face.

“Be not afraid.”

✿ ⚘

♡ It doesn’t take long for him to understand your wariness. A glimpse into your soul, paired with your quiet explanation, tells the story of an orphan raised by the Church. Only, your Church is one of many founded on distorted beliefs, of violence preached in the name of a cruel god. As a result, your upbringing was marked by strict rules, corporal punishments, and sermons which painted the image of a hopeless child with a weakness for temptation.

♡ Knowing this, Capitano can’t fault you for forsaking God and your Church. Still in his human guise, he promises his silence and leaves the meadow. But once he returns to Heaven, his first course of action is to apply for a position as your guardian angel. It is an easy process—while that role is typically reserved for the lower ranks, there is no shortage of humans in need of spiritual guidance and protection. He only questions why an angel wasn’t assigned to you when you were in greatest need of one.

♡ Henceforth, Capitano becomes a recurring character in your life. Every week, he visits you in the meadow. When you ask for his identity, he claims to be a progressive believer from another town. But rather than enlighten you with the true Word of God, he simply keeps you company and indulges your “vices,” leading to hours spent reading together. Beyond those meetings, he also watches over you to ward off any demons or humans seeking to harm you.

♡ From your end, you slowly warm up to your mysterious companion. He is a man of few words, but his actions always convey a sense of kindness. And despite his faith, he genuinely respects your beliefs and accepts you as you are. At one point, he even gives you a special gift, a quill pen of exceptional quality. The feather, pure white with a soft radiance, must have been sourced from a rare bird of prey.

♡ Over time, however, something changes. Capitano can’t deny that the faults lies with him. His visits, his constant thoughts of you, the ever-blurring line between want and duty…nothing of his behavior can be attributed to an angel’s inherent love for humanity. If that were the case, his love wouldn’t beget heartache. His love wouldn’t beget the temptation to harm others, rooted not in the name of justice but for your own safety. His love wouldn’t beget lust, guilt, dishonor, desires so sinfully evocative of his own fallibility.

♡ The truth is, you were never in need of spiritual salvation. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, what Capitano saw was a pure soul—a good person unlikely to commit evil nor fall into true temptation. Moreover, he knows that your sin of disbelief is forgivable unlike your Church’s sins of violence. That so long as you remain as you are, your soul will not be denied paradise, albeit in a realm of Heaven beyond Capitano’s jurisdiction. So why is he incapable of leaving your side?

✿ ⚘

“I had a long, long dream. I dreamed that you and I met again in the pure white world that we created.”

As you read the final line, your gaze leaves the book and returns to Capitano.

“What did you think of the story?”

Your shoulder brushes against his own, a tempting sensation. It is all he can do to remain still, to think against seeking out more of your touch, to remind himself that your close proximity is a mere necessity for your current activity.

The left side of the book, bearing the story’s ending, rests in your left hand. The other side is held in Capitano’s right hand, a blank page devoid of hope for a happy ending. When he turns the page, you seamlessly catch it under your thumb to show the next page.

Who knew of the casual intimacies imbued in the act of reading together?

“It was a well-written novel,” he says simply. “Though her sins tarnished her honor, Rosalyne’s sacrifice was an act of love. Her loss did not hinder her faithfulness to Rostam.”

“I feel the same way,” you muse. “Now I understand why this book was banned centuries ago. Forbidden love between angels and humans…it certainly goes against what the Church taught us about angels. I have to give the author credit for their imagination.”

It’s just the two of you again, this time in the library. At the start of winter, you invited Capitano to your workplace. There, in your greatest show of trust, you brought him to a secret room dedicated to texts banned by the Church for promoting “blasphemy.” Fantasy, erotica, anti-Church publications, first editions of censored books, stories which merely deviated from the Church’s popular depictions of spiritual beings.

Molten Moment belongs to the last category. Little do you know that it was based on a true story, that the author had really formed a pact with a demon called La Signora. Capitano himself is mentioned in the story under his true name.

He was one of the few angels who noticed the changes in Rosalyne’s behavior. She used to be a Throne, an angel with no connection to Earth nor humanity. Yet by some twist of fate, she laid eyes on a brave knight from Mondstadt and began to meet him in her human guise.

He was the first to hear of Rosalyne’s sin, that being she saved Rostam’s life during a battle. It was a direct violation of God’s orders: Angels and demons may influence humans, but they are forbidden from directly altering a human’s lifespan.

He was a silent witness to Rosalyne’s descent. She fell from Heaven, burned by her own flames, yet she had never appeared more ecstatic. In the following years, she married Rostam and lived a happy life with him on Earth.

He was the last to recognize Rostam’s soul at the pearly gates, forever separated from his fallen lover. Such had been Rosalyne’s divine punishment, worsened by her knowledge of this possibility. But what else was she to do? To let Rostam know of her true nature? To drag his soul down to Hell, where he’d be subjected to an eternity of undeserved suffering?

Capitano is no fool. As he read Molten Moment, he began to understand Rosalyne’s sin in a new light. Half the time, he couldn’t even concentrate on the text, his human eyes repeatedly drifting to your intense reading expression.

He closes the book, leaving it in your sole grasp. But before he can stand up from the sofa, you scoot closer and lean your weight on him. The book is placed on a nearby table, forgotten.

“Do you mind?” you whisper. Your right hand, empty since the prologue, traces his left hand.

A moment of silence precedes his response. “You may.”

Wordlessly, you take his hand and intertwine your fingers. A gesture of intimacy, an unspoken confession. Yet as he savors your touch, Capitano wonders if you would harbor the same level of comfort around his true form.

He doubts it. As a Power, he bears an inhuman appearance on par with that of his superiors. It is his true image which has earned him the title of monster by witnessing humans.

Still, he allows himself to indulge in the blessing that is your oblivion. When you look into his two human eyes, there is a soft light in your gaze wholly free of fear.

“Spring is coming soon,” you mutter. “I can’t wait to see the flowers again. Come to think of it, there’s a variety of narcissus which grows only in late spring. It’s very pretty.”

Against his better judgment, Capitano strengthens his grip on your hand. “Shall I take it as an invitation to resume our meetings in the meadow?”

“Sure.” That is when you look up, a small smile adorning your face. “And if you can’t visit for whatever reason, I’ll pick a bouquet and preserve it for you.”

For once, Capitano is rendered speechless.

Rarely do you ever smile. Even to him, you retain your listless disposition—whether it is out of habit or lingering distance, he has yet to discern your reasons. But that is what makes it all the more special, those few instances when he is beholden to your expressions.

He wonders if this is what humans feel in the divine presence of angels, when they are borne witness to all things holy and beautiful.

Your smile is a phenomenon reserved only for the worthiest of souls. And in your grace, he has never felt more undeserving.

✿ ⚘

♡ At the end of winter, a religious war is authorized by the Church of Mondstadt. Shortly after the news reaches your town, Capitano informs you that he will be busy with “work.” He says it during another reading date, featuring Heart of Clear Springs. Before leaving, he kisses your hand and gives you a kind smile. There is a sad look in his eyes, but you don’t inquire further.

♡ In late spring, your town is attacked. With the entire area under fire, from your home to the meadow, you find yourself running back to the sacred building which you’d avoided for years. After all, though the enemy soldiers belong to a different denomination, they still worship the same god as you. In the present, the church is the only place on Earth where you can claim asylum and pray for your survival.

♡ Except every entrance is locked, including the doors to the orphanage. As the army reaches the town square, all you can do is bang on the front doors and beg to be let in. From inside, you can hear the voices of the people that luckily attended mass before the invasion. Some tell you to hide elsewhere, others beg you for forgiveness, a few sound like the nuns and caretakers who tormented you in the past.

♡ Before you can think of another sanctuary, a soldier strikes you. Pain…it has never felt more intense. Through your fading consciousness, you register your body falling and your head hitting the concrete. Blood pools from your forehead and trickles down the steps of the church, tainting it red.

♡ Life flashes before your eyes in a blurry sequence. The static images of God, sermons and bruises, unanswered prayers, people who never believed you or simply didn’t care. A birthday celebrated with your departure from the Church. Sanctuary found in the library followed by the meadow. Yet the numbness remained, each day bleeding into the next in a gloomy haze. In all those years, did you ever feel God’s love?

♡ It doesn’t matter at this point. A small part of you wonders if you should have retained your faith, continued your prayers, sought out salvation in the safety of your solitude. At least then, at the hour of your death, you wouldn’t be confronted with the fact of your humanity. The primal fear of death, the spiritual fear of ending up in Hell no matter Capitano’s reassurances.

♡ Capitano…where is he? Weakly, you call out to him but he doesn’t appear. Of course, why would he? You should feel thankful; it means he is probably safe, wherever he is. Still, you can’t help but wish he were here—if not to save you, as he has done by simply keeping you company, but to comfort you one last time. And those are the thoughts which plague you in your final moments, an unheard prayer on the tip of your tongue.

“I pray that we meet again, myself and the first person who truly loved me.”

♡ ______ died on a cloudy day, one of many people persecuted in the name of God. After the Church was destroyed and its followers slaughtered, their body was buried in a mass grave that once flourished with nature. There was a poignant quality to their countenance, an air of distress as transient as the flowers planted above them.

♡ At least, that is how your story ends from the perspectives of the survivors. But to the angels and demons who witnessed the destruction of your town, your death was only the end of a chapter in your life. In their eyes, Capitano had been present all throughout, an invisible witness to your death, absolute in his refusal to perform an unauthorized miracle.

♡ He remained by your side until the light faded from your eyes. That was when he took notice of the bouquet of narcissus clutched in your hand, tainted with blood despite your feeble efforts to save his gift. A soldier approached your corpse, intending to drag it down the steps for burial; but before they could touch you, Capitano appeared before them.

♡ It was only for a brief second, but the soldier drew back and cowered in fear. In the following days, they were haunted by the memory of the angelic figure who appeared outside the Church of Mondstadt. Or more precisely, the monster who prayed over a bloodstained corpse and took a bouquet of ruined flowers out of their grasp.

✿ ⚘

From the moment you wake up, all peace leaves the meadow.

What happened? Your memory comes back in hazy fragments—death, darkness, blinding light, pearly gates, ethereal figures. Most vivid is the sensation of strong arms and soft feathers, a familiar warmth which accompanied you throughout your journey.

As for your current surroundings, you are in a meadow so beautiful that it brings to mind the Garden of Eden. Flowers of every variety bloom across the scenery, some out of season. The sky is bright, sunless, a canvas of multiple colors. There are no other signs of life.

Internally, too, something feels off. A nearby pond provides a glimpse of your reflection—white garments, gold scars in place of your fatal injuries, your disoriented countenance. If this place is what you think it is…shouldn’t you feel at peace, happy even? And why are you alone?

Your gaze lands on a patch of flowers. Pure white, perianth petals, cup-shaped coronas…the same type of narcissus which grew in your favorite meadow. The flowers point in different directions, as though searching for a sun that does not exist.

“You are awake.”

A shadow touches your form, engulfing you in darkness. It bears a large, unrecognizable shape but such details evade you as you recognize the voice behind you.

“Capitano!” Immediately, you turn around, only to gasp and suppress a scream.

The person before you…can you even call him human? He is incredibly tall, to the point that you must crane your neck to see his face—assuming there is one beneath his iron mask. His body is clad in silver armor, stained blood in some places. A halo, shaped like a crown of thorns, shines behind his head.

But what shocks you are his wings. A single pair covered in radiant white feathers and eerily dark blue eyes. Each eye seems to glow with an uncanny aura.

Dark blue eyes with a striking resemblance to Capitano’s. What more for his long black hair and his solemn manner of speaking?

It doesn’t make your revelation any less unsettling.

“Capitano.” Your voice comes out in a nervous whisper. “Is it really you? You’re a…”

“An angel,” he confesses. He takes a step back, widening the distance between your bodies. “I ask that you pardon my appearance. Such was my sacrifice—for my true form, in all of its monstrosity, to be my sole image.”

His human face comes to mind, along with the kind gaze you fell in love with.

You feel the weight of multiple gazes on you. “What do you mean?”

“Is this realm to your satisfaction?” he asks. “I beseeched God to create a special paradise for you, cut off from the rest of Heaven. The price is that your capacity to feel negative emotions remains in this realm…though that is preferable.”

Preferable? How so? Right now, you can barely process what he is telling you. You are dead. Your companion is an angel. Your soul is in paradise, but not exactly.

After everything you’ve been through, you were still deemed worthy of a place in Heaven.

“I am sorry.”

Capitano’s voice brings you back to reality. He has never sounded more serious, emotional, repentant. And when you look up…

Is he crying?

Most of his eyes remain open, focusing on you with a fervent stare. But others are downcast, as if unable to face you. And a few appear glossy, blinking back iridescent tears.

“I am truly sorry.” He bows his head in shame, wings folded. “What I did to you was cruel, an absolute injustice.”

You don’t know which eyes to make contact with. “You—”

“It must have been painful,” he continues. “Even if I were to justify my actions, the truth lies in the fact that I tolerated your suffering for my own selfish desires. And that is why I ask not for your forgiveness, knowing I am the one at fault.”

Silence. In light of Capitano’s confession, all you can do is stare at him and comprehend the weight of your situation. What exactly are you supposed to feel, knowing his betrayal? Knowing that regardless of your feelings, you have nowhere else to go in the afterlife?

Yet despite it all, your prayer came true. The two of you were able to meet again.

And that is what compels you to take a step forward, to come closer until you are standing in front of him. “Hey, it’s…don’t cry.”

A delicate sensation blesses his wings—your hands carefully tracing his feathers to wipe away his tears. Several eyes widen in surprise, but all he can see in your gaze is sympathy.

“I’ll admit, it was painful,” you tell him. “Dying alone. But maybe it’s…better this way. If I survived, I’d have to deal with the loss of my home. And who knows what kind of living hell the other Church would’ve put me through?”

Above all, Capitano is the only person whose love you can believe in.

Hesitantly, you take his hand and intertwine your fingers. The next words to leave your lips are spoken with certainty, bringing fresh tears to his eyes.

“I’m sure it was an act of love on your part.”

His reaction is sudden, incurring your surprise. But all you can do is surrender to Capitano’s embrace, allow his free arm to hold your waist and pull you closer to him. His wings wrap around you, caging you in soft feathers and eerie blue orbs.

“Capitano?” You can only look up at him, peering into the contents of his mask.

…It’s like staring into an abyss, a night sky dotted with twinkling blue stars. But in the absence of a human likeness, his words express what a face cannot.

“Never again,” he vows, “shall I allow harm to befall you. That is a promise.”

The hand on your waist moves upwards to caress your face. His touch is light, more hesitant than his previous gestures.

“You need not serve God nor partake in fruitful labor like the other souls in Heaven. All I ask is that you rest, indulge yourself, enjoy this paradise to the fullest.”

A flower is pinned to his armor, right above his heart. You recognize it instantly—a narcissus in full bloom, stained with your blood.

“If you desire a flower, it shall grow at once. If there are any books you would like to read, they shall be brought to you shortly.”

What was the name of that variety again? Narcissus triandrus. Angel’s tears.

“If you are in need of my presence, I shall appear before you, so long as I am not in the midst of battle. And should you ever desire the opposite, I can promise my distance.”

When Capitano looks into your eyes, all he can see is his own reflection. Whatever emotion colors your gaze, it casts his true image in a compassionate light.

“I shall do everything in my power to bring you joy for all of eternity. Such will be my penance.”

“...All right.” With that, you close your eyes and lean into his touch. He feels warm, comfortingly familiar. “I’ll trust you on that.”

Rest in peace, ______.

Think not of your mortal body in the beginning stages of decay.

Think not of your tormentors who are paying for their sins in Hell.

Think only of eternity with your beloved savior.

♡

More Church AU here!! Dottore ๑ Arlecchino ๑ Pantalone ๑ Pierro ๑ Dainsleif

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving other characters or dynamics who are not listed in my masterlist.

Aahhhh it's done....this idea turned out much heavier than expected, but I'm glad that I was able to write this!! I hope you all cried over enjoyed the story of Angel! Capitano and his damsel. They were truly a delight to write for~

Tag a Capitano enjoyer!! @diodellet @navxry @leftdestiny-posts @beloved-blaiddyd @bye-bye-sunbird @yandere-romanticaa @harmonysanreads @mochinon-yah @oofasleep @micchikari @whispereons @thescribeoflostmemories

[another-lost-mc]

Diavolo’s birthday is one of the most family-friendly celebrations in the Devildom, at least by demon standards. There are still plenty of demons that don’t necessarily agree with his efforts to bring the three realms together peacefully, but the naysayers can’t resist the lure of extravagant parties that silence their doubts and criticism - if only for a short time.

Halloween traditions from the human world amuse and amaze Diavolo and he vows each year to embrace them as part of his birthday celebration. The added bonus, if only a subtle one, is that the Devildom’s most deadly destructive mischievous demons have something else to keep them busy so that the human world can celebrate their version of Halloween with less chaos and bloodshed. Usually.

(The number of unsanctioned hauntings, accidental summonings, and demon-related deaths have steadily decreased in recent years.)

The Demon’s Lord Castle is decorated top-to-bottom in time for a legion of demon children visit in costumes, all of them hoping to trick and treat their way through the palace. The Little Ds enjoy dressing up too - or maybe it’s just an excuse to throw toilet paper all over the place (and each other) and pretend they’re dressed as mummies for the day. Lucky guests can spot Barbatos sporting some elaborate costume of his own design while handing out poison apple cider and warm cookies fresh from the oven. If you follow the echoes of delighted laughter, you’ll eventually stumble on the prince himself, weighed down by little demons hanging off his back and from each limb, dressed as a vampire lord wearing an impractical cape and his face painted with fake (?) blood.

(Diavolo’s costume inspiration is something he saw in a human world film once, but the threat of blood-sucking doesn’t scare demons nearly as much as it does humans. Even the youngest demons only giggle at the prince’s strange antics, not at all frightened by his elongated fangs. His lips and chin might be stained red for dramatic effect, but his sharp teeth and even sharper claws are very real.)

Later on Halloween night, Diavolo’s staunchest supporters gather in the lavish ballroom for a night of fine food, music, and dancing. It’s a rare occasion that demonic offspring, such as Mephisto’s kid brother, are invited to attend as well. Mephisto is teary-eyed at his lord’s most gracious gesture, so much that he doesn’t realize his family is seated at a table close to the residents of Purgatory Hall. Mephisto and Simeon are unofficial babysitters for Luke and the other underage guests for the night, even if they don’t know it yet. Any complaints are half-hearted at best and as far as babysitting goes, this isn’t a terrible hardship either. The young ones are kept busy with small gifts and served dishes made specially for their picky tastes. Bottles of sparkling juice, similar in appearance and but sweeter than real Demonus, are passed around and poured into plastic wine goblets. Little luxuries for little demon lords (and little angels-in-training).

When Luke and the demon children inevitably disappear at some point during the party, it doesn’t take long for their concerned chaperones to find them passed out underneath one of the tables in a cuddle pile of costumes and candy, exhausted from an entire day of excitement and far too much sugar.

[getobitchs]

What You Took From Me - R. S.

✧.* content warning : angst, fluff ig?

✧.* w/c : 1.07k

✧.* n/a : nothin

✧.* tagline : @sugurus-thoughts ; (text me to be on the next tagline)

₊ ⊹🪻 ✧ ˚i

The Heian era was a time of elegance and tradition, where the beauty of the cherry blossoms mirrored the fleeting moments of happiness that mortals clung to. For you, life had once been simple, your days spent tending to the small garden by your family’s home, your nights bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. Until him.

Sukuna.

You had met him by chance — or so you had believed. A man of devastating beauty and an aura that sent chills down your spine, he was both terrifying and magnetic. Sukuna wasn’t just a man; he was a force of nature. A god among mortals, cloaked in an ever-present air of danger and power.

Yet, despite the fear he inspired, he had chosen you. Out of all the women in the land, it was you who had caught his eye. And in an act of defiance against both his nature and the world that feared him, he had married you.

At first, you had been afraid, unsure of his intentions. But Sukuna — when he wasn’t reigning over curses or instilling fear — had been a surprisingly gentle husband. He brought you rare flowers, sat beside you while you worked in the garden, and listened as you spoke of your dreams and fears. He wasn’t one to smile often, but when he did, it was like the sun breaking through a storm.

You fell in love with him, despite the warnings whispered by the wind and the shadowy aura that clung to him like a second skin. And for a time, you were happy.

But time was unkind to mortals.

Your health began to wane, your once-strong body betraying you as the years passed. You tried to hide it, to keep the growing weakness in your limbs and the ache in your chest a secret, but Sukuna knew. He always knew.

He watched helplessly as you grew weaker, his frustration manifesting in the crackle of his cursed energy. He could destroy entire villages, topple kingdoms, and command legions of curses, but he couldn’t stop the inevitable march of time. He couldn’t save you.

You died one spring morning, the scent of cherry blossoms heavy in the air. Sukuna had held you in his arms as you took your last breath, his four crimson eyes fixed on your face as though he could will you back to life.

“I’ll find you,” he had murmured, his voice breaking in a way you had never heard before. “No matter where you go, I’ll find you again.”

And then you were gone.

Centuries passed.

For years after your death, Sukuna clung to his memories of you, reliving every fleeting moment of happiness he had shared with you. He tried to forget, to bury your image beneath the blood and chaos of his reign, but no matter how much he destroyed, no matter how many lives he claimed, your face always lingered in the corners of his mind.

When he was eventually sealed, he welcomed the silence. If the world had nothing left to offer him, perhaps oblivion was the only answer.

But fate is cruel, and the threads of destiny are never truly severed.

In 2018, Sukuna awakened, dragged back into the world through forbidden sorcery. It was a strange new time, filled with loud machines, flashing lights, and a world that had forgotten his name. He should have reveled in the opportunity to spread fear and reclaim his throne, yet his mind was elsewhere.

The centuries had dulled nothing. He still thought of you. Your laughter, your touch, the way you had looked at him as though he weren’t a monster. He had lost you once, and the thought of living without you again filled him with an ache he couldn’t name.

Then, one ordinary evening, he saw you.

You were standing outside a café, bathed in the soft glow of a neon sign, your laughter carrying over the hum of the city. Time seemed to freeze. Sukuna’s crimson eyes locked onto you, his heart — something he had long believed dead — thudding painfully in his chest.

It was you.

You looked different, your modern clothes and styled hair unfamiliar, but there was no mistaking you. The shape of your smile, the way you tilted your head as you laughed — it was the same as it had been centuries ago.

For a moment, he could only stand there, staring. He had spent so long believing he would never see you again that the sight of you now felt like a dream.

You didn’t notice him at first, engrossed in your conversation with a friend. But then your eyes flickered toward him, and the world shifted.

You froze, your laughter dying in your throat as your gaze met his. There was no recognition in your eyes, but something passed between you — a spark, a faint pull that made your heart stutter.

Sukuna crossed the street without hesitation, his movements as smooth and predatory as they had been in the Heian era. He stopped in front of you, towering over you, his presence commanding your full attention.

“Can I help you?” you asked, your voice polite but wary.

His gaze softened as he took you in, his crimson eyes scanning your face for any hint of familiarity. “Do you believe in fate?” he asked, his voice low and resonant.

You blinked, startled by the question. “I… I guess?”

His lips curled into a smirk, though it lacked the malice it usually carried. “You should.”

Your friend nudged you, murmuring something about him being strange, but you didn’t move. There was something about him that felt… familiar.

“Have we met before?” you asked, your voice hesitant.

His smirk faltered for just a moment, replaced by something more vulnerable. “In another life, perhaps.”

You didn’t understand what he meant, but there was something in his gaze that made your chest ache, a strange and inexplicable feeling of loss and longing.

Sukuna didn’t press further. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to frighten you or risk losing you again. But as he turned to leave, he glanced over his shoulder. “We’ll meet again,” he said, echoing the promise you had made to him centuries ago.

You stood there, watching him disappear into the crowd, your heart heavy with an emotion you couldn’t name.

And for the first time in centuries, Sukuna felt hope.

[sweet-honey-fruit]

Wanted

Boothill x reader

Synopsis: Boothill has a wanted poster with your face on it

This is a snippet from what I was going to do. I might turn this into a series.

Warnings: boothill typical violence, cussing, boothill’s substitute cuss words, use of guns, mentions of splattered brains (but doesnt happen)

Masterlists: xxx

Out of bullets. Out of backup. Shit shit shit. You’re normally better than this. You are better than this. You wouldn’t have secured a job to personally work beside the Ten Stonehearts if you sucked at it. So why now? When it truly mattered, why start losing grip now?

The hallway on the space station was long and agonizing. It’s slim but somehow you still feel like prey in an open field. The grip you have on your gun is tight despite the blasphemous thing being out of ammo. How the metal is digging into the palm of your hand is the only thing keeping you grounded and focused. Focused on making it to the safe room. Focused on sending out that distress signal. Focused on the little hope you have left. Just focus.

The distant sound of gunshots urges you to run faster. Each round of shots fuels not only your need to escape but your overwhelming guilt as well. Normally you stay back and handle the threat. You stay back to help your agents and get them to safety. That's what you wanted to do. Yet the sight of seeing bodies upon bodies being thrown to the side by him, you started to, selfishly, second guess if you should.

What pushed you to get out was Jade's voice speaking through your earpiece. She specifically ordered you to run and to get to the safe room. She all but hinted that this was surely a fight you couldn’t win and you needed to get out now. She's normally calm and collected, tactical and calculating. Jade isn't one to order you to retreat for she has trust in your abilities. So when she told you to run, you ran like hell was after you.

For once, you prayed to the Amber Lord. Praying that your colleagues will make it out alive. Although, you doubted that.

The weight of your conscious is almost enough to weigh down your speed but once the familiar doors of the safe room enter your sight, all weight is washed away and it’s replaced with relief.

Finally, after minutes of running and dodging bullets, you’ve made it. You take deep breaths to calm your breathing as a shaky hand swipes your keycard over the mechanical padlock. With a loud beep that makes you internally cuss it out, you slip into the room. The moment the door shuts you collapse to your knees.

“Holy fuck.” You mumble, letting out a nervous laugh. Your gun clatters to the floor beside you as your hand loses the strength to continue the death grip. You run your hand over your uniform to try and soothe the ache that replaces the cold metal. What a shit show.

You have faced an astronomical amount of enemies throughout your line of work. Anywhere from the Anti-Matter Legion to Galaxy Rangers. All of them were a pain to deal with, sure, but this? This is something different. You have never seen someone so precise, so quick with a gun, and so cocky. Recalling everything just made your blood boil. It’s not even because he ambushed your crew. It was more of the fact that he was moonwalking while doing so. Honestly, who acts so casually in a fight?

Pass it off with humor all you want, but you know exactly why you’re left shaken. This was the work of one individual. The same individual that made eye contact with you in the lobby. His grin widened when you locked eyes, and his bullseye pupils seemed to have made you the target. It was chilling. The way your body tensed and the hairs on the back of your neck stood was foreign to you. You’re normally the hunter but in the moment you felt like prey. That feeling was followed up by Jade's command and it felt too much like an omen. Like all of this was for you. All of this was because of you.

You shake your head to get rid of those thoughts. No. There’s no reason why you should dwell on the situation. Only doing so will drag you down. With weakened legs you stand, stumbling over to the command terminal to send a distress signal out. You hesitate for a moment as you stare down at the screen. The blinking red of the button haunted your memory.

The bodies of your coworkers. The blood of the agents you were supposed to watch over on Jade's behalf. The screams of pain and terror as they tried to take down the threat that snuck onboard. No matter how hard you try, you can't push down that culpability. Your mind races at a million miles per hour, from one thought to the next, all about your irresponsibility. You tried to save who you could. You tried to take down the threat yourself. You shot so, so many bullets all for naught. Then he looked at you. Made a beeline for you. Was he here for you? Was this all your fault? Where did you go wrong? Why didn't you try harder to save the agents that were trusted to your care? Are you even worthy of saving?

Your breath hitches at the last question.

'Am I worth saving?'

Even so, that decision isn't up to you. It's up to the Ten Stonehearts. With reluctance, you press the button. There's a gentle ping that was supposed to reassure you that the distress signal was successfully sent. But all it did was make your gut twist with anguish. It shouldn't only be you in this room.

Your sorrowful eyes stare out the window with a glaze. In all of your times of need, it has always been the stars that brought you comfort. Always a shining, shimmering light in the dreadful place of your mind. For the first time since this morning, your mind goes quiet as you imagine yourself walking among the stars. You enjoy the tranquility of the safe room, taking the opportunity to worship the silence. No screaming, no commands, no gunshots.

Wait.

.

.

.

No gunshots.

Your moment of peace is ripped out of your hands and replaced with your heart dropping. Your breathing stops and slowly, ever so, you turn your head to look behind you.

Oh fuck.

There he is in all of his cowboy glory. The barrel of his gun is pointed right between your eyes and there isn’t a hint of hesitation on his face.

“Don’t tell me ya hidin’ from my welcome party.” His thick southern accent lays on thick at the realization of it all; you haven’t been fucked like this in a long time. Your gun is left on the floor. Even if it is out of ammo, you still could’ve potentially used it as an empty threat. You quite literally backed up against a wall. Alone. The only exit is being blocked by the blood-thirsty cyborg man in front of you. There’s no one left to provide backup.

That feeling creeps up your spine again as his eye pierces through you, just itching to pull the trigger on you.

"Is this what they consider southern hospitality?" You sarcastically ask, a glare settling into your eyes in hopes of masking that premonition deep within your bones.

There's a skip of a beat in your heart when there’s silence. A thick, heavy silence that only grows louder the longer you stare down the barrel of the pistol. It’s only broken by his boisterous laugh. A laugh that feels mocking. A laugh that makes you feel offended that you opened your mouth. You go from scared, to confused.

“Oh shucks! You got me gatherin’ tears in my eye! Holy fudgin shirt on a rag! It’s been a while since I had someone tell me a one-liner like that. You’re a hoot and a holler!”

He finds this humorous. He has a gun pointed between your eyes, eager to splatter your brains across the window behind you, and he finds this funny. You go from scared, to livid.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Ha! At least one of us can say it-“

“Are you fucking serious? You murdered my coworkers, you’re threatening me, and you’re laughing?”

“Don’t go actin’ all high and mighty now, you IPC scum.” His mood switch gave you whiplash. What was once a lighthearted tone was turned into a low growl. He took one step forward, then another, and another until his chest was pressed up against yours. His breath fans over your face. Your back presses up against the command terminal. The soft red blinking of the distress button reflects off the shiny metal of the gun as he presses it against your forehead. Even so, the indignation coursing through your body is enough to fuel a stellaron.

“You shouldn’t be acting all righteous either. Wanted criminals don’t deserve to act so pompous.” You snap back, huffing out a breath.

“So ya know who I am?”

“Unfortunately.”

Boothill might as well be a cursed name among the IPC. A name that brings both fear and a migraine. You never had the courtesy to meet him until now. His wanted poster has been sitting on your desk for a while along with his list of crimes. The stack was so big that his crimes were used as a paperweight for a while. While he was annoying, the Ten Stonehearts put you on missions that were ‘more important.’ His information served more as a warning rather than a task.

Now you regret not going after him when you got the chance.

“It appears my ruckus has paid off.” He whispers, lowering the gun. You had a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, that that was a sign he was leaving. That the distress signal wasn’t needed after all. He only allowed you enough relief to let out a shaky sigh.

The tip of the gun is pressed under your chin, tilting your head back to fully look up at his smug smirk.

“It’s a shame your wanted poster says wanted alive.”

Your eyes widen in his swift movements. With harsh movements, he slams the grip against your temple. There’s a burning, aching pain that spreads throughout your head and down the back of your neck. Your body falls to the floor with a harsh thud. You couldn’t help but think this is what you deserved for failing them all.

‘Am I worth saving?’ It appears the universe made that decision before your higher-ups.

Boothill kneels beside you, placing his gun back into his holster.

“Don’t ya worry. Ima take good care of ya.”

[supreme-leader-stoat]

Where does "turn the other cheek" leave Christians in terms of self-defense?

Alright, so, big asterisk up front: we've been arguing about this among ourselves for about two millennia and it shows no signs of stopping. A Quaker is liable to give you a much different answer than a raised-Baptist.

First, some context. The "turn the other cheek" verse is specifically part of the Sermon on the Mount, where Jesus takes Old Testament law and raises the ante. The law says not to murder, He tells them not to let their anger overtake and control them to begin with. The law says not to commit adultery, He says not to even look at people with lustful intentions (this is the poke out your eye, cut off your hand passage). The law says that a man divorcing his wife has to give her the legal protections of a certificate of divorce, He says that anything short of cheating isn't valid grounds for divorce to begin with (this has a lot to do with the protections or lack thereof for unmarried women at the time, but that's a whole tangent I won't go into here). The law says to keep your oaths, He says to be such a straightforward and honest person that you don't even need to give your oath to begin with. And so on.

Now, with all that in mind; "turn the other cheek" is Him upping the ante on the segment of Mosaic law that literally gives us the phrase "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth." It was half legal prescription on the just punishments for certain crimes, and half laying down the rules and restrictions of what constituted acceptable proportionate retaliation. If someone punches you, you can punch him back. Someone kills your brother, you can execute him. What you can't do is go and slaughter his entire family, because that's how you get blood feuds, and that doesn't end well for anybody.

Looking at it from that angle, "turn the other cheek" is a commandment against retaliation and vengeance, and this is the interpretation I've grown up around most of my life. Someone hits you and you've got the opportunity to walk away, then you take your lumps and go, and you don't stew and think about what you're gonna do to get back at him the next time you see him.

Active and immediate self-preservation is another matter. To the best of my knowledge, there is no clear prohibition in the Bible against such actions; even "he who lives by the sword shall die by the sword" is immediately followed by "Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then should the Scriptures be fulfilled, that it must be so?" The rebuke isn't for acting in the defense of others, it's for getting trigger-happy when Jesus isn't in any true (immediate) danger and because it's ultimately a pointless fight; Jesus has to go to the cross.

If you'll pardon an older example, let's take a look at Esther Chapter 8. King Ahasuerus gives the Jews leave to form militias to protect themselves and their property against the lynch mobs that would be attacking them as part of Haman's genocide plot, and this is presented to us as an inherently just and sensible course of action.

So, to answer the original question, I don't believe that there's anything wrong with Christians practicing self-defense, "turn the other cheek" notwithstanding.

But.

There's one more thorny patch to consider in this whole argument, and that's the one bit of Matthew 5 that comes after "turn the other cheek": "Love your enemy, and pray for those who persecute you." The safety that Christians enjoy in the modern west is an anomaly both geographically and historically. Christianity is, at its very root, a religion of martyrs. Many and maybe even most of those martyrs have gone to their deaths, if not willingly, then at least peaceably. It's worth noting that we don't tell the story of Stephen, who made a valiant last stand against the mob that tried to stone him. We tell the story of Stephen the martyr. "Lord, do not hold this sin against them."

Honestly, I don't know that I'd have the courage to die like they did. If there's someone who's trying to hurt you, trying to hurt your family, I won't be the one to look you in the eyes and say you have to stand down; I'm already well aware of the decision I'd make in that situation. But from the moment we accept eternal life, our old lives here on Earth are forfeit. Any time that could be taken from us with our death is on loan to begin with. A hypothetical attacker in a self-defense situation isn't guaranteed that same benefit. They might very well have far, far more to lose than we do.

I don't believe Christians are forbidden self-defense, but I think we are expected to weigh the costs.

[moodymisty]

Hello I hope you are having a good week! I love your blog and anons so much <3 (The Horus feet post lives rent free in my head)

Your hc about Sanguinius having a secret possessive streak activated a neuron in my brain because its been stuck in my head for days and Im completely normal about him I promise :') my request:

His possessiveness rearing its head unexpectedly for the first time. To the point it even surprises him with how grumpy it makes him feel. His lover had only really been around him and his sons since theyd gotten together so he is caught off guard by this sudden anger.

She is meeting a few of his brothers for the first time at some kind of meeting and she laughing and smiling with Vulkan or maybe Fulgrim is being a little TOO friendly with her and Sanguinius just feels this red hot rage rip thru him without warning.

He goes to his lover and tensely bids his brother goodbye and herds her back to their shared quarters for some totally-normal-not-jealous-at-all sex (and a little bitey blood drinking) leaving her a total mess

If this is too specific, grumpy possessive vampire pigeon boyfriend is all I crave. Angry Sangy hits different...

Author's Note: Tried to write this normally and really struggled, so I decided to do a flashback style just to make it easier on me.

Relationships: Sanguinius/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Rough sex, Biting, Blood play, Possessive behavior

When you first awoke the feeling of lightheadedness overtook you immediately, and you drifted off asleep again for a short while longer.

After you woke for the second time, you noticed your Angel’s absence and leaned up to look around.

The Red Tear has been Sanguinius’ home for quite awhile now, and this trip back to Terra was well deserved. Even if much was unexpected.

A lot had changed in this time away. You first and foremost. He had left Terra with just his legion, and was now returning with a beloved at his side. It was very clear upon his arrival that this was the most interesting news.

Horus had been the first to greet him, giving him a friendly one armed hug. You had tucked yourself behind Raldoron when Sanguinius had waved for you to come forward, and put his hand on your shoulder. Raldoron stood close watch- on edge with an instinctive protectiveness triggered by your nervousness.

“I would like you to meet someone,”

Sanguinius had first told Horus. Horus then went and told Fulgrim. Fulgrim told Ferrus, who then complained to Vulkan. Vulkan was more chaste and didn’t gossip, but did say he was going to meet Sanguinius and his beloved upon passing Jaghatai.

Suddenly then all the Primarchs currently on Terra were crowding around his beloved sniffing around, and Sanguinius was furious.

You had only ever been around him and his sons since he had first fallen in love with you; To see others crowding around looking at you, asking you questions that teeter on the edge of too personal, watching as you struggle to keep your own head and answer without wilting under an unfamiliar primarch aura?

He hated it.

Seeing Vulkan smile at you made him want to throw his spear into his chest.

Seeing Fulgrim put a hand on your shoulder made him want to tear the Phoenician's throat out with his teeth.

Horus’ smile and jokes about you grounding the angel made him watch to wrap his hands around the Warmaster’s neck.

Sanguinius had snatched you and dragged you away the moment he had an opening to, pushing you in the direction of his Terran bedchambers.

'You smell like them.'

His nose wrinkled in disgust.

You should smell like him; The oil on his feathers, the scent of his own sweat and skin. Sometimes you smell like his sons when you are within a close proximity of them for awhile, which is less offensive that what it is currently, but not preferred.

He threw you into the bed, the messy unmade blankets bunching around you as fluffy down flies up. Sanguinius’ quarters are surprisingly messy, and his constant feather losses make the places he spends most a fluffy explosion of down and a few flight feathers.

He never spoke as he caged you under his body, looking down at you with a fierce gaze before his lips trapped your own. You felt the warmth of them, the way his tongue brushed against your lips and demands entry. His fangs are sharp- they nick your lips almost every time he deepens a kiss, and you end up with little droplets of blood on the inside of your waterline.

You can still fell the broken skin this morning, licking your bottom lip.

Something about him snapped, what was normally a gentle and soft man who touched you like you were made of glass suddenly was throwing you around, growling and snorting like little more than an animal.

'S-Sang-'

You could barely even finish his name as his fingers drove deeper into your cunt, and you could tell he was in a rush. Your grit your teeth and moaned, teetering on the knife's edge of pain too intense for you to enjoy, as his hot breath fanned over your skin and his fingers curled and beckoned you from deep inside your cunt. His lips hovered over the large vein of your neck, feeling the pulse of your racing heart just beneath your skin.

When he pulled them out you whimpered at the ache, the way your thighs shook along with your whole body. Sanguinius grabbed your hips and you sucked in air at the intensity, flipping you on your stomach.

'Up.'

When you don't understand his request immediately he gently rapped his hand over your ass and listened to you squeal out after the sound of smacked flesh rang out; Soon after you shifted to push your hips higher in the air for him.

You can still feel the echo of that lingering slap. You lay sideways in bed, wrapped in a thick red blanket trying to ignore the aches. You can still feel in your cunt the soreness as well, more than usual.

The feeling of the fat head of his cock popping past your entrance made you grit your teeth and whine, hands gripping the blankets. Sanguinius kept pushing, listening to your soft noises of half protest until he seated himself fully inside of you and his balls pressed against your clit.

The bruises of his harsh thrusts, hips slapping against your ass and forming a chorus of skin on skin, wet sounds of your cunt tightening and leaking around his cock- are still blossoming, if not in color but in pain.

Normally Sanguinius is gentle enough that you only get a muscle ache at most, but in his lack of self control you now struggle to get out of the bed and get dressed.

‘Their eyes may wander but yours won’t; You are mine.’

You felt the way he thrusts deep into you, slipping through your walls as the tip of his cock knocks against places untouched by everyone but him. The thick base of his cock stretched your entrance far enough that it almost burned, but in an almost pain that had tears pricking at the corner of your eyes and hiccuping moans in your throat.

Sanguinius is rarely rough; But when he is you feel like you can barely survive it, despite your cunt crying for more leaking around him like you’ve never wanted him more.

After he filled you to the brim and had your cunt throbbing with your heart beat from overstimulation, he pulled out of you and listened to the defeated, quiet whine as you feel the stretch from the head of his cock popping out of your entrance.

‘Tilt your head.’

You weakly let him in, feeling his hot skin fan over your own. He bites and listened to the way you hiss, whimpering in pain. He laps at your neck for a few moments before pulling away, finding a spot closer to your shoulder.

He bit again and again, each time enjoying the way your skin broke and blood flooded his mouth. When your eyes watered in pain his hand slipped between your legs to distract you, brushing over your throbbing clit and feeling the way your hole leaks his own cum onto his hand as well as your growing arousal as he toys with you.

Your neck still aches, and your head feels a bit light. You almost stumble walking out of his bedchambers, walking down the hall and wrapped your arms around yourself.

“My lady?”

You hear a familiar voice of the chapter master, who you presume is attempting to find Sanguinius same as you.

He quickly notices your somewhat disheveled state of dress and look, glancing over you curiously. His face is still stoic with only a slight layer of concern and curiosity.

“Are you alright?”

Raldoron comes closer and watches you nearly stumble, before righting yourself. He reaches a hand outward to steady you, but you don’t need it.

“Oh yes I’ll be fine, just tired. It was a long return trip to Terra.

You shift slightly and feel the ache in your neck- wincing in pain. Raldoron’s eyes drift downward, before his expression changes.

He suddenly has trouble making eye contact with you, which is odd. Raldoron is one of the more talkative of the Astartes you know. You reach up to rub your sore neck and feel skin-

You forgot to wear something to cover the marks.

Raldoron can see the full abuse Sanguinus- his genefather - had done to you the evening before, and is awkwardly standing there like it’s eating him alive.

“…Perhaps you should rest some more, my lady.”

Raldoron is clearly trying to avoid the subject, as are you. The sound of much heavier footsteps is like a savior in the darkest of times.

“There you are, my love.”

Sanguinus approaches, looking bright and alert with a lovely smile. He looks like he slept wonderfully, his face fuller and brighter. He greets Raldoron as well, before furrowing his brow as he notices the look on Raldoron’s face and the way you are pulling at the collar of your clothes.

“Is something wrong?”

[utterlyazriel]

—whom the shadows sing for (and the thief’s echoing hymn)

FIC MASTERLIST

A story about one shadowsinger who did his time in the Illyrian Mountains and one warrior waiting out her own— who will do anything to keep her wings… even if it means posing as a Male.

fem!reader, mulan-esque au

1. STRANGERS

Someone in the Illryian Mountains has been making a name for themselves— a bastard like Azriel and his brothers, ruffling the feathers of a war camp's Lord. But they seem to have no loyalty to the fighting legion, or much to anyone for that matter.

2. ALLIES

Azriel trains you and is particularly unforgivable about it. Together, you tackle tonics. Azriel ponders the unmistakable pull he feels and you try your best to keep your secret under wraps.

3. COMPANIONS

Azriel leaves for Velaris. You reflect on old choices and everything that you lead you to where you are now— and realise it's been awhile since you had anyone to miss.

4. FRIENDS

You return to regular training for the first time in a month. Azriel asks a favor from Rhys and finds you in a less than stellar condition when he returns to camp.

5. CONFIDANTS

You test out if your efforts with the tonics are worth anything and Azriel bestows you with a gift. He asks about the Blood Rite and you ponder the strange, golden thread you've been feeling in your chest. Disaster strikes when night falls.

6. BETRAYERS

A secret you vowed to never reveal gets uncovered and Azriel struggles as all he's known is turned on its head. An unfriendly adversary from the past comes knocking.

7. MATES

Azriel mourns a mistake that will haunt him for eternity as he races back to you. You play the leading role in one of your nightmares, but you can't seem to wake up.

8. STRANGERS (AGAIN)

You wake up somewhere entirely new, a long, long way from your home.

9. FRIENDS (IN OTHER PLACES)

Adjusting to life in Velaris means learning to train with new, friendly faces. A tentative friendship forms. Azriel keeps his distance.

10. SHADOWS

Azriel's shadows find a new way to torment their master. The question of forgiveness follows you. Cassian gets you in the ring, testing out newly learnt skills.

to be continued…

chapters 10/?