#I am a widow of a man who is alive

[chiefcroissantdeanbanana]

archmagemc situation in a hashtag frfr

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

once again in my rickard and mortyanne era. if you couldn't tell

[dreamescapeswriting]

Stray Kids Reaction || He Throws His Wedding Ring [Hyung Line] [Mafia Edition]

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - February 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of blood, killing, sex trafficking (not involving the reader) murder and fighting.

CHAN:

You couldn't even remember how the argument had and now you and Chan were standing in his living room staring at one another. Your breathing was rapid as you fought back the tears that were threatening to spill.

"Chan, I can't do this anymore. This life, the constant worrying and danger...Secrets...Not knowing if you're going to come home or not." You were exhausted from fighting with him, it had been going on for hours now and it felt as though he was never going to see your point of view behind this.

"This is who I am, Yn. You knew that when we got married, I can't just walk away from this."

"I didn't sign up for a life where I'm constantly worried if you'll come home alive! Or worried that someone will grab me!" You sniffled a little tears streaming down your cheeks.

"I want a normal life, a family without the fear of losing you every fucking day!" You finally yelled out but Chan scoffed at you like you were a child talking back to him.

"Normal? You think we can just walk away from this and be a normal couple?" He stared you down and shook his head at you, 

"It's not that simple. I have responsibilities, they won't just let us go." He grumbled at you, pouring himself a drink from the mini bar in the living room as you stared at the back of his head.

"Responsibilities?! Chan, you have a responsibility to me, you know...your wife! I won't be a widow before I'm at least 80!" You yelled at him finally losing your last bit of patience.

"You'll always put this life above me...Won't you?" You questioned, waiting for him to tell you that was crazy and that he loved you more than that,

"You knew when you married me that this was our life. Don't go trying to change the rules now." He downed the glass in one and you stared at him, the tears finally stopping as you felt nothing but anger for him now.

"Then maybe I made a mistake. Maybe I never should have married a man who thinks throwing his life away is honourable," The words flew from your lips before you had a chance to process them and the air turned thick and silent. You swore you could hear the faucet in the kitchen dripping, that's how quiet it was in the home now.

Chan silently twisted the ring around his finger before slipping it off and hurling it across the room, the ring clattered against the wall and onto the floor,

"There, happy now?! Is that what you wanted?!" He screamed at you, and your eyes searched him for any sign of your once-happy husband, the one you wanted to spend your life with.

"No, Chan. I wanted a husband, not some mafia boss..." You slowly slid the ring off your own finger and placed it down onto the coffee table,

"I can't sit here night after night waiting for that phone call to tell me you're not coming home." You wiped the tears from your face and walked toward the front door, Chan didn't stop you he just stared down at the wedding ring on the floor, the weight of his choices crushing him down onto the floor.

It had been two days since the huge blowout with Chan and you'd been hiding out in one of your friend's places for those two days, no phone or tracker for Chan to find you with which was why it was surprising to find him waiting for you at the door.

"What are you doing here?"

"Kat called," You scoffed a little, she'd been threatening to do it but you never thought she would. Whatever happened to the girl code?

"I'm not interested in fighting anymore. If you send divorce papers I'll sign, I don't want anything." You explained as you moved around him, unlocking the front door to head inside. You'd been apart and it killed you but anything was better than worrying every day about whether he was alive or not.

"Yn." He called out but you shook your head at him,

"You can keep everything,"

"I have nothing." The words stopped you in your tracks as you slowly turned to face him,

"What?"

"I walked away. Not without consequences but I did." It was then you noticed the sling around his arm, within seconds you were by his arm and inspecting it.

"It's just a minor break," He whispered as you stared up at him,.

"You walked away?" You whispered in shock, staring down at the ring that was back on his finger.

"Given the choice between that life and the love of my life? I needed to." He held out your wedding ring and you stared into his eyes, the mafia life was everything to him,

"But-"

"I'll still work for them but mostly low-level stuff...You're looking at a desk boy." He said proudly to you, it hurt his ego but he'd rather be chained to a desk than risk losing you. You slipped your ring back on before throwing your arms around Chan and hugging him tightly.

MINHO:

The living room was thick with tension as you paced back and forth in front of Minho who lounged on the sofa with a sombre look on his face but it only made you more frustrated to look at him.

"You promised me," You seethed out, shaking your head at him.

"You promised me that you were done with this...Done with all of the killing." You gestured to his shirt which was drenched in blood and then looked at his face. Streaks of blood and skin were dripping down his face as you felt the bile in your throat beginning to come up again. He'd walked through the door all nonchalant thinking you weren't home today only to find you waiting for him,

"I did what needed to be done, Yn!" He didn't yell or scream he just sighed at you. He thought he might have been able to get away with it if he could get home before you and shower before you had a chance to see him. 

Sure he would have been lying to you but anything was better than getting into a fight with you over the same thing you always thought over.

"You told me things were going to change once I got pregnant," Your sight began to blur from the tears that were building up,

"You said you wanted our child to have a father but look at you!" You gestured once again to the state of him,

"If our child sees this what are they going to think!?" You yelled and threw your hands up in frustration. All of this was supposed to stop once you got pregnant, he promised he'd take a step back and leave the dirty work to his minions. 

"You think it's easy for me?!" He finally screamed, getting up from the sofa and staring you down.

"Do you actually think I enjoy living like this?! Killing people?! Sometimes there is no other choice!" He yelled at you, your eyes unblinking as you stared at him.

"There's always a choice! You could have found another way." You grumbled at him, you were sick of this fight. Every time it was the same, he'd promise to stop killing only to pick it back up a few days later.

"I won't raise our child in his environment, Minho. I won't let him grow up to think it's normal to kill people in order to get what he wants."

"Yn. It wasn't to get what I wanted."

"No? Then what was it? He looked at you wrong? Flirted with me?" You listed off all the excuses he'd given to you before and Minho finally snapped, pulling off his ring and throwing it across the room. It skittered across the floor coming to a stop at your feet.

"Whatever. You want something so normal, go on and try it." With that he walked out, slamming the door behind him as you stared down at the wedding band on the floor. Something that had once been a symbol of your commitment to one another now meant nothing as it sat there.

"Changbin told me everything." You told Minho as you sat in the hospital waiting room together. It was deserted since Minho would never let anyone be alone with you,

"Hmm." He answered blandly, staring down at the floor. It had been a week since your fight and despite living in the same house you'd barely spoken a word to one another.

"Why didn't you tell me he was a sex trafficker."

"Would it have made a difference?" He slowly turned his head to look at you, your eyes were already staring into his as you nodded at him,

"Yes."

"I only kill who I have to. It's not something I do for fun." He admitted, his voice shaking a little. It wasn't as though it didn't affect him, he was taking another person's life which twisted him up in a way.

"I try and limit what I have to do myself but sometimes I have to do it." He told you with tears running down his cheeks, you nodded a little before kissing his cheek and squeezing his hand in yours.

"I understand,"

"I won't bring work home with me...Please, just don't leave." He begged, Minho wasn't the type to beg anybody for anything and you nodded.

"Wouldn't dream of it," You whispered before kissing him once more.

CHANGBIN:

You stared at Changbin from across the table with an unimpressed look on your face, Changbin had sweat dripping down his forehead as he glanced down at his phone for the time again.

"This was supposed to be our night," You were pissed at him, you wanted to yell at him for standing you up but you were in such an upscale restaurant you couldn't even do that.

"A simple dinner date and you couldn't even make it on time." You mumbled at him, 

"I got held up. Business came up." Changbin answered as if it made the whole thing better

"Business always comes up. I'm tired of being second best to your business." As you spoke Changbin took out his phone clearly not listening to you as he began texting with someone, probably one of his men if you knew him well enough by now.

"It's not like I enjoy this but it's the life I have." He shrugged his shoulders as you stared at him, his head still in his phone, he didn't even see the tears rolling down your cheeks in a silent cry. 

It seemed that was all you ever did lately when it came to your relationship, you'd be left crying while he pretended he didn't notice or maybe he didn't even notice, you didn't know anymore.

"We're drifting apart, Binnie. You're never here and I need more." Your voice broke as you spoke to him, your frustration getting the better of you.

"I knew who you were when we got married but I didn't sign up to be stood up, or for anniversaries and birthdays to be missed." You'd finally broken, he'd missed so much of married life you weren't even sure you could count each other as a married couple. 

"I want a life with you, not one where I'm always waiting for you to show up and magically decide I'm worthy that day." Changbin stared down at the ring on his finger before he twisted it, throwing it onto the table and gaining attention from nearby diners.

"Maybe you're right. I can't give you what you need." Was all he said before storming off, leaving you to stare down at the ring on the table as people around you muttered about what had happened.

"You know this is getting a little exhausting," Changbin told you as he followed you from the car to the house just like he had been doing every day since the night he'd given you his wedding ring back.

"I want a divorce." You told him plainly as you headed into the house you once had called home and he followed swiftly. 

"You know you can't walk away. I've been trying, Yn."

"I'm not interested in you trying anymore Changbin, I'm tired of never being put first..." Your voice trailed to a stop as you walked into the living room, there must have been thousands of your favourite flowers around the living room in vases and different arrangements.

"A thousand and one flowers...To make up for the dates I missed." He explained once he saw you trying to work out how many there were.

"W-What?" You stuttered a little walking toward them and running your hands on them to make sure that they were real.

"I missed too many to count so a thousand and one seemed fitting." He shrugged his shoulders and you turned around to stare at him.

"You didn't miss anywhere near a thousand." You laughed weakly and he stood in front of you, running his hand gently over your cheek as he stared down into your eyes,

"I won't miss a single one again...If you'll take me back." You wanted to, more than anything but it was going to take a lot more than flowers to make up for all of the time you'd lost together.

"It's going to take more than some-"

"I know." He told you with a smirk on his lips,

"And you're going to have to show me change." He planned on it, he had a plan in place for everything he was going to do.

"I know."

"And I- I wanted to go out regularly, once a week." You told him, right now Changbin would have given you whatever you wanted and one date a week sounded too easy on him in his eyes,

"Okay." He smiled at you,

"Okay?" You frowned as he smirked down at you.

"Yes, okay. Now will you let me kiss you?" You went to speak but it was quickly stopped as Changbin kissed you deeply.

HYUNJIN:

You couldn't believe it was coming down to this, you stared at your husband as he stared back at you with a scowl on his face clearly unamused by what was happening but you were tired of all of this. Tired and hurt about second guessing where you fell in Hyunjin's life.

"I need to know..." Your voice came out shakey as you stared at him,

"Do you even love me anymore?" You finished before he scoffed at you, downing the glass of whiskey he'd been nursing and shaking his head at you.

"What kind of question is that? Of course, I do." It wasn't a silly question, it was something you'd been agonising over for weeks now, months even.

"Your actions say otherwise." You scoffed, staring at him as he poured himself another glass and began to slowly nurse it as you stared at him.

"You're always so caught up in your business and I'm always here wondering if I even matter to you."

"This is the life of a mafia wife Yn. You knew that when you married me." You did, which was a fair point but he'd shown you that while it was a lot of waiting for him it was supposed to be a lavish lifestyle the two of you could share. You couldn't even remember the last time you'd gone out together that wasn't an obligation to the both of you.

"I didn't sign up to be a in loveless marriage! You promised me it would be in sickness and in health, for better or worse." He drank from his glass before pouring a third one for the night, usually two were his cut off so you knew you were getting under his skin a little and if that's what it took for him to see your point then you didn't care.

"I need more than lavish gifts from you every now and again and empty promises that we'll do something eventually."

"I take you out." He defended angrily but you didn't back down. There hadn't been a real date since you got married to one another, everything else was parties you had to be seen at or charity events you couldn't miss.

"To your stupid parties where your presence is required. You never take me somewhere we want to go."

"You don't think I provide for you!? Is that it?!" He finally yelled, losing his patience with you. Hyunjin adored you, practically worshipped the ground you walked on and for you to suggest otherwise was a knife to his chest,

"No-"

"I work like a dog, day and night and I give you everything you could ever possibly need in life!" He shouted out, not meaning to shout at you but he'd snapped that last bit that was holding him back,

"I don't NEED material things, I need you! I need your love! I need your presence!" You yelled at him.

"You know what I feel when we go out to your parties?" He doesn't answer you, instead, he stares down at the liquid in his glass that is burning his throat,

"I feel like a fucking trophy on your arm, something you can show off as the "Ha I got her" look." You started down at the wedding ring on his finger. Hyunjin had no idea you felt that way, his heart broke a little as he stared back at you, how could he have not seen it before?

"If you love me, then show it. Actions speak louder than words." In a fit of frustration, Hyunjin takes the ring off his finger and hurls it onto the table, the metal echoing around the room.

"You don't love me." You barely whispered before walking out of the room,

You'd walked out on him two weeks ago and since then he'd been nothing but sweet to you, showing up every day to walk you to work and bring you lunch.

"Why are you doing all this?" You asked as you stared at the picnic that was on your office floor.

"I'm starting again." He told you as if it explained everything he'd been doing for the last two weeks.

"What?" You slowly sat down on the floor noticing that everything he had was all of your favourite foods.

"You said actions speak louder than words. I'm starting from the beginning with you, more dates, more time together." He held out a glass for you and you took it from him,

"To new beginnings." Your eyes stared down at his hand as you noticed the ring was back in its rightful place.

"New beginnings." You said, clinking your glass with his and smiling a little. Maybe it wasn't the best way to start again but if it was him truly trying to change you were going to give it your best shot.

@chiisaiblog @sw33tnight @kaitieskidmore97 @laylasbunbunny @stayconnecteed @saymyspringrain @toplinehyunjin @katnisspeetaprim @acciocriativity @just-aelia @choisoorin @straykids5star @midnightfrog625 @beccaskz @scarletemeterio @halesandy @junhannies @gothic4under4lord @lixie-phoria @soulphoenix1618 @aerastus @jin-from-the-block @lensfilm @elizaschuyler18 @piratequeen-impact @kpopsstuffs @chaeyoungs @delulu18 @xyahrinx @katsukis1wife @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @blairscott @4-chan-inpadella @niktwazny303 @moonlight-the-writer @armystay89 @hadassahchan @yxngbxkkie @myyouthdonut @extrhotjne @ca11me3mily @elissasimp @xakx @sleepb @kittymaryam-thebrowniefairy @kpopmenace143 @minhosify @loveforred @b1nn1e-1s-cut3

[19burstraat]

Idk why you would hc or interpret that Kaz would be possessive of / excessively jealous with Inej once they're 'official' post-canon (major misreading of their relationship imo) when instead you can have shit like Sailor's Wife Brekker:

Kaz, ten seconds after Inej leaves: It Has Now Been Twenty Years Since Inej Put Out To Sea And I Am Certain I Will Never Live To See Her Return, Or That She Has Found A Superior Man Who Truly Deserves Her On Some Distant Shore. I Tragically Make My Peace With Being A Sailor's Widow And Never Seeing Her Again. I Will Dedicate My Life, My Anger Issues, And My Demonic Intellect To Her Noble Cause.

Inej, somewhere on the True Sea on the boat he bought her: hope my ketterdam mobster husband is still alive and hasn't been beaten to death in a gang brawl! miss him :)

[absurdthirst]

The Empress and the Gladiator {Gladiator!Pero x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.2k

Warnings: Fingering, oral sex (male and female receiving), loss of virginity, star crossed lovers, mentions of war/death, vaginal sex, mentions of sex workers, rough sex, blood/gore, death, animal cruelty, gladiatorial games, pregnancy

Comments: Destined to become Empress of Rome, your heart has always been Pero Tovar's. When your father decides to host an gladiatorial tournament with your hand in marriage as the prize, Pero becomes the gladiator you are rooting for in the colessum.

A/N: With Gladiator 2 coming out this year, thots turned to Rome. While reader is Empress, no physicality has been described other than 'Roman'.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Pero Tovar MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Pay attention.” Your tutor, Maximus, tuts as you stare out of the doorway to the courtyard. Your scrolls are messy on your table and the breeze through your hair makes you long to be outside and not studying the gods. You hear the clashing of swords and watch as Pero Tovar fights his mentor, a man named Julius, while his mother tends to your needs. His mother is your matron, taking care of your needs like your own mother would if she were still alive. After her untimely death when you were born, your father had brought in a matron while he searched for another wife. He’s had two more since your mother’s death but he claims to be cursed as both women also lost their lives during birth…and their babies. The sole child of the Emperor of Rome, you are in line to be Empress. Something that has never happened. The man you marry shall be by your side and your father had petitioned the senate to allow you to rule, for him to mold you into the perfect leader for the next generation. The senate had agreed and now, you spend your days learning about Seneca and Cicero instead of painting or strolling the gardens. You have been taught to read, you know the laws of the empire, and you have been trained in all manner of war. You are preparing to become Empress of Rome. You just need a husband. Turning your eyes away from Pero, you look back at your scrolls and continue your lesson. Little do you know that Pero is also watching you. His mother, bless her soul, was widowed by his father who fought for the empire. He lost his life in battle and the Emperor let his mother stay in the palace with her son to tend to his newborn daughter. Pero knows he will be sent to train with the army soon. He will fight as his father once did. However, he will be leaving his heart in the palace with you.

****

You walk through the gardens after your lesson, Pero long gone from the courtyard, and you are caressing a flower when you hear your name. “Why are you here alone?” Pero asks, his voice gruff and demanding, “you should not be outside without an escort.”

You huff and roll your eyes, aware of and annoyed by the fact that if you were a man no one would even question you walking alone. “I am in my own courtyard.” You turn to look at the older Spanish boy. Even if you have grown up together, he has filled out with muscle and grown taller over the past few years. “I am the future Empress and I can go and do whatever I wish.” You straighten your spine even though you know your father would not approve of being alone. Too many of his enemies would seek to use you for their own gain. You frown and look around, all the servants out of sight and no one nearby to hear you. “Why are you here, Pero?”

Pero stares at you for a moment, the moonlight reflecting on your face, and he can't help but be reminded of how beautiful you are. When your face is carved from marble and the coins are gold with your profile, he will be one of many to admire your beauty. Your moxie makes him bite his lip to smother a smile and he waits until your eyes fix on him. "I am taking a stroll. Getting some fresh air and admiring the grounds before I have to leave." He sighs, looking down at the grass beneath his feet.

“That’s right, you are leaving……” you frown at the reminder that tomorrow morning he will be leaving for the war that is being fought near Constantinople. You have spent all of your formative years around the man who you have come to view as more than a mere childhood friend. You’ve never seen him as a brother and now your heart quickens at his nearness. “Tonight is your last night in Rome,” you venture softly. “You should make the most of it. Most men would be visiting the taverns, or the whorehouses that I am supposed to pretend don’t exist.” His head shoots up, eyes wide and you smirk. “Or do you prefer the company of the men in the bathhouses?”

Pero raises his eyebrows and he offers you a wry smile, “don’t you know it all, emperatriz?” He chuckles and you snort, “I even know about Hispania.” Pero is impressed by your knowledge of the reality outside of the marble walls you wander in. It will serve you well. “To answer your question, I wish to spend my last night here since I will not be able to return. My barracks will be my new home and I will miss this palace…and you.” He confesses, his dark eyes meeting yours, “I have no need for wine or for women when what I truly want is right in front of me.”

Pero is handsome, his dark eyes seemingly even darker with the same emotion that makes your core throb and turn slick with need. You aren’t unaware of what happens between men and women, even if you are untouched. Untouched beyond your own fingers between your thighs when you lay in the dark, listening to the rustle of the wind against the curtains of your bed. “Pero….” You step closer to him, biting your lip as you inhale deeply, aware your father would have you beaten and Pero executed, but you don’t care. He could die, never to return, and you don’t want to live the rest of your life without knowing what it is like to be touched by him. “Tonight, the future empress will entertain you.” You decide, telling him boldly. “In ten minutes, climb to my balcony.”

Pero’s cock twitches under his tunic and he bows his head, “I will be in your service tonight, empress.” He murmurs, knowing he could be hung for this but it’s worth it. You are worth it. No longer the little girl who used to annoy him when he wanted to play gladiator with his friends, he wants the beautiful woman you’ve become. The oils you bathe in hit his nose and he swallows, taking a step back from you. He looks around to make sure no one saw him speaking to you alone and he strides off, knowing that you will be able to make it back to your quarters alone.

The slap of your sandals accompanies the rustle of your skirts as you hurry along the columned corridor to your quarters. Servants rush to bow, but you pay them no mind as your excitement has you eager to lock yourself into your room. Bursting through the door startles your servant, Corda. “My gods!” She huffs and you shake your head. “Fetch me a tray and wine, then you are dismissed.” You instruct her, making her jaw drop. “But-“ “No buts, Corda!” You hiss, taking a breath and smiling at her to not make her suspicious. “I know you wish to spend one last night with Gavros.” You hum, smirking slightly at her guilty expression. “Fetch my food and drink and then go enjoy yourself.” Her lover is also in the group that Pero will be accompanying to the war.

She bows her head and turns, making her way out of your quarters to fetch your tray and wine. She returns a few minutes later and sets the tray down. “Good night, my lady.” She murmurs, turning and shutting the doors behind her. The gauzy drapes are flowing onto the balcony as Pero climbs the trellis to swing his leg onto the balcony. He grunts as he stumbles but recovers to stand outside of your room. “emperatriz.” He whispers, hoping no one is in your quarters.

“Pero?” You look through the sheer fabric to see him hovering outside and push them aside to usher him in. “Come in.” You command, hoping no one saw him climb up. You don’t wish for the night to be disrupted and you know that if Corda is off gallivanting, no one should come to disturb you. Everyone is celebrating the troops leaving and you are happy that your father is busy as well. He steps inside your room and the curtain falls into place, giving you the illusion of blocking out the world. “You came.”

Pero offers you a soft smile, his hands suddenly damp. “Of course, hermosa. How could I not?” He asks you, “I am leaving tomorrow and if I don’t return, I want you to know…I want you to know that I would kneel before you as my Empress, as your loyal soldier, as your friend, and if you’ll have me, as your lover.” He murmurs, not touching you. You are pure and he could be killed for even being in your quarters.

Your body trembles at his confession, knowing that you feel the same way. He can be coarse and cross at times, but you love him. Reaching up to your shoulder, you unhook the gold leaf brooch that keeps your dress on your body. Letting it fall to the floor so you stand in front of him, completely naked. “Take off your tunic, Pero.” You command, lifting your chin. “I wish to inspect my soldier.”

His eyes widen at the beauty before him. Your body bare and his mouth is dry, his cock hardening as he takes in a sight that most mortals will never bear witness to. He kicks off his sandals and reaches for the hem of his tunic, pulling it over his head to display his naked body to your hungry eyes. He stands straight, arms by his side as he awaits your inspection.

You inhale sharply, taking in the hard planes and chiseled lines of his body. The rigorous training has taken the boy's soft body and turned it into the hard sculpture of a soldier, your warrior. He has given you the power and it emboldens you to step forward, reaching out and stroking the smooth muscle of his chest. Biting your lip when you feel it move under your hand and let it drop down to brush against the thick length that juts out proudly from his groin.

Pero groans under his breath, his eyes closing as he lets you touch him how you please. He stands still, not lifting his hands to touch you. You are in charge tonight, his soon to be Empress. You will have what you want because tomorrow, he will leave and this night will be a memory he cannot share with anyone.

“Beautiful.” You murmur quietly, looking into his eyes. “This is for me.” You don’t ask, because you know that it is. Your fingers wrap around his cock and you marvel at how hard and soft he feels in your hand. “How long have you thought of me?” You ask. “Do you think of me when you visit the whorehouses? When you sink into a woman?”

"Yes." He doesn't bother lying. After tonight, you will be betrothed to another and he will likely be killed in battle. He has tonight so he will give you everything, all he has to offer. "Every time." He confesses, knowing that he paid those women to be faceless, imagining you in their place. You jerk him and he groans, letting you touch him as you please and he prays to the gods that he holds off long enough to give you pleasure.

You moan softly, loving how he responds to your touch. His confession of thinking of you while fucking making your cunt drip. “When I slide my fingers into my cunt, I think of you.” You confess. “How you would feel, how you would taste.” You squeeze him slightly as he groans your name. “How you would touch me. You know of such things, you have touched women before. Can you make my body shake in pleasure?”

He nods, throat tightening with arousal as you squeeze him again. "I can make my Empress shake in pleasure until she can take no more." He assures you, "I have learned well from the brothels. I want to show you, emperatriz."

“I am supposed to be pure, to stay pure, until I take a husband.” You remind him. “But I will not be pure.” You let go of his cock and step back. “Because I will have given my purity to my love. The one who holds my heart.” You reveal softly.

His heart pounds in his chest and he reaches for you, grabbing your waist, and he leans in to press his lips to yours. He doesn’t want to hold back knowing he could die and never know your touch. He tilts your head to kiss you, sliding his tongue into your mouth, and he backs you towards your bed.

Now that his hands are on you, he is in complete control. You moan, reaching up and twisting your finger into the short hair at the base of his skull. You can’t do much with it, but you tug gently, wishing it was longer. “Pero…” you whimper when he breaks away from his lips to kiss down your throat. “Pero, please, make me yours for tonight.”

He grabs the back of your thighs, lifting you up to carry you onto the bed. He lays you down, the silk sheets beneath you and he hovers above you, taking you in. You’re gorgeous. Aphrodite incarnate. He leans down to kiss along your throat, his hand caressing your thigh as he settles between your legs.

You should feel exposed, vulnerable, but you feel nothing but the heat of his gaze. Again, your hands slide along his skin and you map the muscles. Knowing that tonight will be a memory that you will cherish forever, keeping it locked away in your heart. “You are so….sexy.”

Pero slides his hand along your thigh up to your breast and he tilts his head so he can dip down and take your nipple into his mouth. Your words make his cock twitch and his stomach clench, knowing you find him attractive. He loves it. He loves you. Your back arches into his mouth and he bites down on your nipple, soothing the sting with his tongue.

“Pero!” Your eyes close and your back arches up from the bed to his mouth. Every pull of his mouth shoots straight to your cunt and makes it clenches. “Oh gods.” Your leg lifts and you rub the back of your foot against his leg, enjoying the roughness of his hair.

He switches to your other breast, loving the way you cry out his name. “Shush, my love. The guards will hear you.” He warns you, pulling back from your breast and he presses kisses along your stomach, settling between your thighs. Your cunt, covered by curls, has him groaning your name. You smell like the oils you use and something tangy that has him moaning as he wastes no time surging forward to slide his tongue through your folds.

Your gasp is loud, catching your breath and making your breast shake. Your hands grip the sheets and you can’t believe that he is going this. You’ve heard about the pleasure to be had, but you’ve never thought that it would happen for you.

He flicks his tongue over your clit just as the whores had taught him. He sucks your clit into his mouth, his hands caressing your thighs and he groans at the tangy taste of your arousal. You taste like honey. He pushes your thighs further apart and slides his tongue down to push it inside of you.

“Oh fuck.” You moan, clenching your jaw before you have to lift your head and look down at him between your thighs. You had expected him to just take you, but he was surprisingly good at giving pleasure. “You should just stay and spend all day doing this to me.” You moan out the praise as your hips jerk up to meet his eager tongue.

Pero lifts his head from your cunt, his chin glistening as he smirks, “I would spend every day worshiping you if it were possible, mi emperatriz.” He assures you, sliding his tongue through your folds again and he sucks on your clit. His hand slides along your thigh until he’s pushing two fingers slowly inside of you.

His fingers are thick, so much thicker than your own. Making you whimper out his name again, drowning in the pleasure that he pulls from you as he presses them deep. “Yes.” You sigh. “I love you, Pero.”

He loves hearing you say that. His fingers stretch you out for his cock. He pumps them a little faster and leans in to take your clit into his mouth, sucking. He wants you to fall apart for him, to tell him you love him enough times to last him a lifetime because that’s what he will need.

You know that it’s wrong for you to give yourself to Pero. You should have saved it for the man who would become your husband, the man who would help you rule Rome after your father dies. You don’t care, your heart belongs to Pero and you want to give him a part of yourself you can never have back. You chant the words of love over and over as he works you up, until your entire body bucks with broken cry. Your cunt bearing down on his fingers and soaking them with your pleasure.

He loves the way you soak his fingers. Working you through it, he groans into your wet flesh. His cock is hard against the sleeping mat beneath you, and he is aching to be inside of you. He groans your name and kisses back up your body until his lips find yours and he slides his tongue into your mouth so you can taste yourself.

The taste of your cunt on his lips has you moaning, enjoying the flavors mixed tongue and you want to taste him too. “Pero-“ you whimper, making him pull away to look at you as if he wonders if you have changed your mind. “Can I do that to you? Suck your cock?” You’ve heard the servants talk about it, even watched as it happened in the shadows, but you’ve never done it.

Pero's cock twitches at the thought but he can't imagine defiling you like that. Just to touch you like this is enough for him to be killed and his soul to be damned by Pluto. "I am yours for whatever you wish, mi amor, but I must warn you that you cannot do too much otherwise this will be over far too soon." He has wanted you for so long, watched you from afar, and the thought of you touching him in that way already has his stomach clenching.

You push him onto his back as you decide to take his pleasure into your hands. “You will tell me before you find your release.” You say it like it is a forgone conclusion and lean forward to press your lips to his. Then breaking away to kiss down his chest, eager to see how he reacts to your mouth on him. If you only have tonight, you want to gorge yourself on him.

His breath catches in his chest and he watches you make your way to his cock, wrapping your fingers around it and he loves the lust in your eyes. He loves how much you want him. "Fuck." He hisses when you pump his length, the foreskin pulled down to reveal the leaking head.

You preen under his rough praise, feeling the way he twitches and pulses in your hand and against your tongue. It’s thrilling to learn that he enjoys this and you open your mouth wider to take more of his length down your throat.

You moan around him and he twitches in your mouth, loving how you feel surrounding him. You feel incredible. “Fuck, hermosa.” He grunts as you explore his cock with your mouth and tongue.

Giggling slightly, you pull off of him and decide to lick him. Making him groan again. “You must love this, all the noise you are making.” You know that he can be as loud as he wants, no one is in this wing of your home beside you. You tease him and then lick him again. “Tell me what you have imagined while a whore’s mouth is on your cock.”

Pero can’t believe how naughty you are for an innocent woman. “I imagined - imagined this. You. Your mouth wrapped around my cock. My cock inside of you. You. I wanted you while I was giving them my cock, my coin.” He confesses breathlessly as you jerk his cock.

You hum, feeling slightly jealous of them, even if you cannot have a claim in this man. He is free to do whatever he wants, with whomever. Now, you just enjoy the fact that he wants to be yours. “You have me, Spaniard.” You promise, ducking your head down to take him back into your mouth.

He loves hearing you claim he has you when both of you know you only have tonight. He groans when you take him deeper and his stomach clenches. “Hermosa. You can’t - I don’t want this to end too soon.” He chokes, not wanting to finish without making you clench down on his cock.

Reluctantly, you let go of him and kiss back up his body. “You will stay the night, yes? We can do that again after?” You know men can find pleasure more than once and you hope that he is also like those fools who like to brag about being able to rut all night.

He nods, "I will stay there night then I will go before sunrise. We cannot risk getting caught." He promises and pulls you up so he can kiss you, rolling you onto your back. "Are you certain?" He asks softly, nudging his nose with yours after he pulls back from the kiss, his cock pressing against your thigh.

“I have never been more certain of anything else.” You promise. “Not the gods or the Senate could make me change my mind.” Your hand caresses his cheek, the thin strip of a beard of his face slightly patchy with youth. “I love you, Pero. Tonight, make me a woman.”

He doesn't deny you. He can't deny you even if he tried. He reaches between you to grip his cock, pulling back his foreskin to slide the head through your folds until he is positioning his cock at your entrance. He watches you as he starts to push inside of you.

You expected pain and you expected nothing. You really didn’t know what to expect but the feeling of him filling you up is exquisite. Your mouth drops open as you moan his name again, your legs pulling back to take him deeper into your body and you know that you are forever changed.

Pero feels your innocence break and he pushes into you fully, making you his in a way no other will have you. He groans and leans in to kiss along your neck, taking a moment to let you adjust and he murmurs, "I love you."

You whine and wrap your arms around his neck. Closing your eyes and sighing softly. A piece of you is forever his and you know that your heart is his until eternity as well. You might marry for your position and have children, but your heart will be this Spaniard’s. “I love you, Pero.” You promise him. “Forever.”

Your promise makes his heart clench as he starts to move inside of you. He's in no rush. Not rutting into you like he would a whore he paid his coin to. He moves slowly, watching your face as you take him. You close your eyes as he adjusts the angle of his hips and he grunts when your walls clench around him. "Mi emperatriz hermosa." He murmurs as he kisses along your neck.

You know that he is being slow with you and it’s amazing. Making you feel every ridge and vein in his cock as they scrub along your sensitive walls. It’s love making in the purest form and you don’t want to let him go. Another soldier can go fight for the Emperor and Rome. Even if you know Pero would never agree to that, finding it to be cowardice. You have tonight. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you moan his name again. “Pero.”

Pero doesn't want to leave but he has no choice. He has no future here in the palace. He must leave and forge his own path. He has to accomplish something outside of these walls. He must fight for Rome and for the Emperor and one day, he will be fighting for you. His hand finds your thigh, lifting it higher so he can sink deeper and his lips find yours, sliding his tongue into your mouth.

Your moan is breathed into him, encouraging him. Letting him know that he is making you feel incredible. Your nails scratch down his back, not hard enough to break skin, but you wish to leave your mark on him. “Pero, gods, you- you are amazing. I have loved you for so long. Watched you fight in the courtyard and touched myself thinking of how you would touch me.”

Your words make him twitch inside of you and he groans your name, “always pumped my cock thinking of you. Fucked whores with you on my mind. You have my heart and I shall be leaving it here with you forever.” He promises, “you’ll have it until Pluto takes me.” He slides his hand between you, wanting to hear you cum one more time.

He is talented and you are lucky that he has been taught ways to please you. Making you moan again when he starts to rub the flesh above your cunt. “You take my heart with you to war.” You promise him. “It is yours, even if my body must be someone else’s, you had me first and you hold my heart always.”

Pero groans, rubbing your clit a little faster desperate to push you over the edge before he finishes. It’s overwhelming being inside of you and knowing that he will have to leave tomorrow, he is desperate to hear you cry out his name. “I’m yours, hermosa. I need to feel you.” He begs against your jaw as he presses desperate kisses there.

His words make your entire body tremble. You know your core is wound tight and the next time he plunges deep into your body, you shatter. Crying out loudly, your walls squeeze him tight and the liquid hot pleasure washes through you.

“Fuck.” He hisses as you clench down around his cock. He groans your name and tries to fuck you through it but he has held off long enough. It doesn’t take long, only a half dozen more thrusts, until he is pushing deep inside of you and filling you with his hot seed.

You close your eyes, memorizing how it feels and for a brief moment, you wish that you could have him stay and fill you up everyday until his seed takes root. Knowing that a child from Pero would be your favorite, even if he was a bastard. “Perfection.”

Pero kisses you, unwilling to move even as he softens inside of you. He murmurs your name and kisses you softly, caressing your thigh as you keep your legs wrapped around him. His heart aches knowing that this is the only time he will have you like this.

You catch your breath in the silence that lingers between you, both of you lost in your thoughts as you continue to stroke his back. “No wonder people love to take lovers.” You manage after a long moment. “If it is half as good as this, I know why the soldiers immediately go to the whore houses.”

Pero chuckles, “it isn’t as good as this because this is love making. The whorehouse’s are for fucking. This is love between us.” He knows that any man listening would hang him by his balls for being so soft but this is you and it’s your only night together. He won’t deny you how he feels when he won’t get to say it ever again.

“Oh.” You melt at how intimate it is, how romantic. It is like one of the great stories that is sometimes performed for the people. “We will never have this again, will we?” You ask practically, knowing that you could never love someone as much as you love Pero. You reach up and run your fingers through his hair. “At least we got to have each other tonight. Tomorrow you leave to fight for the glory of Rome and her Emperor.”

“And her empress.” He adds, nudging his nose against yours. He pulls out of you, groaning as he shifts to lay beside you before he pulls you into his chest and murmurs your name, “you will always have my heart. I will fight for Rome and for your glory.” He promises. 

“Fight and live.” You urge him. “I hate the ‘die for the glory of Rome’ shit. I would rather you live. Live until you are an old man, gray in your hair.” You caress his chest and press a kiss to where his heart thumps in his chest. 

Pero smiles, knowing it's unlikely he would grow old and even less likely he would grow old with you. He sighs and kisses your hair, "get some rest, amor. We have the night to enjoy before I must leave."

True to his word, Pero had taken you, again and again during the night. Rest only coming in small spurts before one of you was reaching for the other. On and on until your entire body aches with a secret hurt when the darkest part of the night passes and the faintest pink hue starts to gather on the horizon. The wine has been drunk, the food consumed and the water that is always available for you to clean yourself is dirty. Your eyes are gritty with sorrow and exhaustion as you watch your lover’s naked body begin to be covered back up as he dons his clothes. 

Pero redresses while you watch him and he kneels on the bed when he's ready to go. He leans down to cup your cheek, leaning in to kiss you deeply. "Be happy, mi emperatriz. Don't wait for me. Find your happiness however you can." He urges, knowing he could never be with you. Your father would forbid it. "I love you. Siempre." He vows and nudges his nose against yours, kissing your forehead before he stands up straight and walks over to the doorway to leave your quarters. He looks back at you one last time before he sneaks out of your chambers, unaware that his mother is watching from the shadows.

Your eyes close on bitter tears after the door closes behind him, burying your face in the sheets you had shared with him. The scent of his body still lingers and you weep for the love that you know you will never be allowed to share with Rome.

Señora Tovar prepares your tray and carries it into your rooms, finding the silk sheets rumpled, two empty goblets and an empty food tray. There's no denying what happened here last night and she is glad she has prepared a tea. "Good morning." She declares as she walks into your room. She had dismissed Corda to prepare your tray herself.

You pull yourself out of the sheets at the sound of your lover’s mother, biting your lip to keep from crying even more. “Good morning.” You manage to mumble, your voice cracking slightly.

She comes over to you, setting your tray down on the bed. "I have prepared a tea for you, chiquita. We know you cannot afford for my son's seed to take." She speaks bluntly, "you must drink this and your secret will remain between us." She doesn't want to witness her potential grandchild be shunned by society. She wants the best for her son and her family, she needs to protect you as well.

Your mouth drops open in shock as you stare at her. “I- you- you know?” You ask, practically gasping the question and she chuckles softly as she shakes her head. “It was not hard to guess when I see my son sneaking out of your room looking like a man who has visited paradise and been banished.” She tells you. “He has been in love with you since you were children playing together and I know those feelings have never wavered.” You bite your lip, chin trembling. “I love him, too, mamá.” You have called her mama - like Pero - since you were young. She had been like a mother to you, but Pero was never your brother, even from a young age, your heart skipped a beat when he was near.

She reaches out to caress your cheek, "I know, amor. I know you do. He loves you too. You are meant to be together in another lifetime. Your souls will meet in another time. You cannot pursue him. It will mean his death. Let him go and keep last night in your memory, mija." She cups your cheek and offers you a soft smile, "now...drink the tea. It will ensure you aren't with child."

You don’t want to drink it, wanting for a moment to let his seed take root and defy everyone. Looking into her eyes, you sigh softly and pick up the tea. “I would carry his bastard proudly if he wouldn’t suffer for it.” You tell her before you take a sip. “I hope he comes home. Even if it can’t be to me.”

She sighs, watching you drink it. "I know, amor. You would both suffer. You know your father would never allow it. He would have Pero killed." She closes her eyes for a moment, "one day...you'll be married with a baby at your breast and you'll remember last night but you'll be happy and Pero...he will be shrouded in the glory of Rome." She hums, "you'll meet again and when you do, you'll be different people."

You know that you will not settle. You will have a man who makes you feel as Pero does or you will not take him as a husband. “Yes we will.” You hum sadly. “He will be a general of Rome and I will be her Empress.”

*****

"You cannot continue this juvenile resistance." Your father scoffs while you sit at the dining table, servants carrying food and wine to you but you reject the food and take the wine. "I do not wish to marry a man I do not love. Do you wish for me to be unhappy?" You hiss back and your father clenches his jaw. 

"You have been a maiden for years. You should have married years ago and I am too soft. I allowed you to take your time, let you find a husband within our circles but you refuse. In the senate today, we discussed a way to ensure that the empress will have a suitable husband by her side. A tournament. I wish to have every eligible man fight for your hand in an arena."

You snort and roll your eyes. “Noble men would rather lavish their days away in the baths than fight, father.” You remind him, taking a sip of your wine. “Rome grows weak and yet you think I should marry one of them? What will they be fighting at? Who can belch the loudest?” You have had excuse after excuse to not marry, waiting for word from Pero as he is off fighting, but the years have passed and your father’s patience has given way to pressure from the senate.

"Not noble men. You need a warrior by your side. Someone who can assist you with battle strategy. You have not fought for our empire and you do not have the experience for war. You need a man beside you who can advise. You need a gladiator. I have requested the warriors of Rome to compete for your hand." He declares, "the General is particularly interested in your hand."

You grimace slightly but your father doesn’t see that. The general spends more time in Rome carousing than he does with his men in battle. You find him to be rude and demeaning, although you can never find someone nearby when he acts out. “Warriors.” You think of the warrior you would want and then look to your father. “Will all warriors be allowed, or only those you choose and rig the tournament with?”

Your father snorts, "I want a man who is battle worn and worthy of your hand. Any man can compete but it will be in the Colosseum and they will fight to the death. The hand of the future Empress is worth a man's life. He must die if he fails and you, my dear, will have the strongest warrior to be your husband, your partner after Pluto takes me."

Your brow raises at the news that it will be a fight to the death and you hum again, sipping your wine. “Sport will be had and a maiden won.” You snort, secretly pleased that you are not the maiden you pretend to be. “The crowds will love you for this, father.”

Your father hums, a smug smile on his face, "they will, won't there? We will send word to all that the best can compete for the hand of the most beautiful woman in Rome. The future Empress. May the best man win." He smirks, picking up his goblet.

****

Rome has changed since he has last been here. Pero frowns as he shuffles off the horse and groans slightly as he stands straight. He thinks of you, just he does every day and his eyes slide towards the palace where you would still be. “We got here just in time!” His friend, Octavious, slaps him on the back. “There is a tournament that will be held.” The barracks are rife with the news, every man boasting that he will enter. “The winner becomes the husband of our future Empress!”

Pero doesn't allow himself to react but he takes the scroll from his friend and reads the details. A tournament at the Colosseum - a fight to the death for the hand of the Empress. His jaw clenches and the scroll is ripped from his hand. His mother still resides in the palace caring for you. He will go see her now that he has returned and maybe he can see you. He situates his horse and makes his way through the bustling streets until he is at the palace gates. He grunts his name and he is walking through the gates to find his mother in her rooms. "Mi amor, you're home." She cries when she sees him, rushing to wrap her arms around him and he pulls her closer, holding her tight. He hasn't seen his mother in so many years and he's changed. So has she, she has gotten older but no less beautiful. "You're home." She grins, pulling back to cup his cheeks. "Mijo." She leans in to kiss his cheeks. 

"Where is she?" He asks, "I heard about the tournament." He says and she sighs, "yes. She is not happy. This has been the talk of Rome. It will not begin for a while to allow warriors to return to Rome to fight." She reveals, "she is in her rooms." 

Pero nods, kissing his mother's forehead. "I will be back, mama." He promises, knowing he needs to see you after being gone for too long. He remembers how to sneak to your rooms without being noticed and he's soon knocking on the door, heart pounding in his chest from seeing you for the first time in so long.

You sigh to yourself, almost ignoring the knock on the door. It would be Corda, having insisted that the servant wait for permission to enter your quarters if you were present. You are older and expect some privacy, a rarity here because of who you are. Setting down the wine that you had been enjoying, your sandals slap against the hard stone floors as you move to the door and open it. Making you freeze when you see a man in front of you. He’s familiar and yet so different. Darker, older and seemingly more menacing with a large and wicked looking scar bisecting his left brow. Evidence of surviving a nasty fight. The softness of youth chiseled away to leave nothing more than a fierce warrior, a man, standing before you. “P-Pero?!” You gasp, unable to believe that he is here. You know he is alive, his mother had kept you informed when she heard from him, but you are shocked by his appearance and your heart leaps with joy.

“Hola, mi emperatriz.” Pero greets you breathlessly. You’re just as beautiful but you’ve matured and you look like a leader. He offers you a small smile after a moment when you continue to stare and he knows he’s battle worn carrying scars - some visible, most invisible. “I heard about the tournament upon my arrival.” He confesses, “your father’s idea?”

At the mention of the tournament, you realize he is still standing in the doorway of your quarters for anyone to walk by and see. You know that it’s wrong, but you don’t care as you pull him into your room and slam the door behind him. He’s here. You have him back and now, with your father’s proclamation, there is a way for you to be with him. Instead of answering him, you throw yourself at him and press your lips to his desperately.

He doesn’t push you back. He’s seen war. Men die gruesomely in battle. Women and children killed. There were times when he wasn’t sure if he’d ever make it back. His hands grip your waist and he pulls you up against him, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he takes a taste of forbidden fruit.

Moaning, you press impossibly closer. Feeling the joy and passion you haven’t once felt since the day he left reigniting in your belly. You’ve not let another man touch you, remaining pure to his body alone. You know that he will have had other women but you don’t care. It had been your decision and now you are grateful that you had. Your fingers reach for the thick leather belt at his waist to untie it, not caring that he is dirty from the road, you need to touch him to make sure he is real and here again.

Pero knows he should push you away. He shouldn’t claim you again. Yet seeing you, how beautiful you are, remembering how much he’s missed you…it’s like he can’t control himself. He’s not gentle as he gathers your dress in his hands, tugging it up your body so he can caress your skin. “I missed you.” He kisses against your jaw as you push his tunic from his body.

“I prayed to Mars everyday to keep you safe.” You tell him frantically, your hands mapping his scarred body and you groan when your fingers wrap around his rapidly hardening cock. “I love you.” You declare breathlessly. “You said I should not wait, but I did. I have only been yours.” You confess. “Make me yours again, Pero.”

He groans, annoyed that you waited for him because you’ve given him hope. “I love you too. Never stopped.” He vows and guides you back towards the bed. “I’m not going to be gentle.” He confesses, his fingers sliding up your thigh until he’s sliding them through your folds.

“Don’t be.” You beg, knowing that you might be sore, but you will cherish the aches. He pushes you down onto the bed and you slide your dress up to your waist and hurry to unclip the shoulders. “I want my warrior to take the spoils of his conquest.”

Your words make his cock throb and he hisses when you expose your body. Your curves made his mouth water and he surges to dip down and take your nipple into his mouth while he settles between your thighs, gripping his cock to slide it through your folds.

“Pero…” you whimper his name, fingers digging into his longer hair and you love how you can tug on it slightly. “Tell me you didn’t marry.” You beg, gulping back a sob of pleasure when he bites down. “You didn’t find a woman while you were away?”

“I would not be here if that were true.” He assures you, “I wouldn’t betray your soul like that, hermosa.” He vows against your sternum and he starts to push inside of you. “You are still the woman I love.” He promises and you moan as he stretches you out.

Your eyes close and you feel complete for the first time in years. “Fuck.” You whimper, clenching down around him and making him hiss quietly. “That is what I have been missing.” You moan. “Move Pero, take what is yours.”

He doesn’t hesitate to start moving. No longer the younger version of himself making love to you. The desperate older man wants to fuck you, to claim you when he knows that you won’t be his to claim soon. He hisses when your walls flutter around him and he pushes deep when he thrusts back into you. His hand squeezes your breast and he nips along your neck until his lips smash against yours.

You feel the desperation and the need in his kiss, responding in kind. Your fingers drag out of his hair and you scratch down his back again as you rock your hips up to meet his frantic pace. “Pero! Oh fuck, Pero, you, harder- please, harder.”

He won’t deny you when he desperately needs this. He thrusts harder, his skin slapping against yours and his breath puffs against your skin as he pants your name. “So - so fucking perfect. Mi amor. Never stopped loving you. Fuck. I- I missed you.”

“Never stopped.” You gasped, arching up and moaning loudly. Unable to imagine anyone else touching you like Pero is. “Missed you every day. Every day.” You promise. Your body responds to his harsh thrusts and you feel your core start to clench down. Your fingers slide down to his ass and you grip it. Encouraging him as he pumps into you ever harder.

He grunts as you push him deeper and he shifts onto his knees, dragging you into his lap. His strong arms grab the back of your thighs and he lifts you up and down on his cock while he thrusts up into you. “Fuck. Fuck.” He groans, leaning in to kiss your shoulder.

You moan, wrapping your arm around his neck. Pressing your lips to his jaw as he fucks you frantically. You want this always, just him. “I love you. I love you, Pero.” You groan. “You feel so good.”

“Te amo, hermosa. I thought of - of you every day. Every fucking day I’ve been away from you.” He vows, thrusting up into you and his thighs ache but he’s desperate to feel you fall apart around him.

Every thrust pushes you closer to pleasure and you help him. Rocking down when he thrusts up, each one of you groaning and whimpering in pleasure. “I love you, I’m going to- fuck!” You cry out when he pushes deep. Throwing your head back as your cunt clamps down around him.

“Mierda.” He groans when you grip his cock inside of you and soak him. You feel so fucking good. “That’s it, hermosa. Fuck.” He pants, shifting to lay down and you shake as you shift to straddle him. “I want my Empress to ride me.” He orders, smacking your ass with his hand.

You giggle slightly, clenching down around him again from the sharp slap of your skin. Leaning forward, you press your lips to his as you start to rock your hips and moan into his mouth as you push your tongue to meet his.

He caresses your skin everywhere he can reach. Moaning your name as he watches you move on top of him. You aren’t as skilled as a whore but you haven’t done this before. Even with your hips moving a little rigid, he enjoys this far more than any whore he’s given coin to. His hands find your hips, helping you find a rhythm.

He moves you more naturally, making you moan as your tits are pressed into his face. “Pero…” your eyes roll back again and you hold tight to his shoulder as you follow his rhythm and ride his cock.

His mouth finds your nipple, sucking on it as he groans against your flesh. You���re so pliable and he loves how you take him inside of you over and over. Rocking back onto him, you let him control the rhythm and he bites down on your nipple before soothing it with his tongue.

He never wants to let you go. If he could stay in this moment, he’d stay like this forever. His cock twitches inside of you, watching as you take him over and over. His hands caress your back and he kisses up to your neck, aching to suck his mark there but he can’t, no matter how much he wants to.

“I want to feel you inside me again.” You pant breathlessly. “That feeling of your seed inside me was the best feeling I ever had.” You turn and press your lips to his, needing to be close to him in all ways.

He is selfish. If his seed takes and you marry another, his bastard will be killed. They would not allow a bastard to be the future emperor of Rome. His logic knows that it’s not a good idea but his heart and his cock desperately want to fill you up. His heart wins and he rocks his hips to thrust up into you, pushing you forward onto his chest and he wraps his arms around you. “I will fill you up. You’ll be dripping me.” He promises with a growl.

You whine his name and reach down to touch yourself, your fingers brushing against his cock as he rocks up into you. Stroking your flesh quickly as he groans your name, coming apart again with a soft cry. “Pero!”

When you clench down around him, he grabs your ass and thrusts up into you harder and faster, grunts escaping his lips as he seeks his own climax and it doesn’t take long. He hisses your name and clenches his eyes shut as he cums, painting your walls with his seed for the second time.

You moan softly, holding him tight and closing your eyes as he fills you up. The warmth spreads and makes you sigh in pleasure. “That’s so good. I love it, I love you. I want you.” You promise softly. “I- I want you for my husband.”

Pero sighs, stroking his fingers along your spine. “Your father would never allow it. Unless I win the tournament. I need to fight for you, mi amor.” He murmurs, knowing he could be killed but he has to try. He has to fight for his love.

You close your eyes, sighing softly. “Please tell me that you have become a fierce warrior?” You plead. Reaching up, you caress his face and press a kiss to the bottom of his scar. “I don’t want to lose you. I’ve lost you once before and now you are back.”

“I am a great warrior. I have survived many battles and it would be incredible to fight for a cause I truly believe in: you.” He murmurs, “I will fight for you. For us.” He vows, “and if I die…I will die knowing that I fought for us. For our future…even if I never get to witness it.” He whispers, knowing it’s a risk but how can he stand by and watch you marry someone else?

You don’t want him to fight, but if he wins, your father would have to accept Pero as your husband. “You will be the only warrior I will be cheering for.” You promise, kissing his cheeks and then his lips. “You will carry my love onto the sands and defeat all others for my hand.”

Pero nods, caressing your cheek, “for you, my Empress.”

****

He lingers in your quarters for as long as possible until his mother finds him after you are dressed. “Mijo.” She smiles, “you must go before the guards see you.” She warns and he nods, leaning in to kiss your forehead and he squeezes his mother’s hand as he passes her, knowing he cannot remain in your quarters. He must prepare to fight. “I shall prepare the tea.” His mother says and you shake your head, “no tea.” Her eyes widen slightly but she won’t argue with you.

It is a risk for you, but you don’t care. Emboldened by Pero’s return, you are ready to risk everything. “Pero is fighting in the tournament.” You hope she doesn’t get upset at you for making her son risk his life again in the deadly games. “He will win and then you will longer be a servant in this house.” You promise. “You will have your own servant to attend to you.”

His mother is not surprised to hear that her son will be fighting. She’s concerned that he might not win and she will lose her son and the woman she’s come to love as a daughter. You will not survive the loss. She offers you a smile and a nod, not wanting to voice her worry.

****

“I want to win the tournament without too many issues. You know that I am the best man to marry your daughter. Your general. I am fit for war and she will not know of the issues we face on the battlefield. You have sheltered her and she will be a weak leader. She needs a man to guide her.” Atticus, the general of three Roman army explains to your father as they sip their goblets of wine. 

“She is naive but I have trained her well in all matters. It is true she needs a man to guide her in the subject of war. Perhaps you are the best candidate.” Your father hums and the general smirks, “then shall we call off the tournament and announce our betrothal?” He suggests but your father shakes his head, “no. We must show the people of Rome that the best man won her hand. You shall fight but let me make it easier for you. Let the riff raff kill each other and you shall be a late contender. You’ll have five men to kill. Maybe less. You shall be the victor.” Your father decides and the general grins, holding up his cup, “to the glory of Rome.”

****

Pero stands with his sword and his shield in hand, helmet on his head as he stands in line. There are many men here to fight for your hand and the hold beneath the colosseum is packed full of men eager to win you and the power of Rome.

The roar of the crowds fill the colosseum and you sit under the shade as warriors file out from the catacombs below to stand in the bright sunshine to bask in the adoration of the crowds. Blood will be spilt today and you wish that none would die, but the more violent the sport, the more entertained the Romans would be. Several from the senate come to greet you, but you keep your eyes on the sands, looking for Pero. He had said he would not fight with a helmet on so you can spot him. Ever since his return a month ago, he has come to your chambers every night to tangle his limbs with yours and leave you limp with pleasure and full of his seed. Your heart is twisted with worry and hope as you wait and look for your lover. Any moment now, your father will arrive to commence the games. 

Pero remembers his promise to you to survive and win, and so he sets his helmet down before he steps up onto the sands and winces as the sun hits his eyes. The warriors line up, prepared to fight to the death for the hand of the future Empress. He’d heard many men talk about taking your innocence, leaving your blood on the sheets, and he had to stop himself from killing them before the battle and from revealing the secret he holds close to his heart. He was the one to take your innocence all those years ago. His eyes dart up to the stands where you are and his heart pounds in his chest. This is his chance. His only chance to win your hand and the approval of your father. With his blessing, you could marry and Pero would be by your side until he dies. Your eyes find him in the crowd and he stands straighter, watching your father raise his hand. The crowd goes silent and your father begins to speak. “Today, you fight for Rome, for her honor, and for the honor to be by her Empress’s side as a leader to all Romans. You must earn this privilege and if you fail, you will die. May the best gladiator win.” He nods and the crowd roars back to life when the battle commences moments later.

It’s an impossible task, pretending to be uninterested in the games when your eyes are riveted to one man. You don’t blink, don’t look away for fear of missing some small thing that could be life or death for the man you love. He is amazing, his speed and skill are obvious as he moves, his sword flashing in the sun as he cuts down his rivals.

It doesn’t take long for the first round to be over. Covered in blood and surrounded by bodies, Pero takes the chance to look up at you. You are watching intently and he knows he can’t fail you now. At least two thirds of the warriors are gone. “And now…we introduce a new element…lions.” Your father gleams with maniacal joy as the lions are brought into the arena. The crowd cheers and you gasp “no.” Pero growls, “fuck” under his breath. This just got more complicated but he will kill a fucking lion if he has to.

“Something wrong?” Your father turns and looks at you with a smirk, but you shake your head. It’s already a needless slaughter of Rome’s most capable warriors, but if you show favoritism towards Pero, you are almost sure the games will be directed towards taking him out. You don’t trust the general to not cheat and he has not even stepped out into the area yet. “The tall one.” You tell him, pointing towards a giant of a man with a golden crown of hair peeking out from under his helmet. “He seems like he would be a good husband. Provide me with strong babies to further our line.” You lie, knowing that you would never accept anyone but Pero into your bed.

Your father smirks, “he is not Roman, my dear. He’s from the west. He will not provide the line you wish to have.” Your father declares and raises his hand once again, “commence.” He orders and the warriors begin to battle once more but this time, the lions are released. Pero grunts as his sword clangs with another, the roar of the lion behind him followed by a scream of a man who gets chewed up. Pero’s heart is pounding but he fights, knowing that he can’t lose. You’ll be married to someone who would treat you like a servant when you are destined to be Empress. You need a husband who will support you.

Your heart sinks, knowing now that your father will cheat to have the man he wants you married to win these games. The servants behind you fan the Emperor and you against the heat and you know it must be sweltering down on the hot sands. You gasp when the lion closest to Pero takes a swipe at him, narrowly missing his flesh with those large claws. “Gods.” You mutter, clenching your jaw as another man is dragged down by the great beasts. A splash of blood staining the sands beneath the carnage.

Pero’s chest heaves and he’s covered in sweat. Blood streaked on his body but it’s not his own. The sun is burning but he fights to stay alive, swinging his sword over and over until he’s facing a lion. The lion roars and he grounds himself, swinging his sword. The lion swipes him, making him hiss from the gash on his arm but he ignores it, focusing on killing the beast.

Your entire body tenses and you lean forward. Watching the fight between lion and man. You see the animal cut into his arm and you press your lips together to keep from crying out. You know that your father is watching the games, but he will notice you. You pray to the gods that the lion doesn’t win as you watch the beast lunge towards Pero and drive him to the ground.

Pero scrambles to protect himself with his shield while the lion snaps his teeth at him. He struggles and he sees his life flash before him in that moment and he sees the future he’s losing. A future with you and he won’t let that go so he swings his sword, driving it into the chest of the lion who roars and swipes but stumbles to the ground. Pero pants as he allows himself a moment to regain his strength while the battle continues around him until it’s him and one other man. Your father holds his hand up and the crowd goes silent. Pero’s chest heaves as he looks up at the balcony, waiting for the next announcement. If it’s a fight to the death one on one, he plans to win. “We have a late contender.” Your father declares, “General Atticus throws his hat into the ring.” He announces and the crowd cheers when the gates open to reveal the General in his gleaming armor.

“Father!” You hiss in annoyance, knowing that Pero is exhausted after fighting for hours, while Atticus has watched from the stands and is fresh. He turns to you and smiles, “he will be a good warrior beside you.” He declares and you know that Atticus will cheat. He’s a snake.

Pero rolls his shoulders, knowing that he has to wait until the other man goes for Atticus. He can regain some strength. The horn sounds and as predicted, the other man rushes towards Atticus who easily takes him down. The man was exhausted as is Pero but he won’t lose. He can’t. Atticus smirks as he withdraws his sword from the dead man and wipes it on the sand. “Give it up. You can’t win.” Atticus taunts Pero who growls, chest heaving. The two men appraise each other for several moments and Pero waits for him to make the first move.

You are on the edge of your chair, a small scream clawing up in your throat when you see Atticus attack. The lunge and slash is too close and you see that Pero is exhausted. You grip the arms of your chair as your lover spins away from the general and puts several paces between them. The general shuffles slightly, feinting a move to the left but then goes right, Pero watching and moving with him so he deflects the attack easily. “Mars protect him.” You murmur quietly.

Pero spits onto the sand, his throat dry, and his muscles aching but he refuses to yield. The general smirks at him, “you will never have her. Oh, Pero Tovar, I have heard all about you. How you have been in love with her since you were children. She isn’t yours to have. She will be mine. Rome will be mine.” He grins and surges forward. His sword slicing Pero’s shoulder and your lover cries out in pain. The general attacks again, slicing Pero’s side and he’s exhausted. He falls to his knees, his sword in his hand and his eyes turn to you as Atticus raises his sword.

You lunge to your feet, horror making you shout out the secret you have been keeping from Pero the last week. “I’m carrying your child!” You scream out, “Fight, Pero! I love you!” The entire colosseum is deathly quiet, waiting for the death blow to be delivered, so all of Rome hears your shame. You don’t care. You just want Pero to live.

Pero’s eyes widen as your scream echoes in the colosseum. You’re pregnant. With his child. His jaw clenches and Atticus stares at him in shock, momentarily distracted, and Pero jumps onto his feet, swinging his sword and within moments, Atticus’s head rolls across the bloodied sands of the arena. The crowd roars to life and your father stares in shock as the general’s body is sprawled out on the ground, his head on the sands, eyes wide in shock.

Screaming in joy, you refuse to even look towards your father, knowing that you just ruined his plans for your future rule. Tears start to stream down your face, ecstatic that your lover has won and will now have your hand in marriage per the rules your father set down. The thunderous applause of crowds are deafening, their approval meaning that there is no way your father can change the rules again. “Pero! Pero!” You shout, the crowd picking up on it and starting to chant his name through the colosseum.

Pero pants, exhaustion seeping into his bones and he wastes no time in rushing through the stands, making his way to the balcony, and when he swings his leg onto the balcony, he reaches for you and pulls you close. Pressing his lips to yours, he sighs your name and smiles against your mouth. His hand finding your stomach between you. You can be together. Finally, your father smiles and applauds but you can sense his disapproval.

The people of Rome witness your fussing over him. The frantic kisses and the happy tears they swear everyone in the stands can see. Your hands grab his face to caress and coo over him, overjoyed by the fact that he won. The sands of the colosseum are littered with bodies and blood, signifying how hard Pero fought to win. “I love you.” You promise him breathlessly. “I didn’t tell you before because I wanted to surprise you after you won.” You admit.

“Hermosa.” He murmurs, “I will protect you until my last breath.” He vows, “you and our child.” The crowd is applauding, roaring with screams of joy and your father waves to the crowd until he gestures to you and Pero who takes your hand as he approaches the edge of the balcony. Your father claps as you raise Pero’s arm and your lover grins as it sinks in that he has won. “Your future empress and her warrior. They will be wed in two days time.” Your father announces and the crowd cheers once more. 

“Come, my love, you need to wash and rest.” You coo and Pero nods, the adrenaline wearing off and he stumbles slightly as you guide him from the balcony to the chariot waiting to return you to the palace.

The ride back to the palace is quiet, neither one of you speaking, although children and dogs run beside the chariot. The children cheer and wave and the dogs bark as they race alongside the spinning wheels. You are elated that he won, but you need to keep him close until the wedding. Your father will be furious that you had slept with Pero, but hopefully your public confession will keep him safe. Once you are back at the palace, you order food and wine to be brought to the baths, intending on taking care of your lover yourself.

You guide Pero to the private baths of the emperor and yourself, the servants fetching the trays you requested, and Pero watches as you work on removing his armor. “You are going to be mine.” He murmurs, unable to quite believe it. You smile and continue removing the armor from his body, depositing it on the marble floor that surrounds the baths.

Once Pero is naked, you take a cloth and wet it in the water, washing his wounds carefully. “It will scar.” You tsk slightly, knowing that he won’t mind the additional marks on his battle riddled body. “Your victory will be the talk of the Empire for years to come.” You tell him, dropping the cloth and reaching for your own dress to disrobe. “Now you will reap your spoils.” You smirk. “An Empress, bathing you of your sweat and blood before she rides you. Sucks your cock like a common whore. Rome will be on her knees for you.”

Your words make his cock throb, already hard from the adrenaline, and his eyes take in your body. The knowledge that you are having his baby makes him inhale sharply and he groans your name, “my Empress.  You shall want for nothing. I am yours. Rome is yours.” He vows as you take his hand to help him step into the warm waters.

The warm water is soothing and you know that your lover is thirsty, so as soon as he sits down you bring him a cup of wine. “My Spaniard.” You hum, holding it up to his lips. “My love, my future warrior and the father of my children to come.” You coo as he takes a sip.

He swallows down half the goblet and after you set it down, he reaches for you so he can cup your cheek. He presses his lips to yours and slides his tongue into your mouth, wanting to show you how much he loves you. He killed half of Rome for you.

You go willingly into his arms, wrapping yours around his neck and straddling his thighs in the water. Kissing him back with just as much passion as you can show him. You know that he’s both exhausted and invigorated and you reach for the cloth and soap. “Let me tend to you.” You murmur, kissing along his jaw as you pick up the goblet and press it into his hands to drink while you tend to him. “Relax and enjoy.”

Pero slides his hands along your back, enjoying the way you care for him. It’s tender and just what he needs after his body has been through hell and back. “Amor.” He murmurs, sighing when you kiss his cheek. The goblet of wine in his hand lowers slightly as his grip loosens. You start to wash him, his hair full of blood, and he watches you bite your lip in concentration.

You take your time, soothing his muscles with the heat and the wine. Knowing that the water feels good and being clean will feel even better. You might have been raised to be the Empress of Rome, but you want to take care of him. He has done so much for you. “My love. My brave and wonderful love.” You praise softly. “I was so scared for you. Even knowing you would win.”

Pero snorts, “you were that sure?” He asks, not believing you. “I know that you weren’t sure. Especially when those fucking lions came out. Your father…he’s a cruel man. Lions.” He shakes his head as you caress his chest with the cloth. “I thought I was going to fail when the lion was on top of me.” He admits softly, “but then you said you were with child and I couldn’t - I had to fight. Even if I was cut down. I had to try.”

“I’m glad you did.” You admit softly, leaning over and kissing his shoulder right above the wound he had taken from Atticus. “I would never wanted to be married to that man. He is just as cruel as my father, maybe more so. I have heard the rumors, and I’ve never liked him.” You soap up your fingers to wash his hair, knowing he will feel better when he is clean. “I missed my bleeding last week.” You explain quietly. 

Pero's cock twitches at the fact that he has gotten you pregnant but he remembers the way you screamed it. "You screamed it for all of Rome to hear, mi amor. The people...they will look at you as...impure and I do not wish to have that. We must marry as soon as possible." He murmurs, closing his eyes.

“I don’t care.” You promise him. “I would rather be known as impure and have all of Rome know I love you, than to be viewed as pure and have to marry Atticus.” You sigh softly. “I want to believe Rome would be happy for me. They cheered for you.”

Pero opens his eyes, "they cheered for you. They adore you. Their future Empress." He murmurs, "carrying their future Emperor. They would be fools to cast you aside when you simply followed your heart." He groans when you rub your fingers against his scalp.

You smile as you watch him relax, his eyes closed and enjoying the sensation of your hands in his hair. “They cheered for us, for we are the future of Rome.”

Pero smiles, knowing that it’s always been you. He’s never loved another. His hands sliding down to squeeze your ass as he starts to harden beneath you. “I can’t believe I get to have you. I never - siempre - I always imagined I’d have to watch you marry another.” He confesses, “but now…you’re mine.”

“I am yours.” You promise, picking up a clay pitcher to pour clean water over Pero’s hair. “And as soon as I finish, you are going to sit while I ride your cock and bring you pleasure.” You hum.

“Mmmm mi amor, I would love to let you use my body for your pleasure.” He murmurs, tilting his head back to let you wash the soap from his hair, the blood washing away. His cock is hard beneath you, “mi emperatriz, full of our baby.” He groans, his hands squeezing your ass.

“Full of your baby.” You whisper, pressing your lips to his. “I refused to drink your mother’s tea after you returned.” You admit, wanting him to know that you had no reservations about carrying his child. “If there had been no tournament, I would have asked you to flee Rome with me.”

Pero sighs, reaching up to cup your cheek, “I couldn’t ask that of you. You have been raised to lead. I could never ask you to abandon your empire.” He sighs, “but I would’ve followed you anywhere.”

“That is in the past.” You reach between you to wrap your fingers around his cock and line up so you can sink down on him. “You will be my right hand, the sword and shield of Rome.” You predict as you slowly start to take him into your body. “Leader of my armies and master of my heart. My gladiator.”

Pero’s breath hitches as you sink down onto him. His hands find your waist and his lips press against yours once more. His tongue sliding into your mouth, and he savors his victory. He was nearly killed but he survived, he won. He can enjoy his reward…you.

****

“The general approaches.” Your servant announces it as if you do not see the crowds parting for the large retinue of soldiers, the crests of the regiment held high and the confetti littering the streets for the celebration of your husband’s victorious return to the capital. Your hand idly rubs the large, swollen bump under your breasts where his child safely lies. Kicking at the noise and feeling your happiness at Pero’s return. In the last eight months, your life has changed. You married Pero, ignoring your father’s unhappiness at the union since it was the best thing for Rome. Your father had passed away in his sleep days later, making you the Empress of Rome and your baby its future heir. Pero had been made the top general of your armies and had been dispatched to bring peace to your lands. Successful, he is now returned to you and hopefully, the expensive wars will be no more for a long time. You smile at the crowds, but your eyes are fixed on the noble figure of your husband as his horse canters up the streets, his dark eyes meeting yours.

“Gods, she has gotten big.” He murmurs to himself, riding up the steps of the palace where you are standing and he swings off of his horse as the crowds close in below you. A servant takes the reins as Pero strides over to you, his hands cupping your cheeks to kiss you deeply in front of the people of Rome. The crowd cheers and Pero caresses your bump. “I’ve missed you, emperatriz.” He murmurs, nudging your nose with his. “I missed you too, my gladiator.” You whisper and he smiles, waving at the crowds as he steps back to take your hand. “I need you now.” He demands, escorting you into the palace and you try to keep up as he guides you to your quarters.

Pero’s long strides eat up the marble flooring between the front of the palace and the quarters you had taken for yourself after your father passed. The furnishing had been replaced and the room to the side that had been used for his mistresses had been turned into a nursery for your future child. His eagerness to touch you has you giggling as you are practically dragged along the corridor. Despite your advanced pregnancy, it’s obvious that your husband desires you. “I have missed you between my thighs, husband.” You tease.

“I missed you more than you can imagine, amor.” Pero pushes the doors open, slamming them behind you when you’re inside and he wastes no time dropping to his knees on the marble floor and pushes your dress up your body. His hands caress your bump and he surges forward to bury his face in your curls, his tongue sliding through your folds.

“Pero!” You cry out in pleasure as your sensitive body reacts to his skilled tongue. You had learned so much about each other’s bodies when he had returned and you were sneaking him into your bed every night, but after your marriage, your couplings became even more blissful. Pero is an attentive and giving lover, you don’t doubt that he had been faithful to you while he was away for so many months despite knowing that others take their ease with the whores that follow the army. “Fuck, your tongue is so good. I have missed you beside me at night.”

He groans, missing your tangy taste, and he hisses as he flicks his tongue over your clit. Your bump prevents him from seeing you but he groans as you tangle your fingers in his hair. He’s dirty from the road but he doesn’t care as his hands slide along your legs, caressing your skin while he works you over with his tongue.

Pero eats your cunt eagerly, with a hunger that sometimes takes your breath away as he pushes your body towards pleasure. “Pero.” You whine, holding steady to his shoulders when he lifts one of your legs to his thigh to delve into you deeper. “Make me cry out and then I want you deep inside me, want to feel you fill me up again.”

He wants to push you over the edge. Sucking on your clit, he can feel how close you are and you tug on his hair. His cock is aching for you and he wants you to cum for him. He flicks his tongue over your clit and pushes it deep inside of you, his nose pressing against your clit.

Your stomach heaves and your fingers dig into his hair and tug when you come apart. “Pero!” You scream his name, your eyes rolling back as you soak his tongue in your pleasure. It makes your legs tremble and threaten to buckle but you know his strong arms will keep you upright.

He grips your ass, keeping you upright, and he works you through it, loving the way you moan as you come back down to earth. He caresses your skin and lowers your leg back down. “Come on, amor. I want to be inside of you.” He stands up and takes your hand to guide you over to the bed. He unclips his breast plate and sets it down, his leather tunic swaying as he works on untying it to expose his body to your eager eyes.

“My love, my gladiator.” You moan, his strong body always making you feel desperate for him. He is still strong, even if he is not as lean as he was when he had left you before when you were nearly still children. His cock is hard and jutting out proudly, making you moan. “After you have bathed, I want to be on my knees for you again. Have you sit on the side of the baths while I take you down my throat.”

Pero knows he won’t win if he argues with you that you shouldn’t do that in your condition so he doesn’t protest. “Hands and knees, mi amor.” He knows that’s the most comfortable position for you right now. He kneels on the bed as you shift onto your hands and knees, the baby bump beneath you as your toes dig into the bedding. Pero pumps his cock as he shuffles closer and he positions himself at your entrance before he starts to slowly push inside of you.

Your eyes close, cunt squeezing him tight as you moan his name. You’ve never had another lover but you know that no one else would be as good as your husband. He twitches inside you, making you whimper. “I want it hard, Pero.” You beg. “It won’t hurt me and I crave the ache.”

His hands caress your back down to your ass, pushing your dress higher to expose more of you and he groans when your walls flutter around him. “I love you. Mi emperatriz.” He vows, “I am yours. I serve only you.” He promises and he rocks into you a little harder like you want.

You moan quietly, loving how he adores you. Anyone else would have been hungry for what power you could provide to him, but Pero doesn’t care about that. You are his priority. “I love you.” You gasp out. “You are my Emperor. I give everything to you.”

Pero groans, leaning over you to press his lips to your neck. “I love you. You are everything.” He never wanted to be Emperor. He never wanted the power. He only wanted to be with you, to have you. Even if it meant running from Rome. You’re his life. “My Empress.” He murmurs, rocking into you a little faster, his hand sliding down your bump until he’s pressing his digits against your clit.

You moan his name again, frantic to cum around his cock after so long without him. Pleasure rockets through you and you push back against his thrusts eagerly. “Pero- Pero, I’m going to cum!” You cry out, seconds before stars burst behind your eyes and you clamp down around his length.

He grits his teeth when your walls grip him. He fucking loves it. He’s missed you so much. This is why he could never fuck a whore. No one has ever made him feel like this. He pants against your back as he rocks into you, “fuck. I- I’m gonna fill you up.” He grunts, pushing into you a half dozen more times until he cums, painting your walls with his hot seed. “Te amo.” He pants, breathing you in.

“I love you too.” You slowly roll to your side, Pero still buried inside you so he can stroke your belly and both of you can relax. “You are home now. No more wars until our second child is at least five.” You hum, knowing the people of Rome are tired of costly wars.

“Your empire is secure. Your people love you. We shall be legendary. Our family, our children will be remembered forever.” He murmurs, caressing your belly and he kisses your forehead. “You are my Empress. I would die for you. I would kill for you.” He vows and you stroke his cheek. He already killed for you. Your gladiator. You and Pero were always meant to be and the history books will write of your epic love story. The Empress and her Gladiator.

[trikaranos]

TRIKARANOS CHAPTER I: S·T·T·L

TRIKARANOS is a comic about Crassus until it isn't. Intended for an adult audience.

⭐ Trikaranos will always be free to read. In the near future, you’ll have the option to support this comic & my ability to spend time making it (I Am Extremely Fucking Broke And Have Bills To Pay etc etc) through Patreon! currently, I have a tip jar!

⭐ There is no set update schedule (chapters vary in length and will be posted as I finish working on them)

⭐ alternative places to read it (coming soon!)

CREDITS all additional art used are in the public domain, and the specific images used are open access, etc

🍊the first collage panel is combination of: Plate 113: Greeks Battling the Trojans (from Ovid's Metamorphoses), Antonio Tempesta / The Trojans pulling the wooden horse into the city, Giulio Bonasone (after Francesco Primaticcio) / Terracotta hydria displaying Achilles waiting to ambush Triolos and Polyxena 🍊the second collage panel is: The Lictors bringing Brutus the bodies of his Sons, Jacques Louis David / the paint over of Brutus executing is own sons is my own work based on the composition of this relief of Brutus and condemning his sons to death. 🍊I also used my own art: a panel from the Prologue, and my own illustration of Brutus with the bodies of his sons

📖 PREVIOUS CHAPTER | START HERE | ToC (under construction!)

UNDER THE CUT creator’s commentary, ancient citations, whatever else seems relevant. ideally, this is optional! you shouldn’t need the citations for it to make sense as it unfolds since it’s a comic and a story first and foremost, but it’s here if you’re curious about something or want to see where the inspiration is coming from!

I'm so fucking normal about Crassus and his family (<<< this is a lie)

Marcus Crassus was the son of a man who had been censor and had enjoyed a triumph; but he was reared in a small house with two brothers. His brothers were married while their parents were still alive, and all shared the same table, which seems to have been the chief reason why Crassus was temperate and moderate in his manner of life. When one of his brothers died, Crassus took the widow to wife, and had his children by her, and in these relations also he lived as well-ordered a life as any Roman.

Plutarch, Crassus

like, it actively fucks me up that this is something that's survived about him for over 2,000 years. they all ate together at the same table. Jesus Christ.

so! Crassus' dad! Publius Licinius Crassus (consul 97) fought on the side of Cn. Octavius (consul 87) in the Bellum Octavianum, and it didn't go great for him.

Crassus: A Political Biography, B.A. Marshall

also. currently, if you look Publius Licinius Crassus up on wikipedia for an overview, his page lists his son (and also my main character for this comic) with the cognomen Dives, which is in-fucking-correct.

Marcus Crassus and the Late Roman Republic, Allen Mason Ward

and to circle back to houses and meals shared with family, some citations that made me feel some kind of way when I read them

Marcus Crassus and the Late Roman Republic, Allen Mason Ward

finally, there is discourse or whatever on the placement of the sons of Publius Licinius Crassus. Crassus is the baby brother here simply because I'm writing this story and I get to pick the themes, but also because no one has provided a solid enough argument for him being the second eldest son that I'm willing to buy into with enthusiasm, and I'm more inclined towards G. Sampson's conclusion on the matter.

Defeat of Rome: Crassus, Carrhae, and the Invasion of the East, Gareth C. Sampson

and while I'm just kind of talking about stuff that I read that I enjoyed, this article by Martin Stone lives in my head rent free

A Year of One's Own: Dating the Praetorship of Marcus Crassus, Martin Stone

[cherriecove]

A New Dawn

Alicent Hightower x M!Reader

Summary: With the Hightower plot to place Aegon on the thrown a failure, Queen Rhaenyra finds herself unsure with what she should do with her old-friend. After some consideration she decides to remarry Alicent to her Hand, a man she trusts wholeheartedly, this of course upsets Alicent who belived her marital duties died when her husband did. Cherrie's Notes: This was a request that i really loved the idea of! Would like to apologiese in advance becasue this is so long I changed some things slightly but not too much. This is the first time I am writing a male reader and although there is no real description i hope it is satsfactory! There are so many words im sorry i got carried away! Masterlist

The bells of King’s Landing tolled in the early dawn, marking the end of one era and the uncertain beginning of another. With the death of King Viserys I, Queen Rhaenyra had ascended to the Iron Throne, securing her rightful place as ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, the victory was bittersweet, marred by treachery and near civil war. Alicent Hightower, Viserys’ widow and mother to Rhaenyra’s half-siblings, stood on the losing side. Her father’s ambitious plot to place Aegon on the throne had failed, and the Greens' hold on power was shattered.

Now, Rhaenyra ruled over a fractured court, her mercy the only thing keeping Alicent and her children alive. Otto Hightower, once the most powerful man in the realm, rotted in the dungeons. He was still scheming, still whispering plans of future influence, and Alicent found herself torn between loyalty to her father and a growing desire for peace.

Though Rhaenyra was urged to imprison or execute both Alicent and Otto, she hesitated. Old bonds of friendship still lingered in her heart, even if they had been buried beneath years of betrayal and political manoeuvring. In this delicate balance, you—Rhaenyra’s loyal Hand—offered a solution.

“If you wish Lady Alicent to live freely, Your Grace, then perhaps she should be placed under the care of someone you trust implicitly,” you had said, knowing full well the weight of such a suggestion.

“And who might that be?” Rhaenyra asked, her eyes searching yours with a knowing look.

You held her gaze. “Your Hand, Your Grace. I can see to it that she remains free but under close supervision.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softened into a sly smile. “Then you shall marry her.”

The queen’s words struck you as sharply as they did Alicent when she was informed of the arrangement. It was the last thing she expected. After all these years, she had thought herself done with marriage, with the expectations and duties thrust upon her. The mere thought of submitting again, of being bound by obligation, made her heart ache. 

Yet on the day of the wedding Alicent stood before the sept, her hands clasped tightly, the weight of the world resting on her slender shoulders. The vows echoed around her like a distant murmur, a ceremony that held little meaning for her heart. She barely glanced at you, her brown eyes, once so bright and commanding, now distant and guarded.

This was not the life she had envisioned. After Viserys’ death, she had assumed her time as queen was over, that she would fade into the shadows, left to a quiet existence without further demands. The idea of marrying again, especially to someone with no ambition, no thirst for power, had seemed almost unreal to her.

Yet here she was.

The thought of being bound to another man filled her with dread. Despite your reputation for loyalty and honour, she couldn't help but fear what this union might become. Marriage, in her experience, had always been about duty, submission, and control. The idea of yielding herself once more, her body and will, to another man’s authority terrified her. This marriage felt like a new prison, different from the gilded cage Viserys had kept her in, but a cage nonetheless.

On the night after your wedding, Alicent retreated to her chambers, her heart a swirl of confusion and bitterness. She had braced herself for what she assumed would come next—a knock at her door, a quiet but insistent demand to fulfil the duties of a wife. Viserys had not been cruel, but he had expected certain things from her, things she had learned to accept despite her reluctance. She feared history would repeat itself, that you too would seek an heir, another way to secure this alliance.

But you surprised her.

There was no knock. No intrusion. The silence of her chambers stretched into the night, uninterrupted by any demand or expectation. The following night passed in the same manner, and the one after that. You did not come to her room, did not impose yourself upon her. Instead, you gave her space, a freedom she had not anticipated. It unsettled her at first, the lack of pressure, but slowly, she began to breathe easier.

You treated her with respect, never asking for more than she was willing to give. You allowed her to visit her father in the dungeons, though under strict guard. Each visit left her feeling more conflicted than ever, as Otto, ever the schemer, continued to urge her to find ways to manipulate you, to regain some of the power she had lost. Yet, despite his machinations, you remained distant from those games, patient and steady.

One evening, after another tense meeting with her father, Alicent returned to your chambers, her face drawn and her steps hesitant. She hovered at the threshold, her fingers curling around the door frame. You sat by the fire, a book in hand, your features calm and focused. The warmth of the flames cast soft shadows on the room, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside her.

“I need to speak with you,” she said quietly.

You looked up, closing the book and setting it aside. “Of course. Come in.”

She stepped inside but did not sit, her voice low and uncertain. “My father… he’s still trying to use me. He wants me to manipulate you, to influence Rhaenyra’s decisions. He believes I can sway you.”

You didn’t react with surprise, nor with anger. Instead, you simply nodded, as if you had already expected this. “Thank you for telling me.”

Alicent exhaled, her shoulders sagging slightly with relief. “I don’t want to be used anymore. Not by him. Not by anyone.”

You stood, your expression soft but serious, and approached her with a deliberate slowness, careful not to make her feel cornered. “Alicent, you are not under anyone’s control now—not your father’s, not mine, not anyone’s. I won’t let him use you, and I won’t treat you like a pawn in his or anyone’s schemes.”

She looked up at you, her guarded expression flickering with something close to disbelief. “You… you truly mean that?”

“I do,” you said, your voice firm but gentle. “I never wanted this marriage for power or gain. I have no interest in forcing anything upon you—marital duty or otherwise.I don’t expect anything of you that you’re not willing to give.”

She blinked, her lips parting in surprise. The firelight danced across her face, casting shadows that highlighted the tension in her features. For a moment, there was silence—unspoken words hanging in the air between you, an understanding growing in the space that had long been empty.

Finally, Alicent spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "You... don't want anything from me? Not even—" She hesitated, her words stuck in her throat leading you to shake your head gently. "No," you said, your tone calm. "I don’t expect that from you, unless that is something you desire.” 

Alicent’s brow furrowed, a mix of confusion and hesitation clouding her eyes. “But we are wed,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Isn’t it… isn’t it your right to expect me to fulfil my duty? Is that not what this union is meant to be?”

Your gaze softened as you stepped closer, but still you remained careful not to approach too quickly. “You are not a vessel for duty, Alicent,” you said, your voice firm but gentle. “You are a person, not a means to an end. We are married because it is the only way to allow you peace, and to give our realm stability. Anything within our marriage is based on because you desire it—because we decide it together. Not because you’re bound to some obligation.” 

Alicent stared at you for a long moment, as though searching for something deeper beneath your words. Perhaps a hidden motive, a secret ambition. But all she saw was sincerity. There was no calculated manipulation, no power-hungry intent in your eyes.

Her hand fluttered to her chest, her fingers absently tracing the fine embroidery of her gown. “I never thought… I never thought I’d be free from such burdens,” she whispered. “Not like this.”

You offered her a soft smile, a reassuring one. “Then let’s make this work in a way that brings you peace. I know that it might take time for you to believe that.”

She nodded slowly, as if the weight of your words was beginning to settle. And though she remained distant, there was a subtle shift—a crack in the walls she had built around herself. You didn’t want her to be caged, not even in the gilded prison of a marriage. You wanted her to feel free to breathe, to live her life on her own terms.

In the days that followed, your quiet respect for her space became apparent. She had come to your chambers less frequently, yet when she did, you never pressed her for anything more than conversation or companionship. The two of you would sit together, occasionally exchanging stories of the past, speaking of times before the chaos that had defined both your lives.

One afternoon, as the sun cast long shadows across the chamber, you and Alicent found yourselves engaged in a quiet conversation by the window. The room was filled with a soft, golden light, and for once, it felt peaceful—unnaturally so, in the midst of the court’s usual tumult.

“Do you ever miss it?” she asked, looking out at the gardens below, where the birds fluttered amongst the flowers.

“Miss what?” you asked, your gaze following hers.

“The life before all of this,” she said, her hand resting on the windowsill. “The days before the schemes, the plotting, the weight of responsibility.”

You leaned back against the wall, your gaze drifting to the same view she saw. “I miss the simplicity of it,” you admitted. “But I wouldn’t trade the peace I have now for it. The quiet moments like this. The stillness.”

Alicent was silent for a while, as though considering what you had said. Finally, she turned to face you, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You find peace in the simplest of things, don’t you?”

“I try to,” you said softly. “It’s the only way to survive in a world like ours.”

She nodded, though her eyes were filled with an uncertainty that had yet to fully leave her. For years, she had been used to a life filled with turmoil, her mind constantly burdened with the weight of others’ expectations. To be here, in this moment, with a man who did not want to control her, who did not demand anything of her, was a strange feeling—one she had not yet fully understood.

In time, as the days passed, your actions proved your sincerity. You allowed her to breathe, to make her own choices, while still offering her the safety of your protection. You never pressured her, never tried to push her into a role she did not want. And with each passing day, the distance between you lessened, even if only by a fraction.

The Small Council meetings had become more tense ever since your marriage to Alicent. The lords who sat at the table were no fools—they knew the weight of such a union. Whispers circulated through the court that you could no longer be impartial, that your marriage to the widow of the late king would compromise your loyalty to Queen Rhaenyra.

One such meeting came to a head when Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, leaned forward across the table, his brow furrowed. "You have served the queen faithfully for many years, Hand," he began, his voice deep and steady, "but now you are bound to a Hightower. Can we be certain your loyalties remain with the crown, rather than the family that sought to usurp it?"

Eyes turned to you, waiting for your response. The room was heavy with unspoken accusations, but you met them head-on, calm and unflinching.

"My loyalty has always been, and will always remain, with Queen Rhaenyra and the realm," you replied, your voice steady but firm. "I did not marry Lady Alicent for ambition or power. I married her because it was the Queen’s will, to keep the peace and ensure stability. If anyone here doubts my impartiality, let me assure you—my actions have always been for the good of the realm, not for the ambitions of any one family, including my own."

Lord Corlys, while still sceptical, leaned back in his chair, considering your words. The others exchanged glances, but no further accusations were made. Still, you could feel the lingering doubt, the tension in the air. It was a challenge you would have to face repeatedly as long as your marriage remained a topic of interest.

After the meeting, Rhaenyra sought you out, her brow furrowed. "They are suspicious of you," she said quietly, her eyes searching yours for any sign of resentment.

"They have reason to be," you admitted, not denying the reality. "But I will not betray you, my Queen. My marriage to Alicent does not change that."

Rhaenyra smiled, though faintly, and nodded. "I believe you. And that is all that matters to me."

While the realm questioned your loyalty, another tension brewed between you and Alicent. Though you had grown closer, there were still moments when her insecurities resurfaced, especially regarding her role as your wife.

One night, as the two of you sat in your chambers, she turned to you, her voice quiet but strained. “Do you expect me to give you an heir?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the floor. “I know I am still of childbearing age. You must expect children from me.”

You looked at her, surprised by the question. “Alicent, I do not expect that of you,” you said softly, setting aside the parchment you had been reviewing. “I married you because it was necessary for peace, not because I desired heirs.”

She frowned, her brow furrowed. “Then what do you want from me?”

You sighed, stepping closer but keeping your tone gentle. “What I want is for you to feel free. If you wish to have children, then that is your choice, not mine. But if you do not, I will not hold it against you. I am content to leave my titles to others—your children, or perhaps my nieces and nephews. My duty is to the realm, and to you, as my wife. Not to some legacy of blood."

Her eyes softened, surprise evident in her expression. “You are… different,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Not like the men I’ve known before.”

You offered a small smile. “Is that a good thing?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. It is.”

Over time, the relationship between you and Alicent deepened. Though it was not a marriage of passion, it became one of companionship. You spent evenings together, discussing matters of the realm or simply sharing stories from your past. Occasionally, she would speak of her children—her love for them, her fears for their futures—and you would listen, never judging, always offering comfort.

One evening, as you sat by the fire, Alicent glanced at you, her expression soft. “You’ve always been kind to me,” she said quietly. “Even when I didn’t expect it.”

You met her gaze, your voice gentle. “You deserve more than kindness, Alicent. You deserve peace. And if I can give you that, then I will.”

She smiled—a rare, genuine smile—and for the first time in many years, she felt a warmth she had long since thought lost. The heavy burden of her past was slowly lifting, thanks to the quiet strength and respect you had shown her.

As the months passed, Alicent grew more at ease in her new life. The tension between you eased, replaced by a mutual understanding and trust. She no longer feared manipulation or control, and you respected her autonomy in a way no man had before.

One afternoon, as you both walked through the gardens of the Red Keep, she turned to you with a soft smile. “I never thought I would find peace in marriage again,” she said, her voice light but sincere. “But with you… it feels different. It feels… free.”

You smiled in return, warmth filling your chest. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

For the first time in years, Alicent felt as though she was no longer a pawn in someone else’s game. She was finally allowed to live her own life, with a man who valued her not for her name or her power, but for who she was.

And in that, she had found something she never thought possible—contentment. A new dawn had come, for both of you.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

I Got You » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Boyfriend/Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader with Steve Rogers/Captain America, Sam Wilson/Falcon, and Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow

Summary: Y/N gets kidnapped by HYDRA and Bucky saves her.

Warnings: Fluff, language, HYDRA, kidnapping, blood and bruises, crying, hugs and kisses, cuddling, Bucky being the best/protective boyfriend ever, use of pet names

A/N: This is based off a dream I had.

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

Bucky was pacing back and forth in the lounge room of the Avengers Compound, wondering why you are there yet. You told him that you would hangout at the Compound while he trains for an upcoming mission.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sam asks, walking in the room.

“I’m worried about Y/N.” Bucky says.

“Did something happen to her?” Sam asks.

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Bucky says, running his fingers through his hair.

Natasha walks in the lounge room with a phone in her hand.

“Barnes, someone’s on the phone for you.” Natasha says, handing him the phone.

Bucky furrows his eyebrows, taking the phone from her. If it’s you, you would’ve called his phone.

“Hello?” Bucky answers.

“Didn’t take long to get ahold of you, Winter Soldier.” The man says in a Russian accent.

“What the hell do you want?” Bucky asks.

“It’s more like who I have.” The man chuckles. “Meaning, your precious doll.” He says.

Bucky felt his heart drop and his mind started racing. He began thinking the worst.

“I swear if you do anything to her. I’ll-” Bucky got interrupted.

“You’ll what, Soldat? Kill me? That wouldn’t do you any good if you want to find your best girl alive.” The man says and hung up.

Bucky stood there frozen as the line went dead. His blood began to boil. He shoved the phone in Natasha’s hand and went to find Steve. Sam and Natasha looked at each other in confusion before following Bucky.

“Steve, get your shield.” Bucky says, walking in the conference room.

“Why?” Steve asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Barnes, what’s wrong? Who was on the phone?” Natasha asks.

“HYDRA. They have Y/N.” He tells them.

“What did he say?” Sam asks.

“That they have Y/N and that’s it.” He explained. “I really need to find her.” He says, tears brimming his eyes.

“We’ll find her, Buck.” Steve says softly, putting a comforting hand on his best friend’s shoulder.

Meanwhile, you woke up to the feeling of your head pounding. You moved to get up, only to find out that you were strapped down to a chair, making you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“I was wondering when you would going to wake up. I was beginning to think that one of my men struck you too hard and killed you.” A man’s voice said.

You looked up, seeing a bunch of people surround you.

“My name is-” You interrupted him.

“I don’t care what your fucking name is. Where the hell am I?” You asked.

You yelped when his hand smacked you across your face, hard enough to make your head turn. He gripped your jaw roughly and looked in your eyes.

“It’s rude to interrupt people when they’re talking.” He says.

He let go of your jaw and walked away for a moment before watching back towards you.

“Now, you know someone we want back.” He says.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” You lied, knowing that he’s talking about Bucky.

“Really? The name James Buchanan Barnes doesn’t sound familiar to you?” He asks.

“No.” You lied again.

“Liar!” He shouts, smacking you again causing you to whimper in pain. “You know who he is cause you’re wearing his Army dog tags!” He yells. “Where is he?” He asks.

“Fuck you!” You shouted. “He’d never come back to this hell hole!” You say.

The man chuckled before turning to two of his men.

“Take her to a cell.” He tells them.

They nodded and uncuffed you from the chair, carrying you down the hallway. You tried your best to fight them off, but their grip on you was too strong. The more you fought them, the tighter their grip got. When they got you to a cell, they threw you in there. You fell to the floor and hit your head causing you to whimper in pain. You put a hand on the spot where you hit your head, feeling a little bit of blood trickling into your hand. You sat against the wall in the corner of the cell, pulling your knees up against your chest and wrapped your arms around them.

“Bucky, where are you? Please hurry.” You say to yourself, tears rolling down your cheeks.

Meanwhile, Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Natasha were on their way to you. Bucky tugging at his hair and was pacing back and forth in the quinjet, feeling like he was losing his mind. Bucky’s mind immediately started thinking the worst.

“Buck…” Steve snaps Bucky out of his thoughts. “We’re going to find her.” He says.

“What if we don’t? It’ll be my fault for not saving her.” Bucky says.

“None of this is your fault and you know it. Y/N knows it too.” He says softly, putting a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“I can’t lose her, Steve. She’s the love of my life. I won’t survive without her.” He tells his best friend with tears in his eyes.

Steve gave Bucky a hug.

“I’m sorry to break up your moment, but we’re at the base.” Sam informs the Super Soldiers. “Are you ok, man?” He asks Bucky.

“I will be when I get the love of my life back.” Bucky says.

Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Natasha got off of the quinjet and cautiously approached the base, finding an unlocked door. They went inside of the base and split up so they could find you. You jumped at the sound of an alarm and gunshots. You stayed in the corner of the room, continuing to hug your knees. The next thing you knew, the door was kicked down causing you to cover your head in fear and your heartbeat to pick up. Bucky carefully approached you, making sure to not scare you.

“Doll, it’s Bucky.” Bucky says softly.

You uncovered your head and looked up, seeing your boyfriend. You immediately stood up and hugged him, breaking down into tears. Bucky held you tightly in his arms, tears escaping his eyes.

“You’re ok. I got you, babydoll.” He whispers.

He pulled away from the hug to kiss you passionately. Bucky felt relieved, knowing that you’re ok.

“I’m so happy that you’re alive.” Bucky says in almost a whisper, looking deep in your eyes.

He kissed you once more before informing Steve, Sam, and Natasha that he found you and you’re alive and safe. He picked you up bridal style and carried you to the quinjet, taking you to the Compound. Bucky helped you get cleaned up and patched you up, kissing each one of your injuries. Luckily you sustained minor injuries. Bucky has not left your side in the past few days. He helped you through a nightmare when you woke up crying. He held you close to him and you guys watched movies to get your mind off of everything. He even made coffee for you in the morning.

“How’s Y/N doing?” Steve asks Bucky.

“Last night, she had a nightmare and woke up crying.” Bucky tells them.

“She’s going to get through this, Bucky.” Natasha says, putting a comforting hand on his right arm.

“We’re here for her if she needs anything.” Sam says.

“Thanks, guys.” Bucky smiles at them.

Everyone went quiet when you walked in the kitchen. You smiled softly at them, playing with one of the sleeves of your -Bucky’s- sweatshirt.

“You ok, doll?” Bucky asks, handing you your coffee and wrapped his arms around you.

“I’m fine. I just got lonely.” You say, taking a sip of your coffee.

Bucky held you close to him and kissed the top of your head.

“I wanted to tell you guys thank you for helping Bucky save me.” You say.

“We’d do it again.” Steve says with a smile.

“We’re here for you, Y/N.” Natasha says.

“We’re just happy that you’re ok.” Sam says.

You gave them a smile. They left the kitchen, giving you and Bucky time alone.

“Thank you for saving me, Bucky.” You say, looking up at him.

“You don’t have to thank me, doll. I will save you no matter what.” Bucky says softly with a smile.

Bucky took your coffee from your hands and put it on the counter. He cupped your cheeks and kissed you passionately. Bucky is so happy to have his best girl back. He’s going to do everything he can to protect you. One thing’s for sure, he’s never letting you out of his sight again.

“I love you so much, doll.” Bucky says softly, moving a piece of your hair from your face.

“I love you more, Buck.” You say in almost a whisper, looking in his beautiful blue eyes.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[shamelessfaceless]

Love, Pain, Death, Repeat

Navigation | Marvel masterlist | part II

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x F!reader, Wanda Maximoff x Vision

Summary: Even death won't help you get rid off her and pain she caused.

Warnings: Mentions of death, cheating, angst

Wc: 600

A/n: Just a fast sad blurb, hope you like this <33

Your mouth is dry, completely opposite to your eyes. Pinning Natasha to the ground you let your tears fall. It wasn't supposed to be like that, but after hearing what you needed to do, you were sure it was the time.

"Think about Yelena! Your facking sister! Think what would she say if I told her that you killed yourself!" You yelled at her though she was so close to you she would hear your whispers.

"And you? You have a whole life ahead of you! You're so young! You are doing what you need, you're nice and brave, you put others before you, you are a hero people need!"

"I don’t have anyone! Anyone! I spent last years crying in my room! People don’t remember me! I don’t even remember who I am."

"Y/N" She tried to change positions. You didn't let her. You couldn't let her.

"I am not enough. I never was. Everyone knows Black Widow or Iron Man or Hawkeye! Even she showed me I was never enough!" You were almost sobbing, your tears falling on Natasha’s suit. "She choosed fucking microwave!"

When you saw Wanda for the first time, you fell almost in the same second. Literally fell. You wanted to come closer, but your legs had other plans, and you fell straight into her arms. This made her laugh. That was the first thing that actually made her show positive emotions after her brother died. Most of the night spended in your room only talking changed into spending nights in yours and hers own room. After your old relationships you were negative about love, but you started trusting her, it meant so much for you. She promised you stars. It didn't take long for her to take interest in Vision. You trusted her with your whole heart, and all she did was break it. He was just a robot, you thought you didn't need to care about him. Maybe he was a little bit too nice to Wanda, but she wouldn’t fall for cold metal, right? Oh how wrong you were. After one of the missions, you came back to your room just to see her covered in hickeys that for sure weren’t yours. You just sat on the floor and told her to get out.

"You will meet someone else. Just give yourself a chance. For fucking sake, if you let yourself forget her, you will find true love and maybe have kids or cats." Russian was strong, you started feeling like your arms were going to give up.

"She cheated on me, and soon after she disappeared. Women always choose men." You said disgustedly. Your every relationships ended because they chose to be with men. "Tell everyone I loved them." You stabbed her hand to distract her.

You started running to the end of the cliff. Black Widow’s screams didn’t stop you. Just as you jumped you looked behind to see Natasha, she was so close catching you, just a few seconds and you would be still alive. You smiled to her wondering if she could see it, and closed your eyes. Last thing in your mind was the memory of one specific lazy morning with Maximoff. Morning when she promised you cozy life, no avengers, just you and her in a big house and kids.

…

Opening your eyes you expected to see your dead parents, not two young boys.

"Good morning my love." Your head snapped to the door of the room. Wanda stood there, width smile on her lips, her eyes shining a little bit with red.

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 17 - nowhere to go

Warnings: angst/talk of injuries

Word Count: 1.3k (gif not mine)

Summary: Maria and Natasha bond over a joint goal: who hurt Clint.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

Natasha breathes.

She still feels gloved hands on her face and body. The smell of them.

She pushes down the memories.

The silent panic whirls and builds as she walks back with Maria.

He’s okay, she assures herself.

Maria wouldn’t let her stay long.

He was asleep.

It was late.

But he was alive and the pain was worth it.

Maria keeps looking back at her. If she didn’t know the woman, she’d think it was in worry.

They arrive back at her cell and the blood is gone; from the floor, from the glass.

Natasha wonders who did it.

If there’s cleaners or someone else.

She can’t stop thinking. Her head hurts.

Her hands hurt.

The lights are so bright.

Memories of medical in the Red Room keep flashing across her mind.

Clint being beaten.

She bites the inside of her cheeks.

“What happens now?” she asks Maria.

The woman regards her with a look.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she answers, leaving Natasha locked in.

“Don’t... don’t do anything stupid,” she says as a parting shot.

Natasha tries to nod, failing and wondering what that would look like.

.

The hours of the night are quiet,

Deciding against sleep, Natasha lays on the floor and throws the ball of tissues that Maria had given her between her hands.

The night doesn’t feel long, memories and flashbacks making the time fly as Natasha moves in and out of dissociative states.

Soon the artificial lights turn back on and she squints at the intrusion of light.

Breakfast is delivered by Maria, and Natasha feels curious at her intentions. She wants to ask how Clint is doing, but knows it would betray too much.

The breakfast is packaged, just like Clint usually brings.

Maria brings it like a peace offering, handing it over without ordering Natasha to put on the handcuffs.

Instead, she asks to come in.

Curious, Natasha moves out of the way, allowing entry and stepping back so her body is against the wall.

“Why are you scared of medical?” Maria asks.

Natasha doesn’t answer.

“It doesn’t matter,” Maria mutters. “Do you want to help me find the man that hurt Clint? We have one, he’s been arrested, but the other one… we don’t know.”

Natasha feels the Black Widow in her stir.

Of course she does.

To fight? To attack and hunt? She was made for that.

“Yes.”

The one word answer makes Maria nod.

“I thought so.”

She produces a folder and hands it over, then takes one of Natasha’s apples and starts to eat it.

“Smith, is a generic name, and it seems he’s using the anonymity of it, to his full advantage.”

She hands Natasha a picture.

“He can’t leave the country, so he’s probably still around. I just need someone else to look at it.”

Natasha looks at the dossier.

“Why me?” she asks, finally looking up to Maria’s waiting eyes.

“Because you’re as invested as I am. And I think if you were going to betray us, you would have by now.”

She pauses.

“I also think that you owe Clint.”

Words that Natasha tells herself feel strange to be coming out of someone else’s mouth.

Looking back down at the printed paper, Natasha takes a breath and focuses.

“Tell me what else you know.”

.

Clint opens and closes his hand, sighing softly as the morning rays help to bring him from sleep.

It’s the first day he feels somewhat human.

They’d been decreasing the painkillers and, even he had to admit that after three days here, he was ready to leave.

Coulson had always been close.

For that, he was thankful.

No one around, he takes the time to examine himself, test some movements and stand to look at himself in the bathroom mirror.

His bruising was darker now, especially on his face.

He wasn’t surprised.

With a dark thought, he sees the resemblance to his mother.

He looks away.

Rarely does he think of her.

He misses her, he thinks idly.

Clint lifts his top. Bruising is similar to his face.

He twists and winces.

Broken ribs are quite possibly the worst.

His arm that protected his head was a clean break, and he thanks his hindsight that it was his right arm and not left.

He can still shoot if he needs to.

Making his way back to the bed, he starts to pack his clothes, slow in his movements.

“Ready?” comes a voice he knows to be his superior.

“Almost.”

Coulson offers to hold his bag, and he hands it over without a fight.

“I’m going to need to go to my apartment.”

Coulson nods.

“The safe house isn’t much further from there.”

Clint wants to ask how Fury is going, if there’s been progress in removing the parasites of SHIELD.

“Okay,” Clint nods, taking a breath and heading out the door.

He makes a point to thank the nurses, and asks them to pass his appreciation onto the doctor as well.

He likes this medical team.

He finds they do the best they can, with the people they have and they try and help.

“Where’s Maria?” he asks.

He’d thought that she would perhaps come, instead of Coulson, feeling sure the escalation of events in SHIELD would have taken Coulson away.

“With Natasha,” Coulson’s replies.

The answer makes Clint stop.

“They’re fine,” he assures, nudging him forward.

“They’ll meet us at your apartment.”

“Thompson agreed to let her out?”

Coulson shrugs.

“Fury did. Thompson perhaps had different things to contend with.”

Clint has so many questions.

Diligently, he follows Coulson to the car and holds his tongue.

Breathing in the fresh air, he halts, grimacing at the pain.

“Are you okay?” Coulson asks, opening the door and watching Clint carefully.

“Just sore.”

Clint climbs in, takes a look back at the building, and sighs.

He hopes when he comes back, the SHIELD he thought he knew will be back.

.

Natasha sits with Maria, the blue couch soft.

Clint’s apartment is small but she feels safe as she looks around.

The courage to ask, burns in her throat.

The room is silent. Maria gets up again, walks to the kitchen, and sighs.

“You don’t even like me.”

Natasha starts, regretting her words as soon as they're out of her mouth. She worries her words will make Maria send her back to the cell.

“What are you doing? What do you want from… me?”

Natasha makes her body stay as still as possible, barely breathing as she waits for a response.

“You’re not the only one who’s been through things,” Maria starts, “you’re not the only one with a bad childhood and a history...”

Looking at Natasha and waiting until she looks her in the eyes.

“There are things happening at SHIELD that you set in motion. I don’t think it’s your fault, but I don’t wholly know that. What if you did it to destabilise us? But then all evidence points to Thompson being dirty. So what if you’ve done us a favour?”

She grips the mug nearby.

If Natasha closed her eyes, the words could wash over her, but with the intensity of Maria’s stare, they feel like small knives of distrust.

Ones that Natasha shouldn’t care about.

“You had nowhere else to go. If you stayed there I suspect they would have killed you. And that put my friend in danger. So here you are. He trusts you, for some reason, and you better not prove him wrong.”

Natasha hears cars, the sounds of the city outside and a dog barking in the distance. Noise has been so absent that she welcomes it. The smells too.

The cells were devoid of anything. This feels overwhelming, but in a way she feels grateful for.

“You’re right, I don’t like you and I don’t trust you, but it doesn’t mean I can’t help.”

Natasha looks at her hands.

Maria would have done well in the Red Room.

Maybe in another life they may have been friends.

But then… she wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

.

[quitealotofsodapop]

[Wukong: "Then we would have shared that furnace. And we'd be two idiots chained beneath the mountain together."]

Hmmm…I am not a hundred percent sure, but I think when SWK was in the furnace – he was reduced to ash, more than once, he just regenerated each time it happened. And considering he had to have been like 5 times immortal by then…I really doubt Macaque would have survived the furnace. SWK would just be trapped in there with the ashes of his friend/mate.

Although, now I have the image of SWK collecting the ashes and carrying them around in a jar/vase/something and still treating it like Macaque is alright – “Oh, look, Mihou, think we should try that?” – like something between a comfort item and a security blanket, but his mind not dealing with his LEMs death well to a point he’s just…like that. Still himself, but broken in a way.

Tripitaka thought he would be in over his head with the Monkey King being his protector – but the stone monkey clearly not coping well at all with a dead friend and treating their ashes as if still alive…Man’s praying for wisdom every chance he gets.

Referencing a line from my post about Wukong's stage fright.

Thats an extremely sad concept and a great idea for an angst au. It brings the idea of how Monkey (representing the Mind) handles legitimate grief. Him having a Mary Shelley-esque co-dependance on his past mate's ashes is 100% in character for SWK. He clings to the vessel containing Mac's ashes like Guanyin to her vase, rarely if ever putting it down.

I imagine the vase/vessel/urn resembles like those found in Chinese dig sites, but instead of the Imperial Palace, it is topped with a model of Flower Fruit Mountain.

Tripitaka/Tang Sanzang can sympathise with the pain of losing someone dear. In Journey to the West, he sets out to retrieve the scriptures after losing his mother + solving his dad's murder (and thats after being separated from them since and before birth). He's going through his own form of unhealthy grief, similar to his attitude in "The Great Tang Man"; he doesn't want to get close to anyone because he fears losing another loved one. But he sees that Monkey is refusing to accept that someone he cared for is gone, and wishes to find wisdom to help them both.

Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing are also sympathetic, but a little unnerved by Wukong's obsession. Bajie was a witness to Wukong's Havoc in Heaven, and knows that the Six Eared Macaque fell to the Furnace when his king did not. He's the one to yell at Wukong when he's annoyed by the monkey's chattering to the ash vessel. Wujing is the one to gently suggest ways to include Macaque's memory in healthier ways, and frequently helps Wukong with tasks when the monkey refuses to put down the vessel. Wujing knows how important those things are.

The one who understands the most though, is Ao Lie. He witnessed how his family went nuts in the aftermath of Ao Bing's death. The ones who grieved loudly and silently. The pain that rebounded onto Nezha and his family. Ao Lie was quite young when the death occurred, and always felt like he was on "the outside" of what was happening. He understands that this is the way Sun Wukong choses to process what has happened to Macaque. Ao Lie feels no place to correct him on it - and just understanding Wukong's pain is enough to help the monkey heal even if it takes years.

Wukong in this AU would be far more hesistant to kill his mortal opponents. He knows that even the strongest warrior may fall to ruin. And that the most hated Kings have someone who will mourn their loss. Sometimes his personality of an unhealthly-grieving widower is enough for some threats to back off. Even a demon knows that it is shameful to harass someone who is mourning.

I imagine the most shocked of their encounters would be the monkeys former allies...

Azure: "Sun Wukong? I thought you threw your lot in with the Heavenly Host. Following the beck and call of the Tang Monk." SWK: "I have. But I figured me and Mihou should pay you guys a visit." Peng: "The Six Eared Macaque? So he has survived the Furnace. No doubt he slunk away into the shadows once the lid rose. Where is that coward hiding now?" SWK: "He isn't hiding. He's been here the whole time." (SWK pats the vessel in his arms) The Brotherhood, all realising: "OH." ( ;O_O) (O_O;) ( `−ㅿ−´) Yellow Tusk: "...I believe the Six Eared Macaque has sacrificed the most for our cause. We should show him and Sun Wukong some hospitality, and listen to their tales of travel." Azure, creeped out: "Agreed."

Others like DBK and PIF would also be in mourning. But I could see them almost finding Wukong's behavior romantic. After all, they don't know what they would do if the other had died in battle.

I feel like instead of a "Macaque Chapter" where Wukong encounters his doppleganger while him and Tripitaka aren't on good terms; it's Wukong becoming frustrated with the others' worrying and comments and wanting to prove that theres a way Macaque still lives. And if it involves harassing the Heavens, the Underworld, or the Buddha himself then he'll try.

Perhaps the crux of his Journey is SWK deciding to let go and release Mac's ashes (likely at Flower Fruit Mountain) and learning healthier ways to honor Mac's memory. Or perhaps requesting that the Buddha reunite them - whether as a revival, in death, or in the next life...

BUT ALSO CONSIDER THIS:

Sun Wukong was only able to legitimately survive the Eight Trigrams Furnace (even with peaches, wines, and pills) because;

He's a manifestation of both Earth and the Mind. All the Furnace did was harden him like a piece of coal becoming a diamond.

Wukong isnt dumb. He knows enough about Taoist Alchemy to know that no matter how hot the crucible gets, it will always be its weakest in the Xun/Sun/Wind Trigram. The theory being that while Air feeds Fire, Wind supresses it - in science terms the increased pressure caused by the pure Wind element suffocated the hottest flames but created a lot of smoke; forever reddening Wukong's eyes.

Above: Two separate translations I got.

Macaque is associated with Wind, especially in LMK and other Jttw-inspo works that merge his character with the Macaque King/Great Sage Informing Wind. And as a Celestial Primate/Mystic Monkey, he holds powers unknown to Heaven and himself.

If in Taoist Alchemy; Wind supresses Fire, then there's a chance that instead of becoming refined like a earthy diamond like Sun Wukong - the Six Eared Macaque would cause a different unholy reaction within the Furnace. Like a pressure cooker ready to burst, the Wind within would only expand/quicken until breeched.

Lao Tzu/Laozi opens the Furnance after 49 days, expecting the two monkey demons to be reduced to a pile of ashes and pills. He's met by a pair of monsters that burst forth from the crucible like Pandora's box.

Heaven weeps.

Even if Macaque's physical body was lost to the Furnace, he could retain enough magic to manipulate his ashes into a smokey ghost-like form. The Buddha would be forced to contain Macaque for those 500 years by sealing him in an air-tight vessel.

Wukong carrying around his mate's ashes and the pilgrims thinking him mad with grief, only for Macaque to reveal at an awkward time that he's still technically "alive". Pluming forth from the vessel and ensaring their foes with his ribbon-like tendrils.

And if you wonder what a Furnaced!Macaque would look like? He's already shown us;

[ergle-barnes]

You’re Safe Now

Paring: Bucky Barnes x F!reader

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of past trauma,language, Nickname (doll), translated Russian.

Word count:1.9k

Authors note: First solo fic. Feel free to request anything, I write for any gender paring. Have fun loves. ❤️❤️

It's been 5 years since you got out, out of those terrible places. The red room, Hydra. Both were terrible, you were ready to get back the real you. You have no idea who that is or well, was but you want it back. No more confusion. Every night you have the same dream, a man in a uniform saving a small, skinny kid from getting beat up. He says something like, “Sometimes I think you like getting punched.” Then you go somewhere, he calls it “the future,” to which you chuckle and call the skinny man your brother. You have no idea what to think, but you need to find these men. Even if it's the last thing you do.

He missed her everyday, felt guilty for not finding her. He knows she's still alive but doesn’t have the heart to tell Steve, how would he even bring it up? “Oh, hey Steve, your sister may be still alive and is stuck in the red room no big deal.” He says to himself, not knowing the man is standing at his door. “WHAT?!” Steve shouts, angry. “Why didn’t you tell me? What made you think I didn't want to know, huh?” Bucky just stood there shocked, knowing there was no getting out of this one, so all he could do was explain. “Look man, let me explain. I didn't tell you because there’s a chance she doesn’t even remember us, or ever will. She’s been through so much torture there may be a chance that she’s never gong to remember you or me. And it's not guaranteed that she is still alive. So I planned on looking for her, with Nat’s help. So you weren’t hurt, or feeling guilty. Cause that’s all I feel. And your sister man, she’s a smart woman, so who knows maybe she's out. Just… let me handle this one.” Steve was furious but he understands, he knows how much you mean to Bucky, shit bucky’s in love with you. He knows it. So he trusts him, but if you’re alive and not with Bucky, it's his turn. He will have his sister back.

** A few days later **

You are walking in London, a huge place, easy to blend in. Not easy to find, or so you thought. You’re walking back to your apartment when you see a familiar face, a widow. You mumble, “Well, shit. So much for hiding.” You put your hands up in defense, “Listen Yelena, let's talk about this. Please.” She doesn't care, she has a mission to complete. “I don’t want to hurt you.” She walks towards you, she's gonna hurt you if you don’t do something. “Fine.” She attacks but you’re not going down without a fight. Punch, after punch. Kicks after kicks. You don’t want this but you aren’t going back. You notice a swift movement, and look up, which gives her the perfect moment to strike. She kicks the back of your knee, landing you on the ground, she's got you pinned. You close your eyes, ready for the knockout punch but instead a thud? You slowly open your eyes, Yelena’s unconscious body beside you, a familiar redhead standing over you with her arm pointed right at you. A sly smile crosses your face. “Natalia? Still competing with dear ole’ sister I see.” She smiles, “Good you know who i am, Then you know i'm not associated with the widows anymore.” She opens her hand to help you up.

“Come to help an old fri….” Your sentence trails off when you see the man slinging Yelena over his shoulder. New metal arm, same piercing blue eyes, same face as in your dream and your nightmares. You snatch your hand out of hers. Willing to put up a fight. “I’m. Not. Going. Back.”

Those piercing blue eyes find yours and all of your Hydra pain comes rushing back. “Soldat?”

His eyes widen, and he shakes his head, “Not anymore.” You’d heard talk over The Winter Soldier in recovery but didn’t believe it. Why would Hydra let their best weapon go? They wouldn’t but something about those blue eyes made you want to trust him. You decide to try something. Maybe he is the uniform man.

“Don’t do anything stupid till I get back.”

He smiles, “How can i? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

You mutter, “Jerk.”

“Punk” He replies.

You know him, you don’t know who he is but deep down. You know him. So you trust him. Natalia wouldn’t hurt you right? She’s a hero, or so she claims.

“What do you want?”

“Come with us, we can help you remember and get better.”

You nod deciding to follow, your gut is telling you to. The blue eyed man puts Yelena down gently as she wakes up. You remember the red smoke and pull one out, putting on her face before she can fight. She coughs and shoves you off her.

Smiles cross you and Natalia’s face. “Сука.” (bitch) She mutters and gets up, wiping herself off.

“Natasha?” They exchange hellos and the two “heros” take you to a jet of some sort.

Hours later you wake up to your head banging on the side of the jet.

“OW!” You say and look around, somehow you remember him, another dream or maybe you hit your head hard enough. “James?” You question, scared. His eyes light up. “Hi doll. It's me.” Tears well up in your eyes as you thought about all you two have had to endure and the pain he must feel. A wave of fear rolls over your face. You walk over and hug him, crawling in his lap.

“You’re safe now, it’s okay doll.”

The pilot announces that you guys are at the compound, about to land. You hop up and look out the window with a gasp noticing Steve standing anxiously, looking concerned.

“Jesus he’s huge, are we sure that's my brother?”

Bucky chuckles and the jet lands, as you hide and chuckle.

Steve looks at Bucky. Bucky and the others put on a fake sad face and shake their heads. Steve looks devastated, like he's going to cry and he does. You notice and decide this is the time to pop up behind him. You sneak out a side door and stand behind him with your hands on your hips with a sly smile.

“What's all these tears for?”

He whips his head around in shock and hits Bucky’s flesh arm. He smiles as you run jumping in his arms. “Hi Bubs.” You whisper.

[dellalyra]

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗥𝗼𝗮𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 - ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ

pixie says: i am healing and yes - i have written family formations. this is my fix it fic - canon be damned. family formations is happiness only. this fic is what i would like to see as the ending of the final battle of jjk. cw: angsty at the start, but also sweet, bittersweet stuff, canon typical gore, creative liberties and lots of spoilers if you’re not okay w that go away and mdni bc I said so.

“I won’t ask you not to go.”

“Good. I wouldn’t listen to you anyway.”

“Yaknow, when we were 16 I thought your stubbornness would ease off with age.”

“You’re the one who married me.”

“Best choice I ever made.”

You can’t help but smile at the man laying on the bed beside where you stood. Black and blue bruises fading to green on his usually unmarred skin evidence of the toll the fight took on his body - which he barely escaped with his life. The deep laceration on his stomach only stemmed by the work of your best friend who had cried into your arms several days prior saying she had been terrified she couldn’t save him for you, for the kids.

Yet, she did.

She saved him, and your son.

Your son who spent most of his time asleep, body recovering from weeks of torture and mind melding itself back together with love and care.

Your husband’s cursed energy was burnt out. The usual bottomless pit was drained to bring him back to you and extract your son from his own body. He was injured, his eyes were okay, all six of them and he’s alive and he’s safe and he’s okay.

Then the announcement came.

You all knew it would come.

The final challenge.

Kenjaku’s challenge.

There was no dissuading Yuuji, not ever but especially now he knows the truth of his parentage. Choso too, pain and suffering bottled for 150 years is a powerful motivator. Yuuta - he was going to protect everyone, no matter who he had to face. Inumaki? Was not leaving Yuuta to face this without him. Maki’s rage fuelled a fire within her, the loss of so many people making her ready to ‘bitch slap’ him, as she so delicately put.

To top it all off.

You.

Like hell were you letting these kids go alone. Were you scared? Infinitely. Only a fool would say they weren’t. You knew the risks, a widower, a baby without a mother, weddings you’d never see.

They were risks you had to take.

For Megumi. For Yuuji. Two boys who deserve a love filled future.

For Tsumiki. Your daughter snatched from your hands.

For Nanami. A brother in arms, a best friend, a mentor and a godfather.

For Akio - to grow up safe.

For your ‘Toru. He deserved to not fight anymore. He deserved peace - you both did. He deserved the life you spoke about at night in bed curled in his arms.

For Geto. For the man who was your brother in all but blood. For one half of a whole. For a future ripped apart by trauma and a body desecrated.

Satoru knew you’d go. He held you tight as his wounds would allow and protested his attendance but you and Shoko pointed out to him that his current condition would make him someone to be protected - not vice versa.

He grit his teeth and cursed.

He believed in you. Your strength and courage and immense abilities.

But that didn’t make him any less scared.

He wondered if this was how you felt.

Megumi has been sleeping for going on 24 hours now. You don’t wake him. Neither does Yuuji.

Satoru looks at you.

You sit on the bed beside him.

“Satoru. We both know this might now work in our favour. We both know I might not -” you start, breath shaky but determined.

“Absolutely not. Don’t you dare say it, Princess.” He says, grasping your cheek.

“Satoru. Listen to me. If I don’t come back, I want to go with the knowledge you’ve heard all of this. If I die, take Megumi - go find Akio, bring Shoko and the students. Leave Japan. No more fighting, I want you to live. I want you to see our sons first day of school, Megumi’s graduation, all of it. I want your world filled with love and happiness even if I lose I don’t want to be avenged. Fuck vengeance, just live. Live for our boys, make a shrine for ‘Miki, and Suguru, and Nanamin.” You say, tears flowing.

“Y/N, please - please don’t talk -” Satoru says, head buried in your neck.

“I have to. It’s important to me. You deserve to live, ‘toru. You deserve love, and happiness.”

“How can I have those if you’re not there?” He says.

“Because we have two beautiful boys who adore their daddy very much, and I’d never be gone completely. You - Gojo Satoru - have been the light of my life, the blood in my veins and the air in my lungs since we were 16. I am so, so grateful to have had you in this life, and I know you love me the same.” You say, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“I’ve loved you since the moment you got mad at me for picking a daisy a ladybug sat on. I can’t imagine an existence without you, and it runs so deep that I think my soul has merged with yours. You have always, always, been everything to me - and every day I’ve loved you more. My, sweet, brave girl.” He chokes.

All you can do is let out a watery laugh as you kiss him, soft and gentle.

“You made me promise to come home. I need you to do the same, princess.” He says, and you stick out a pinky finger which he takes in his own.

“Pinky promise.” You say, because you’re going to do everything to come home to your boys.

You stand, and yelp as a large hand smacks the globe of your asscheek.

“Go kick some cursed booty, Princess.” He says, smiling.

“Aye, aye, captain.” You blow him as kiss and he catches it, pretending to eat it.

The door softly closes behind you.

Seeing Kenjaku again was jarring. Satoru was right, your eyes saw Geto - but your soul knew otherwise. An oppressive power circled him as he teased and taunted before Choso lunged and the battle begun.

Curses swarmed like locusts all around, and you all moved in perfect formation - you fought back a comment that the mornings they grumbled at training were worthwhile after all.

Inumaki brought up the rear, a layer of protection casting an eye over the battlefield.

Maki - wasn’t the Maki you saw the last time you witness her in action. She’s lethal, a hurricane of destruction and terrifying rage as she brutally slaughters all in her path, and you swell with pride.

Yuuji and Yuuta - seamless in tandem with each other as strong fists flung them toward Yuuta’s swinging blade as they cleared a path to the centre.

Choso was engaged directly with Kenjaku - screams of rage and fury built of years of trauma swirled through the air along with shards of pure crimson as father and son clashed.

You were everyone’s back up, flashes of green pulsing around as soon as anyone became too close for your comfort to any of the others, protection second nature in your subconscious as you ripped through enemies with dagger and claws, ripping limb from limb to exorcise the curses and the raw grief in your body.

Out of the corner of your eye, a lethal looking serpentine curse lunged toward Yuuji - currently wrestling another monstrosity and you knew he hadn’t noticed it - you wouldn’t get there in time. Just as you shouted his name as it was inches from his head a whizzing rushed past your ear and toward the curse, which you saw crumble in a heap beside a gaping Itadori.

You move to run to him, but you don’t get far before a voice sounds from behind you.

“Looks like I still need to do everything around here, eh, Itadori?”

That voice.

You both spin on your heels, and behind you, hammer in hand - stood Nobara Kugisaki.

You blinked.

Presumed dead, as Shoko had refused to speak of it - she had done it.

Shoko had healed her too, and black leather eyepatch covered one side of her face but she was smirking, a hand on her hip.

“No fucking way! ‘Bara!” Yuuji says, barrelling toward her - his honorary twin sister.

He scoops her up and she thrashes.

“Put me down you oaf! I nearly died, don’t kill me again!” She shouted.

“You’re really here, Nobara?” You say, tears flooding your eyes.

“As fabulous as ever, Y/N-sensei.” She winked and threw herself into your arms.

“Eh - as much as I love this vibe guys could I have some help please, Itadori?” Comes the voice of Yuuta, snapping you all out of it as Yuuji drops his best friend and runs away to him calling ‘sorry, senpai!’.

Nobara runs to your left - to provide back up for Maki as the frenzy resumes.

Hours pass, but before you can comprehend how many - all that’s left is a smirking Kenjaku surrounded by 7 warriors.

You stride forward, dropping your blades and stopping right in front of him.

“What are you doing?!” Shouts Maki.

The clatter of the daggers is sharp against the silence. Kenjaku’s blank face looks down at you.

“I know you’re in there Nii-chan. I know you can hear me. I’m sorry we couldn’t save you, but we love you. All of us. ‘Toru and I had a baby, you’d love him. I’m also sorry for what I’m about to do.” You say.

In the blink of an eye, you whirl back your fist and drive it straight into his nose. The curse reels as he stumbles - unexpected force from your smaller body fueled by rage.

The momentary distraction works as you begin to pull out your trump card - hoping to weaken him before he can use his.

You hear Inumaki shout ‘shield your eyes’ to all the kids as your body begins to emit a strong, golden light - searing everything in its path as a screech echoes from Kenjaku - the tarmac beneath you bubbling from the energy emitted as you shout: “Cursed Technique - forbidden technique - sunbeam.”

As the screeching ends, and the light fades it’s visible effect is clear as patches of skin have melted from the body leaving bone exposed and the top of the head protecting the brain of Kenjaku is exposed - with you panting on your knees as Kenjaku attempts to regain himself. The fury on his face alerts Yuuji who grabs Choso who immediately understands, running toward you to scoop you up and away. Yuuji barrels toward and everyone begins to scream as you see Kenjaku’s hand making the sign required.

Uzumaki.

You all brace for impact but the shockwave and death of Yuuji never came. When your eyes all open, a black dome is covering the area both men were. It’s solid surface impenetrable - no matter who you were. Just as you think to summon your domain to override you look - that’s not a domain with traces of Kenjaku.

Those traces…

Yuuji Itadori.

“Stop! Stop! No domains!” You shout to the kids.

“What?!” Maki responds.

“It’s not Kenjaku’s. This domain - its Yuuji’s. This is Yuuji’s domain! He did it!” You say, beaming - pride and astonishment mixed with exhaustion.

“She’s right. This is my brothers energy.” Choso agrees.

“Holy shit, it is.” Nobara chimes in.

“We can only wait.” Yuuta says, anxiously leaning on his sword.

This battle was between the two in the domain now, having no idea what Yuuji’s domain would be left you all blind.

You were gently sat on the ground, a characteristic you learned was intrinsic to Choso by now - someone who you have grown to count as a very special friend over the last few months.

You wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Nobara curled up beside you, as Maki filled her in on all she’d missed. You didn’t miss the whimper when she was told of Megumi’s imprisonment.

And after 20 minutes, Inumaki’s soft voice jolts you all.

“Look.”

The domain was fading, melting from above.

It lowered like melting ice and the dust within cleared until a backlit figure stood beside a crumpled lump on the ground. The figure was heaving air into their lungs.

The body walked forward.

“YUUJI!” Came 7 voices.

The lump. Kenjaku. Corpse mangled and bloody and a grizzly mass of brain matter was coating the ground as slowly disintegrating into dust.

He did it.

He killed Kenjaku.

“Little brother, you did it! Are you hurt?” Choso grasped his exhausted younger brother and Yuuji shook his head and you saw a weak smile on his bloodied face.

“Y/N?” Itadori rasps.

“Yes, sweet boy?” You smile, hand on his cheek and tears on your face.

“Can we go home now?” He says.

You huff out laughing.

“Let’s go home, sweetheart.”

Yuuta on one side and Choso on the other, helping the exhausted boy - they all began to walk away.

“Are you coming?” Nobara asks, as you crouch down beside the corpse.

You whip out your phone, clicking a contact and pressing the share location button.

“You guys go ahead. I’ll be there soon. Yuuta, help patch up Yuuji.”

They all exchange looks but go ahead anyway.

You sit down. Looking at the body, and fix the top part of the head so it sits where it should.

Before long, you hear footsteps behind you and someone sits beside you.

“He’d go crazy if he saw his hair that messy.” Shoko huffed.

“He’d probably blame Satoru.” You respond and she smirks, lighting a cigarette.

“You hurt?” She asks.

“No. Just… tired.” You say, leaning your head on the shoulder of your best friend.

“Me too.” She leans to close his eyes.

“He would have been so proud of all of us, Koko. He always said you’d look hot in a lab coat.”

“He would have had Akio hanging from him 24/7 too, kids always loved him for some reason.” She mentions and you both laugh. Her head rests on yours.

There’s silence for a few minutes.

“He looks peaceful, doesn’t he? Like how he used to look when he’d sleep on my lap under the tree.” Shoko says, voice thick.

“We can pretend for a moment that he is just asleep.” You say.

“I’m glad Satoru isn’t here.” You confess and she nods.

“Koko?” You whisper.

“Yeah?” She says, squishing her cigarette out.

“We can take him home now. Do it right.” You say, tears forming again.

“Somewhere close, so I can sit and have a smoke with him sometimes.” She agrees.

You stand, holding your hand out - the remnants of your cursed energy forming a floating box of vines around the body, neither of you could carry him so you’d create a way to transport him home.

You turn your hand to her, the vines levitating behind you.

She grabs your hand.

“Let’s go see your husband.” She says, wiping her face as you walk hand in hand back to base.

Walking toward healing, and a safe future.

[samwinchester-suggestions]

So get this. We’re at this high school in Oklahoma, and no I am not happy to be there, but there’s a ghost that blew up a locker and a water fountain, so we went. well we go hunting round and figure out it’s attached to this old trophy and I’m starting to think, oh how sad some kid died when he was just a kid and got attached to the trophy cuz it was his one achievement yknow. But no. We look up the names on the cup and they’re all alive except this one guy who died of pancreatic cancer two months ago, and he was forty eight. So we go to talk to his widow and she opens the door and bam, endless sea of memorabilia from his old high school, and photos of him playing football in high school that he signed, and his senior jersey is framed right above the doorway. Turns out this guy literally never moved on from his glory days in high school. Anyway we torched the trophy, which meant we burnt the one thing that this guy was most proud of, but his son hated him always talking about it so he didn’t care. Some people though, man.

[reallylilyreally]

WIP (Wednes)day

I'm a week late on @swifty-fox but they'll forgive me, right?

We've got MARGARET BLAKELY by the way, pt3 of proximal damage, because you people like what you like and you aren't afraid to tell me you want it.

They’ve known each other a handful of months and been seeing each other for most of that on the Saturday that Ev turns up on the doorstep of her boarding house bright and early and declares he’s got a day of leave and he’s taking her out. He waits patiently in the parlor under the disapproving eye of Mrs Mason, who runs the place, as Margaret goes up and gets ready, robbed of the opportunity to spend an hour choosing a dress and agonizing over her hair. He kisses her carefully on the cheek when she gets back downstairs, avoiding her lipstick, and she loves him, wild and stupid, this man she can’t keep.

That’s the day Ev asks her to marry him. It’s not exactly a surprise, once he’s put her carefully into the car and driven them out into the country for a picnic in a pretty spot, food packed neatly in a basket and blanket spread over the ground. 

It’s not a surprise, except for the way his hand shakes on the box as he pulls it from his pocket, the little crack in his voice as he tells her that he loves her, and wants to spend the rest of his life with her.

It’s not a surprise, except for the way she nearly says no.

How long is the rest of your life going to be? If I say I’ll be your wife am I really just saying I’ll be your widow?

But she loves him. She adores him, the bones of him, the way he smiles at her, the way he won’t take her to bed, the way he kisses her like he wants to eat her alive, the way he always makes sure she comes first, the way he lets her dance with his friends and puts so much pomade in his hair that you’d never know he has curls, the way he writes her little notes when he doesn’t have time to see her, the way he loves his men and tips the waitress at the diner they always go to, the way he holds every door for her and never complains if she’s late and always has something to say about her outfit, not just you look lovely but that’s a very pretty brooch and she loves him.

So she says yes.

tagging @whirlpool-blogs and @euph0riacc and @london-cowboy

[nesiacha]

Excerpts from Letters and Chapters of Historians on the Break Between Babeuf and Fouché

Yes, we all know the story of Babeuf, who was at one point manipulated by Fouché. But contrary to what Stefan Zweig describes, Babeuf is far from being a simpleton (by the way, Fouché manipulated many intelligent people, whether they were aware of it or not). He was an engaged revolutionary, far more humanitarian than others, while still having insightful reflections (I admit, it's my fan-girl side of Babeuf speaking, but the letters, especially those from the storming of the Bastille and the murder of Foulon, where he condemned this murder while offering very just opinions, can be found here: https://www.tumblr.com/nesiacha/766775982269087744/gracchus-babeufs-opinion-on-the-storming-of-the?source=share). Yes, Fouché did manipulate him at one point because he knew Babeuf had humanitarian values, and here is an excerpt:

"Ordered by Fouché, who seeks to make common cause with the Thermidorians, in the context of the trial of Carrier, the man behind the Nantes drownings, it serves as an alibi for the former machine-gunner of Lyon. The method is classic. It consists of denouncing one's former political allies, exaggerating, in order to better save oneself." (Emmanuel de Waresquiel, Vendée and Chouannerie: Two Centuries of Memory, Revue des Deux Mondes, September 1993).

But Babeuf always denounced the double standard of morality (I am deliberately exaggerating here), and here is an excerpt from the historian Claude Mazauric:

"Babeuf is on the side of the Revolution and the Republic, not the opposite; it is precisely on the basis of republican and revolutionary values, which, according to him, are grounded in universal principles, that he protested against the 'decemviral tone,' the 'proconsular exactions,' the unnecessary and arbitrary violence, etc."

Moreover, Babeuf was a man who never abandoned his true friends, even in their time of need. He often wrote, for example, to the widow of Chaumette (even though she was considered the widow of a traitor). I really need to find these letters one day. In lieu of the letters to the widow of Chaumette, here is an excerpt from a letter Babeuf sent to Chaumette when he was still alive:

"Philanthropists! I announce to you my book on Equality, which I will present to the world. Sophists! With it, I will destroy all the false reasoning by which you have misled, chained, and made the Universe suffer; and despite you, men will know the full extent of their rights, nature's vow will no longer be violated, and they will all be happy."

Moreover, we see Babeuf gradually realizing Fouché's true nature. He distances himself from him until their eventual break.

Babeuf wrote on the 19th of Germinal Year III to Fouché after the popular insurrection of the Sans-Culottes due to famine and misery (Babeuf would lose his daughter Sophie because of this, a loss from which he never recovered):

"The catastrophe of the 12th of Germinal makes way for great changes. This does not mean that I renounce it and leave the party. The ideas that occupy me, together with the conclusion I wish to establish in this letter, will lead me, my friend, to speak to you about the great battle we just lost... but must we be crushed by it? No. It is in great dangers that genius and courage unfold."

But here is what he writes to Fouché in his journal The Tribune of the People:

"You have become very rich, Fouché. When I left to be relegated to the North, I believed I could place enough trust in you to recommend my children. They went to see you. You gave them ten francs one day. You took no more interest in the family of an honorable victim of the patriciate. Today, you would sacrifice four to five thousand francs to stifle a few truths. This last object deserves far more than the other to affect your heart. It is exactly a year ago, Fouché, that there was with the then government, another director or syndic of the library, than you: it was Lanthenas. He wrote to me. I still keep his letters, and I can still justify the similar propositions he suggested to me, though with a little more finesse. You don’t write to me; but you speak to me in front of Antonelle and company. I give you the same response I gave to Lanthenas. I don’t want a censor, a corrector, or a whisperer; I still opt for persecution, if necessary; I will not tune in with the Méhée, and I insist on maintaining, against you, that the time has come when every truth must be spoken. You may conspire with the current government: we know how every government conspires. I declare that I am also part of a conspiracy. It is not yours. Send your agents on the campaign as much as you want; you will not destroy it. If this letter were to be read by the patriots, I would tell them: remember that a year ago, I was more right on my own than all the Jacobins together. I loudly demanded the constitution of that time. If they had demanded it at the same time as me, they would have saved the people and themselves. On the contrary, they were long in opposition to me, constantly seeking to delay the implementation of that constitution. In the end, they recognized I saw better than them, and they came to echo me. They demanded, through Barrère and Audouin, the swift establishment of the constitutional regime; but it was too late. A few days later, their society died assassinated. Their demand, therefore, lost all force. The time for delays is over. We are no longer in times when one can wait. They say public opinion must be redone. It is too formed. The people feel too much the extent of their suffering; they can no longer bear it. To help them, there is no quicker remedy than to put them at odds with their enemies, with all those who are the cause of all they suffer. Wanting to make them wait is asking that each day add to the destructive force that is depopulating our country at terrifying speed, sending each of us, in turn, to death, in slow and horrible anguish."

And he adds to Fouché: "It has been said for some time that you were my Mentor [...] I don’t want a censor, a corrector, or a whisperer: I still opt for persecution, if necessary [...] And I insist on maintaining, against you, that the time has come when every truth must be spoken."

Babeuf understood Fouché’s ambitions and wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Personally, I’ve discussed with friends passionate about the French Revolution (some of whom have opinions different from mine, even very different, but that’s fine because otherwise, it would be boring, we wouldn’t learn as well, and everyone must benefit from free judgment) who hypothesized that if Babeuf had followed the tide, like Fouché, and had not denounced him, perhaps Fouché would have allowed him a pension. The same goes for Marie-Anne Babeuf, the wife of Gracchus Babeuf and his right-hand woman (she helped him print, managed subscriptions, was imprisoned under the Directory for her activism, tried to help him escape, walked many miles pregnant with 8-months-old to organize his defense, and kept her married name after her husband's execution), who continued her political activities after her husband's death (some sources describe her as a woman with a strong character who did not back down in the face of adversity and I believe it given the trials she has undergone and how she has reacted), to the point of being arrested twice by the Napoleonic police (more precisely, she was arrested by the police for the first time during the affair of the infernal machine in 1801, actually perpetrated by the royalists, and questioned a second time by the police who took all her papers and those of her son so her property in 1808) . We know that Félix Lepeletier was a close friend to her and her children and always helped them after her widowhood. Turreau adopted one of her sons, Camille (the only good deed I found from him), and maybe Réal. But nothing from Fouché (while one of the few good deeds he did in his life was granting a pension to the widow of Collot d'Herbois). Some of my friends have suggested that it was precisely because she was cut from the same cloth as Gracchus (or maybe she wanted nothing to do with Fouché, which makes sense) and given that she continued her political activism against those whom Fouché served, without abandoning her cause. This is a hypothesis I should look into one day.

P.S.: It is interesting to see the quote from Barère, as well as Xavier François Audouin, who played an important role in the period of the French Revolution, both in the 1792 years, and was a well-known neo-Jacobin opponent of the Directory, especially according to historian Bernard Gainot (he was a Hébertist who escaped deportation under Bonaparte, either through the intervention of Monge, or because Bonaparte hoped to win over his father-in-law Pache to his side, but this didn’t work out; indeed, Xavier Audouin had married Sylvie, who according to Mathilde Larrère, though young, was known for her Hébertist activism; in 1816, Xavier Audouin, under pressure from the Bourbon laws, became a royalist). As for Antonelle, I’ve already spoken about him here: https://www.tumblr.com/nesiacha/761515728971202560/the-political-career-of-the-revolutionary?source=share

About Pache and the Audouin couple: https://www.tumblr.com/nesiacha/767044131014033408/very-mediocre-and-horrible-quote-from-buzot?source=share https://www.tumblr.com/nesiacha/767308509546266624/this-is-the-principle-of-a-friendship-triangle?source=share

(I warn you, it’s not much, but I plan to do a post about Pache one day unless someone else does it for me).

And Barère, well… Let’s just say that many people better informed than I am have already said everything there is to say in my place. I couldn’t have said or done better.

Sources:

Eric Walter

Claude Mazauric

Mathilde Larrère

Bernard Gainot