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obxsummer · 13 days ago

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wave of you // ghost of you

pairing: jj maybank x routledge!reader

summary: more treasure hunting continues but your group takes time to enjoy the perfect surf day. it was perfect, that is until topper’s girlfriend becomes unhinged and you find yourself in the middle of an argument with… rafe cameron coming to your defense?

warnings: the usual obx angst, anxiety attacks, mentions of PTSD, cursing, crying. yeah.

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Sarah and John B had beat your half of the group back to the house, Kiara having been running the shop in the unexpected absences. After taking a shower to scrub the hospital off of you and changing into the comfiest clothes you could find, you joined everyone in the living area where everyone was sharing their half of the past few hours.

John B and Sarah had taken the amulet to get an inscription translated into what you found out said Where the living and dead collide, the gatekeeper will guide the way, whatever that meant. They were kicked out shortly after revealing where the object was from, the individual telling them it was cursed.

“Genrette was obsessed with Blackbeard, so maybe directions to his treasure?” John B theorized as he handed the amulet over to JJ.

“So, what is this treasure?” Cleo continued, “Gold?”

Pope shook his head. “No, I remember hearing something about like a… a crown, blue crown?”

His suggestion was immediately vetoed by Cleo and Kiara, neither girl believing a word he offered. You sighed and leaned back into the cushions of the couch, wrapping the blanket tighter around you as you listened to them bicker.

“Apparently, it is the most sought out artifact in the ancient world,” John B read off a page of a book he’d grabbed from the shelf. You squinted at the object in his hand, quietly asking yourself when your brother of all people read a book. “The blue crown was created for Darius the Great of Persia over 3,000 years ago.”

“That’s worth more than 50k.”

John B ignored JJ’s comment and continued, “It was said to possess the blessing of the gods themselves, granting the wearer immense favor and rare invincibility. Holy shit, look at this. Xerxes, the son of Darius the Great, he was a badass. He’s wearing it. Uh, Alexander the Great, beat the shit out of everybody. He’s wearing it. Julius Caesar, also a badass, murdered a bunch of people.”

“Dad told you all of this?” You asked him as he read the names off the pages. Pushing yourself to your feet, you moved to stand behind JJ and rested your chin on his shoulder as you looked over at what they were reading. He moved you into his side, thumb brushing your hip bone as he tugged you close.

John B shook his head at your question, glancing up at you. “No, no. I don’t remember any of this, I just know it granted wishes.”

“Like a genie?”

“Hold on, it says right here the crown was lost sometime in the 1700s, but it was rumored to be hunted down by… Blackbeard.”

There was no argument that the direction of the treasure hunt had been changed when it came to a priceless item versus 50k. The whole night shifted, turning into a bonfire and celebration between the group that brought everyone’s spirits back up.

“Oh, come on!” You complained as Pope smacked your burnt marshmallow from his face, sending the treat into the grass a few feet away. “Pope, that was my fuckin’ marshmallow!”

“I’ll make you a different one! The burnt ones are ass!”

You groaned in response and fake pouted before shaking the can of beer in your hand to find it empty. The six of you had been out here since sundown, embracing the thrill of the evening and what lay ahead. Despite hating the danger your group always seemed to head into, you missed this feeling of nostalgia and anticipation.

JJ’s hands grabbed your hips as you got up from your folding chair, bumping into him as you did so. You covered his hand in the one that didn’t have an empty can and smiled at him. “My knight in shining armor.”

“At your service, baby,” He replied instantly, trading your empty can for the fresh one he had next to him. Once it was securely in your hand, he tugged on your waist until you fell into his lap, a squeal escaping your lips before the two of you lost balance with the momentum and tumbled backward into the grass.

You screamed in shock, your beer flying away in the chaos as you rolled off JJ who was high off his ass and giggling loudly at the fall. You couldn’t stop the laughter escaping your lips and dropped into the grass completely, overwhelmed with happiness for the first time in what felt like forever. “You dumbass!”

“C’mere!”

Another yelp escaped you as JJ swooped you off the lawn and over his shoulder, hauling your ass toward the house with no explanation.

“Oh come on!” John B groaned and covered his eyes with his hand as JJ carried you out of view, various whistles from the ground following. “Fuckin’ hate you, JJ!”

JJ flipped your brother off with his free hand and walked into the house, closing the door with his shoe before he gently placed your feet on the ground. You grinned up at him, your hands wrapping around his neck to pull him impossibly closer.

“Did you need something?” You teased and faked innocence as you fluttered your eyelashes to drive the effect home.

JJ tsked his tongue, his fingers cupping your neck before he kissed you roughly, moaning at the way your body fell into him without hesitation. You knew he wasn’t going to hold back very long and there was a 100% chance your friends could walk in at any moment.

“Upstairs,” You rushed out as his lips dropped to your neck, nipping softly at your skin to make your knees even weaker. “Jay.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He mumbled, his kisses stopping long enough for him to crouch and loop his arms around your ass and waist and pick you up, your ankles crossing behind his back, supported by his strong grip. “Lemme love on you.”

You hummed, kissing him again and biting gently on his bottom lip in response to his request. “You can love on me as much as you went when it’s not somewhere John B can see it.”

JJ groaned and shook his head. “Please stop bringing up your brother when we’re making out.”

You laughed loudly as he started walking up the stairs to your room, his kisses lingering on your collarbone and his grip tight as he did. The lack of light was welcomed as you landed on the bed with a laugh, barely having a second to pull your shirt off and drop your shoes before JJ was hovering over you with a hungry desire in his eyes and a whole night to make you his, again and again, just as he intended to.

The next morning was a haze of blissful kisses and a warm shower between you and JJ, the house still silent as everyone slept. Your boyfriend wrapped you in a soft towel, pressing a kiss to your forehead before telling you he was going to check on the shack. It hadn’t taken more than a few minutes before he was running through the house, waking everyone up and telling them about the swell.

The warm sunlight was shining through the window as you slipped on a swimsuit for the day, taking the time to brush your skin with sunscreen and grabbing one of John B’s lightweight shirts to slip on over your shoulders. The boys were already down prepping the boards with Kiara as you and Sarah took the time to make breakfast for everyone, knowing food would easily be forgotten in the excitement of the day.

“Oh come on, don’t tell me you guys are seriously surfing today?” Pope walked across the screened-in porch while shoving his backpack on his shoulders.

You frowned at the sight of him in everyday clothes and not swimwear, “And you aren’t?”

Ever since you were little, you’d spent every surf day with the boys and Kiara. It was like the second the news of a perfect swell hit town, all bets were off and the beach was calling your name. Pope was usually the one to drag you out of bed for it, so to see him walking away was a surprise.

“Well, I don’t want to sell the million dollars I have in my hand for 50k so, I’m gonna look into this.” He held up the amulet for emphasis.

JJ looked just as confused as you did. “Wait, Pope. Didn’t you hear me? It’s a perfect swell day.”

“Yeah, and there will be other swell days.”

Low whistles and ‘ooohs’ followed his statement, the group collectively disagreeing with his mindset. John B turned to Sarah from his spot where he was waxing your board. “You wanna maximize beach day?”

Sarah pursed her lips. “I wanna maximize this tan.”

You bit into your toast and pushed at her with your toes. “Sarah Cameron, I know you used to be a Kook but you’ll learn how to surf the Pogue way today.”

She rolled her eyes in fake annoyance before pushing at your foot, sending you off balance from your stool as you yelped before laughing.

“Well, everyone have fun maximizing.”

“Wait!” You called out to Pope as he turned on his heels to leave. “Where’s Cleo? I have to see her on a board. She’s gotta be insane with it.”

Pope shrugged, “She texted me, said she’s looking for bait in The Cut.”

“Lame, tell her we’re closed!” Kie argued back.

JJ continued to try and convince Pope to join you all on the beach, but the boy wasn’t having it, his mind stubborn on exploring more info on the amulet for the day. He informed you all he texted Cleo to meet up before hopping on his bike and disappearing from view.

You weren’t sure how the boys managed to get all the boards on the Twinkie, or honestly, you didn’t want to know, but the second the sand was in between your toes, you didn’t have a care in the world. Surfing was always one of your favorite pastimes. The sunshine, the water, and the feeling of landing a good wave were so rewarding.

John B had managed to find the group an open spot on the beach to set up chairs and the umbrella he almost took JJ’s eye out with. You took off in the sand and dove headfirst into the water, relishing in the refresh it gave you as the water crossed over. It had been so long since you had nothing to do besides lay in the salty water.

The peace didn’t last long, of course. Topper and his rowdy group pulled up in their newer vehicles, purposely parking close to your group as if it would make a point. You rolled your eyes at the sight of them, knowing this wouldn’t end well because it just never really did.

JJ met you in the water with both of your boards in hand, but your focus wasn’t on him. It was on the group piling out of the cars which happened to include Rafe Cameron.

“I won’t let anything happen,” JJ attempted to reassure you as he stopped to kiss your temple, sliding your board into your hands. You gave him a weak nod but didn’t move your gaze as you watched Topper move closer to your setup where he intercepted John B.

Your hands moved to give JJ the board back as you walked out of the water to approach the two boys. You didn’t need John B doing anything irrational, especially if Topper pushed his buttons the way he normally did.

“Nice of you to join the party,” Topper acknowledged as you came to stand next to your brother with crossed arms.

“Top.” You nodded in his direction, not backing down in your defensive approach.

Topper motioned toward John B, “I was just hashing things out, you know. Friendly banter to get things even.”

“Do you really think it’s even, Topper?” You asked him as the list began to run through your head. Every time you guys got the slight upper hand, the Kooks took you down two pegs.

Topper pursed his lips and looked away from you. “Uh, let’s go down the list. You guys sunk my boat.”

“Allegedly.”

“Then you cold-cocked me and put me in the ER, remember?” He looked at John B pointedly like it was the worst thing ever.

“You beat the shit out of Pope,” You reminded him. “Or, how about pushing John B off a two-story building, hmm?”

Topper rolled his eyes and pointed behind John B. “Look, I was with her first, bro. If your girl comes to me, if she can’t resist….”

“Real mature of you, Topper. Oh, by the way, thanks for burning our house down,” John B replied, his fingers twitching to throw the first punch, but he wouldn’t with you standing next to him.

You sneered at Topper’s attitude and stepped forward to block John B in case the emotions got the best of either boy. “Just here to surf, Top. Unless you had more to say?”

Topper’s eyes glanced behind you before he cleared his throat and refocused with no further argument. “No, no. Just here to surf.”

You hummed in agreement as he turned to walk away, mumbling something about having a good chat. Waiting until he was far enough on his side, you shifted back around to see JJ standing a few feet behind you, glare sharp enough to kill the Kook. No wonder Topper about shit his pants.

“C’mon.” John B grabbed your hand, tugging you away from the scene. You didn’t miss the way Rafe stared at you the entire time despite the new brunette he seemed to have attached to his hip. It took one glance to know she wasn’t a Kook, especially with the obvious discomfort she held around the group.

Pushing their presence to the back of your mind, you allowed John B and JJ to tug you out into the warm sea, Kiara and Sarah following behind the three of you as the waves started to kick up. It became a routine of swapping waves, dropping in amongst your friends’ cheers and applause. Even Sarah managed to grab a couple and remain on her feet for the course into shore, which had all of you celebrating.

Hours passed between the sun and waves before you flopped on a towel and treated yourself to a midday nap. Sarah had the right idea when she said she would maximize her tan, the warm rays lulling you to sleep before you knew it.

JJ pulled himself out of the water, brushing as much from his hair as possible so he didn’t look like a wet dog. He didn’t feel half bad dropping in on a wave that Topper supposedly thought he could claim. JJ laughed to himself; the damn Kook should know better than to try to out-surf a Pogue.

His eyes caught sight of you sound asleep and cuddled up on the oversized towel you insisted on grabbing for yourself at the thrift store. It was rare nowadays for you to sleep without someone by your side, especially at night. There were too many times when you’d crash on the hammock before the group came in and you woke someone up with a heavy scream.

In the years JJ had known you, he’d never considered you to be weak or broken. You’d always been an example of strength in his eyes, someone who could persevere even the toughest of challenges. He knew it took a little bit of support now and then, but you were healing, and he was so, so proud of you. You’d shared such vulnerable moments with him, and though he wished he could take the pain away, he knew it was a process. It took him longer than he’d like to admit to share about his dad with you, so he understood the hesitancy you had when it came to unpacking what occurred while John B was gone.

Usually, when you caught sight of Rafe, you shut down completely. JJ didn’t pry to ask what all happened when you were stuck with him, trusting that in time you would open up and share when you were comfortable. He was grateful that you felt comfortable enough with them around to sleep even though the person who’d taken so much from you was so close by.

“Guys, there’s a turtle hatch!”

Kiara’s excitement woke you up from the warmth of the sand, your eyes blinking in an attempt to adjust to the sunlight. You shifted to see where she was pointing, noticing the little movements of sand and the dark figures poking out. Pushing yourself to your feet, your friends scurried around to make a path in hopes of guiding the baby turtles safely toward the water.

You quickly tossed John B your towel to drag out the terrain evenly before taking a closer look at the small creatures, wishing you could pick one up but knowing better. “They’re so cute, what the fuck!”

“Make a turtle highway,” Sarah laughed beside you, the two of soaking up the once-in-a-lifetime event as Kie continued to build a path with the boys. Pulling out your phone, you snapped a few photos of the event, including one of Sarah pointing at the little turtles as they cruised by.

The sound of a revving engine pulled your attention away and toward where Topper’s supped-up Jeep was approaching. You frowned at the sight, not sure what his intentions were before you noticed Topper wasn’t even driving, Ruthie was.

“Hey!” Kiara stood up and waved her hands in the air, “Stop! There’s a hatch!”

“Topper, stop!” You yelled next, trying to point around the current path of the turtles who were moving as fast as their little bodies could take them. “Move!”

There was barely enough time for JJ and Kiara to throw themselves out of the way of the oncoming Jeep, thankfully missing the turtles and the near-death of the duo. You could hear Ruthie’s obnoxious laugh behind you as you faced the Kook group who apparently, found attempted murder funny.

“Hey!” You were shouting before you had a chance to think it through, feet stomping through the sand to carry you closer to where Kelce and his friends found it hysterical. “What the hell is wrong with you people?”

Kelce continued to laugh as Topper’s Jeep revved once more, coming to a stop next to you. “Maybe next time don’t drop in on our surf,” Kelce’s voice dropped deeper as he approached you, gaze darkening when he was eye to eye with you.

“Fuck you, Kelce. Whatever ego you all have that you think entitles you to run over baby turtles is sick,” You spat, pushing against his chest causing his friends to ‘ooh’ at your action. Not only did they almost ruin the hatch, but Kie and JJ were inches from getting run over because of their stupidity.

“Turtles?” A voice next to you stopped you from spitting another nasty curse at the group now that Topper and Ruthie had rejoined. You looked over to see the brunette girl looking back at you, her gaze familiar before you caught Rafe watching over her shoulder. “There were turtles?”

The heartbreak in her voice surprised you. You figured anyone following Rafe around would have the same cruel attitude he did, but the empathy you weren’t expecting.

“Go back to The Cut,” Ruthie interrupted whatever explanation you were considering giving.

You turned to glare at her, closing the distance between the two of you as you poked at her chest. “You have five seconds before JJ gets over here and loses his shit on all of you, so, I’d watch your words, Ruthie, before they bite you in the ass. You’re a pathetic excuse for a human, and I hope you’re fucking ashamed of your actions.”

The group clearly hadn’t expected you, of all people, to come mouth off about their actions. Silence filled the group, the girl in front of you at a loss of words that someone actually dared put her in her place.

“Look, we didn’t mean to-“

“Shut the fuck up, Topper!” You snapped at him, sick of his attempts to appear innocent despite all the damage he caused. “What happened to just here to surf, huh? Or is attempted murder always in the back of your mind?”

“Hey watch it-“

“Fucking leave, Pogue!”

“Get the hell out of here!”

“Hey, hey! Enough!” It was Rafe who put himself between you and Ruthie’s incoming hands. You didn’t know whether to be grateful or terrified and took a step back, feet stumbling as you did so. You stared at him, horrified as his gaze met yours and stole all the air from your lungs.

“Bitch can barely look him in the eye,” Ruthie laughed behind Rafe, but you made no move to correct her, terrified that even a breath in the wrong way would end your life. Rafe Cameron, of all people, to be the one to stop someone from harming you was a sick joke.

“Rafe?” The brunette girl next to him grabbed his arm, her eyes taking in your terrified expression. It was then that you recognized her. Sofia, the girl who you’d unfortunately come to know too well in the therapy sessions John B had forced you to attempt. The two of you had shared so much with each other but never once had you run into her since you stopped going months ago. She seemed to process who you were then too, a silent conversation running through her head as she mouthed your name.

At that moment, someone ran up behind you, hands landing on your hips before you were moved into another set of arms. You caught sight of JJ stepping closer to Rafe, likely starting an argument that you could only hope didn’t end with a fight.

“You’re okay, I’ve got ya.” John B turned you around to redirect your gaze, his arm wrapping around your shoulder as he started walking back toward the Twinkie. Everything turned to a haze, the adrenaline wearing off enough that you were heading into the inevitable anxiety attack.

“If you come near her, or any one of us, ever again, I’ll come back and kill every single one of you.” JJ’s threat wasn’t a light one, and you were certain it would come back to bite him in the ass considering the Kooks would take it and run with it.

Your heart was beating rapidly in your ears as John B pushed you into the passenger seat of the Twinkie, his hands grabbing both of your cheeks as you closed your eyes and tried to focus on your breath. Sarah’s grip on your hand was light as she climbed in the driver’s seat to sit on your other side.

“What the hell was that?” Kiara’s shout echoed through the van, ringing in your ears and causing you to squeeze your eyes closed even harder. “What did you say to them?”

“Kie, shut up!” Sarah was yelling back at her, their voices blending together as you tucked your knees to your chest and curled into a ball. The shakiness was setting in and all you could do was beg your body to calm down and catch up to your actions.

You forced your eyes to open, blinking as you managed to catch Sofia’s gaze across the sand. How you didn’t put the pieces together that’s who she was, you weren’t sure, but a pit grew in your stomach when you realized you’d spilled so much in those sessions that she was present for. Most, if not all of it, about Rafe.

Air choked in your lungs, and aggressive coughs followed before JJ’s hand was against your chest to keep you upright. His fingers were gently against your jawline as he kept your head up in an attempt to help you breathe correctly.

“You’re alright, baby. Just keep breathing, yeah?”

John B had left your vision, same with Sarah, leaving you face to face with your boyfriend. He climbed over you to sit in the seat Sarah had once occupied and pulled your legs out to rest over his. The desire to curl up and cramp your muscles happened more than often and he’d picked up on that after a few anxiety attacks, recognizing your patterns and habits.

JJ forced his hands in yours, keeping your fingers from stabbing your palms as you fought to take deep breaths, your body still on high alert even though your mind was coming back down.

“There you go, good girl,” His encouragement made you smile slightly, knowing he was messing with you on purpose. Moving forward, you puddled into his lap without a word, and he welcomed you with open arms. Physical contact helped more in the recent moments, something you never expected considering you used to be so fearful of someone’s touch.

JJ shuffled with you in his grasp, tugging the door closed to prevent unwelcome eyes from seeing you in such a vulnerable moment. John B was climbing in the driver seat shortly after, Sarah joining in the back before all doors were closed. Your breathing was slowing, muscles finding the forgiveness to loosen up on you but refused to move from JJ’s lap until your head was back in one piece.

“Kie?” You mumbled into his shoulder. The girl was clearly upset with you, but you didn’t have the capacity to question why.

“Walking,” John B replied simply as he started the old van. “Needs to clear her fuckin’ head.”

Sarah shushed him and you could hear her hand connect with his body gently, a grumbled protest coming from your brother in response. A comfortable silence filled the vehicle as John B drove away from the beach and started his course back home.

Exhaustion had set in on the drive, your body heavy in JJ’s hold as you listened to the occupants other than yourself share small chatter. Words weren’t enough to describe how grateful you were to your friends and brother for always supporting you no matter what. You knew it was a handful, hell, it wasn’t easy yourself, but the fact that they showed up time and time again said everything.

“Sorry about everything,” You apologized as John B parked the van in front of the house, ending your adventure for the day. “I’m trying to fix it and it just-”

“Hey,” Sarah interrupted your explanation as she popped her head over the seat. “No apologies. We’ve talked about that. Don’t apologize, ever.”

She left no room for argument and opened the back door to slide out. You looked at JJ and John B, both boys shrugged in agreement with her, making you roll your eyes.

“Maybe we could rethink therapy?” John B suggested as he watched you rub your face to rid yourself of tear marks. You shook your head, giving no verbal answer.

Therapy had been shit for you. When you first came back from El Dorado, the hospital had taken one look at you, post-gunshot stitches, and deemed you unsound. You went with it for a while, going to the group sessions and spilling stories without any names. Then you realized how cruel people were when they started comparing trauma and you never went back again.

JJ’s grip loosened so you could climb out of the van, arm slinging over your shoulder to keep you close as he followed you. Sarah joined your side, pulling your hand in hers to swing back and forth as the four of you started heading toward the house where Pope had come out the side door.

“Yo!” JJ called in greeting. “What’d you find?”

Silence followed the question, shifting your attention to Pope instead of the ground. The shock on his face was evident and your gaze immediately dropped to the dark red smears on his shirt and hands.

“Oh, shit.” Sarah was turning you into her instantly, both JJ and John B getting closer to Pope with an onslaught of questions. You kept your eyes on her, squeezing her hand tightly in attempt to keep your mind from getting involved.

“What happened?”

“Where’s Cleo?”

“She’s inside.” It was the only answer Pope had to give, and it sent JJ inside scrambling for the girl in question, fearing what he would find. John B grabbed ahold of Pope, steering him back to the house without any further questions before Sarah started to guide you along with the fresh blood out of view.

Sarah looked at you expectantly as you made your way through the door into whatever chaos you’d subjected yourself to. The girl next to you stopped short and shifted your path into the kitchen, rerouting you from whatever she’d caught sight of before you could. JJ was already in there, pushing a water into your hand and lifting you onto the kitchen counter without another word.

To your relief, Cleo moved in shortly after, her expression stoic and unreadable before Sarah left your side and you could barely hear Kiara’s voice joining whatever conversation was happening a room over.

JJ placed his hands on each side of your body before kissing you softly, pulling your mind to him and only him. You hummed quietly, fingers tangling in his hair for a moment before he shifted away.

“Can you tell me?” You asked quietly, not wanted to push too far if Cleo was clearly so upset.

He glanced at the girl behind you before answering, “Terrance’s body is in the other room.”

JJ watched you as you processed the information, a million questions running through your mind that you couldn’t bring yourself to ask. Apparently, there was no time to, as JJ’s eyes caught on to something out the window behind you. A quick glance over your shoulder revealed the all too familiar Kildare County Sheriff’s Office truck, and your heart sank to your ass.

“J-“

“Upstairs,” He replied with no room for disagreement. “Our room or balcony, kay? I’ll send Sarah.”

You nodded, doing what he said without another question and bolted up the stairs with your heart pounding in your chest. Sarah’s footsteps were behind you moments later, the two of you finding sanctuary on the balcony outside your shared room with JJ.

The sun was beginning to set and cast an orange lighting over the two of you as you piled into the hammock. Sarah leaned her head against yours just as another figure joined your group. Cleo fell on top of the two of you with a huff, both you and Sarah wrapping her up tightly into your cuddle puddle.

And suddenly, all you could hear, was silence.

How the fuck did the cards fall this way every single time?

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absurdthirst · 6 months ago

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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.

#pedro pascal #pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar smut #Pero Tovar imagine #pero tovar fanfiction #gladiator!pero tovar #gladiator au

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jacesvelaryons · 3 months ago

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The Reluctant Empress (Jacaerys Velaryon x Female!Reader)

Act II. Burgeoning

(19th Century Imperial Austria AU)

summary: crown prince jacaerys gets to know his prospect betrothed and future bride whom he has been arranged with to marry, your sister helaena targaryen, but true to your wild spirit, you cannot help but wonder what awaits in the world behind gilded castles and royal splendour.

word count: 2.4k words

a/n: i'm so sorry this took an entire year before an update but it is finally here! i apologize as I had some health things to settle, and with brain fog and got more distracted by other fandoms but here we go! once again, please comment and share what you liked, what you'd want more for me and request and let me know as my inbox is always open <3 let me know if you want to be on the taglist or not getting tags!

series masterlist

previously: prologue | act i

masterlist

requests OPEN

“Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.” ― William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

Seated between her mother and sister, Y/N eyes roamed around the dining hall in the palace that hosted the royal family and her covey. Changed into an emerald green gown, wearing the necklace and earrings her father gave her on the last name day before his passing, she paid no mind to the significance of the occasion and was just glad to be there, surrounded in the splendor of the castle walls.

She knew that it was Helaena’s time to shine, and she would not want to rob her of her light, of the opportunity that would change their fortunes and not have Alicent scrabbling and worrying over the last penny of their expenses.

Twirling her fork on the pesto noodles in front of her, Y/N remained silent and just patiently listened to all the conversation around her, between her mother and her childhood friend the Queen, who inquired about Helaena’s well being, her lifestyle and assessing on how she would adjust becoming the next consort upon wedding Jacaerys.

Dazed out in a world of her own, Y/N did not hear Jacaerys reverting his attention to her aptly, until her sister nudged her ankle with her shoe, repeating her name on his tongue like it was the sweetest honey, curiosity and amusement on his features.

“Lady Y/N, what do you do in your free time, my lady?”

Stammering like a cat bit her tongue, she cleared her throat as she gathered herself and make her look and sound presentable.

“I ride horses, my prince. I hunt and I have picked up the sword a few times.” Lady Y/N bluntly replied, already feeling the burning glare of your embarrassed mother. Queen Rhaenyra only watches in amusement, how her confidante could have a daughter who was nothing like her mother.

Jacaerys was intrigued, leaning forward to hear Y/N better and scooch closer over to Her. A curious smile on his handsome, chiseled face, his curly brown hair starting to grow out and neatly groomed behind his ears.

Plates and utensils remained untouched as Y/N and Jacaerys were engrossed in an engaging, animated conversation, passionate replies to uncontrollable laughter.

The older women present at the table watched with trepidation, Lady Alicent’s habits of digging into her fingernails returned while the silver-haired queen’s expression turned unreadable.

Helaena swallowed her wounded pride of being ignored and not found as an interesting companion, playing with her knife and fork, digging at the roast beef the same way her young daughter would.

As the servants gather the finished main course meals and replace them with fresh fruit and lemon cakes for dessert, Rhaenyra swiftly suggests for the elder Targaryen sister to read out some of the poetry her mother praised earlier.

“You must share with us your talent in verse and poetry, Lady Helaena.”

Relieved, the indigo hued girl stood up at the end of the table, grabbing her little booklet hidden in the pockets of her skirt. Flipping through its parchment pages, she settles to a recent entry close to the end of the worn out leather bound book, covered with an embroidered beetle.

To want is the most natural thing Inherent in the blood through our veins The very primal urge of our being Yet we will always want, and want With no end like a black hole What better to want what is not ours? To covet what the other possesses To take away what is given as easily as it was owned?

Her raspy voice echoed through the halls mellifluously in perfectly rehearsed High Valyrian. Yet you could not help a guilty perception weighing on you, blossoming at the pit of your stomach and you could not shake it off. You were doing nothing wrong, you told yourself, wanting to believe in it but it felt wrong.

Y/N’s fears arose to the surface when she could feel a burning stare on her face intensely, as if memorizing her very form and that she would disappear into nothing anytime. You were listening as intently as you could, yet when you turned, Jacaerys did not pay mind to a single word Helaena said as his focus was fixated on you.

No, no, no. Nothing was going as planned. Everything was going wrong. She praises whatever gods intervened when the heir’s brother Prince Lucerys gracefully diverted the topic into the new cuisines created by the cooks of the Keep with the freshest catches of seafood from Driftmark.

…

“Y/N, what do you think you were doing out there?! Do you think I do not notice your need to always be the centre of attention?” The shrill shrieking of her mother’s voice pierced through her ear drums, yet Y/N was unsurprised and used to such altercations with her mother.

Following the uneasy supper, the three ladies from Dalston Keep returned to their chambers to change midday in preparation for the tour around the gardens with the queen and her heir again after a few hours of respite.

Silently humiliated as they reconvened in private, the illusion of propriety that Lady Alicent carried in front of the queen and prince ripped away, unleashing a ferocity unrestrained like never before.

“I did nothing, mother. I was polite and engaged in a conversation when I was spoken to.”

“You did more than that, you foolish girl! It was about your sister. All of this was about her, not you! Is it so difficult for you to tone down your tendencies for once so we can go according to the arrangement? You put our fortunes up to be desolated. You are as careless as your father!” The sting of her final words hung in the air, salt over the open wound for such a loss. Y/N knew her mother did not love her father, who was older than her own father, and only did her duty to her ailing, troubled, aging husband.

“Mother, that is enough! Do not bring father into this.” Helaena countered exasperatedly, holding onto her sister by her shoulders in defense. “Y/N did nothing wrong. It was..it was me. I should have engaged with the prince more. She did me a favour.”

Y/N gasps in disbelief, astonished her beloved sister would keep taking her side when it was clear she was the wounded party.

“Do not worry about it, mother. I promise I will remain silent from now on. I want this to be Helaena’s night.” Y/N swears sincerely, wanting to defend Helaena and stay away from any trouble from now on.

Alicent does not fully believe her youngest, but nods solemnly as she seeks to move this behind them, returning to her dignified, contemplating gaze with her perfect posture and arms clasped at her waist.

Subsequently, a drove of maids and seamstresses poured in, as Alicent went to her solitary room while the sisters shared a larger room. Each stepped on the raised wooden platform. Taking lush gowns from the closet, they plucked out a rich emerald green gown with fitted sleeves for Helaena.

Meanwhile, a muted seafoam gown was placed on Y/N, as maids scuttered behind her to tighten the corset and laces. Y/N whimpered quietly in discomfort, never finding any gratification in restrictive court dress upheld by centuries of protocol and conduct. It barred her sense of freedom, clipped off her wings from flight and reminded her of a bird in a cage.

Heirloom pieces of emerald silver lined jewelry were given to Helaena, designed to accentuate her beauty and prepare her for her upcoming role and ascent into her duty. As the daylight trickled in through the lace curtains and open windows, she looked like a future queen. A role she was raised to be. Otherworldly and ethereal, while Y/N was grounded to the earth, locks like flames and soil.

Y/N beamed in delight for her older sister, squeezing her hands in reassurance. Helaena reciprocated not as enthusiastically, the nerves still getting to her as her palms were sweating and shaking.

“You have nothing to worry about, Hel. We would not get this far if he did not consider you his bride already.”

“Truly, do you really think so?”

“I do. Without a doubt. You already look the part. It is only the formality left we are waiting for at the ball.”

The elder genuinely chuckled this time in relief, her joy finally meeting her eyes from the comfort and encouragement of her sister.

“Now, all that is left is for you to step into your destiny.”

…

Manicured gardens flourished in the peak of spring, cicadas chirping from the branches of oak trees. Lilies and carnations in hues of apricot and blush, while the outlying paths were paved in blue hydrangeas and violet peonies.

Queen Rhaenyra adorned a lapis lazuli blue gown adorned in gold trimmings and sapphires sewn onto her bodice, matching the stone necklace of the color on her neck and matched her tiara, a reminder of her late mother and former queen.

She pleasantly strolled with a natural confidence, carrying herself with an ease afforded by one who has known privilege and power all her life. Guiding a tour around the Red Keep at the height of its social season, Rhaenyra proudly showed off her domains, and subtly if so, the lands that Helaena would take care of as its hostess after she marries Jacaerys and becomes his queen when the time comes.

Behind her was her eldest Crown Prince Jacaerys, always without a hair or trivet out of place, the picture of perfection that she had groomed since his birth. Dressed more casually in teal with the seahorse emblem on his chest, he honoured his late father Lord Laenor Velaryon, further dispelling any rumours or uncertainty around his paternity.

Although he did not directly resemble his father, he has begun to share features with his paternal grandmother Princess Rhaenys with her Baratheon colouring, and the shape of his nose and chin mirrored her father, who was another Prince of Dragonstone, Prince Aemon the Pale Prince. As rider of Vermax, it was undeniable he was the prince long awaited by the realm, whom millions of hopes and dreams were instilled in.

Standing beside him was Lady Helaena Targaryen, his expected betrothed in everything but formality. Raised with the intention of becoming a princess consort, she was demure, shy, obedient and trusting, exactly what the people of Westeros wanted of their model future queen. Proven in her success of childbearing, onlookers examined her critically on baited breath as they wanted to know who will bear the next generation of Targaryen rulers on the Iron Throne.

Their chaperons trailed behind them, Lady Alicent arm in arm with Lady Y/N, in the same shade of muted green, but her mother had visible symbols of the Faith of the Seven from her necklace, her dark headdress and veil, and on the cuffs on her wrist and belt. Y/N distractedly took in her sights, studying every nook and cranny of the storied palace with eagerness and pursuit.

“This garden still follows the design plan created by Queen Rhaenys the Conqueror herself, yet it was only finished years after her passing in Dorne.”

The queen continued the tour of the keep, while she discreetly eavesdropped on the conversation between her heir and his expected betrothed. The two were engaging pleasantly yet amiably on the surface level, their dialogue not reaching too far. Unaware of a figure parting at the fork and heading another direction.

…

When she is assured she’s clear and no one can find her, Y/N Targaryen smirks victoriously as she heads straight and turns left towards the barn, near the dragonpit, where the horses and grazing animals were located.

On nimble footsteps, through the mud and manure, she makes a run for it as two stableboys turn the corner and miss her, as they forgot to close the stables and she sneaks in.

As the afternoon light trickles in, Y/N looks around curiously, before her attention is caught by this white mare, with its freshly brushed mane and shining horsehair, an anomaly among ebony and hickory. Not wanting to startle the majestic creature, she prances until she’s in front of the horse, hushing and cooing at them as she latches onto the reins.

She holds the mane by her reins, tugging gently as she walks through the barn and the empty backwaters of the ancient castle. It is quiet, with most servants resting for their annual nap and their morning duties finished, so Y/N is able to ride the stallion undiscovered.

The lingering scent of the manure and greenery turns into salty waters of aegean and spruce and the earthy, musty petrichor from the rain on the fir and cedar trees earlier in the morning.

A hint of the cool breeze tingles through her skin, a dress and not proper riding gear in its leathers and furs, but she brushes it off, as King’s Landing in the spring at this time of the year has turned warm and the rain from earlier is long gone.

She rides as far as her companion will allow, until the peripheral view of the Red Keep grows distant from over her shoulder. Y/N stops at the fork of the road before it joins the greater Kingsroad, diverting by the forest with towering trees and fallen logs. Sitting by the foot of a trunk, Y/N pauses for some stillness, her back pressing against the hard trunk as she closes her eyes, before grabbing an apple and vial of water to share with her stallion.

As she and the mare finish the fruit, she stands up to brush off any leaf and dirt on the back of her skirt, about to mount once again before she hears echoes of confrontation growing closer. Y/N has barely begun to leave the forest and return to the artery before she is surrounded by hooded, disheveled men with smug expressions.

Unable to avoid contact, she politely acknowledges them and pulls her cape over her flaming locks before she is stopped from moving in either direction. “Good morrow, sirs.”

She yelps as she’s grabbed by her wrists by the men, struggling to stay on her saddle as the mare turns skittish. “Not so fast, my lady. We need something from ya, and you gotta pay up for our silence. Comes with a price.” The men smirk, distant galloping approaching them.

Y/N yelps as she is knocked off her horse, hitting her head against the rock and all turns into darkness around her. She hears a distant echo of another mount heading her way, furious yelling and clattering swords. Her head throbs, feeling the blood dripping down her nape, as her eyes flutter closed.

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funky-sea-cryptid · 1 year ago

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cupid ♡ black clover animatic by me

#op you're so based for this!!!!! may both sides of your pillow be cold #julius novachrono #zara ideale #julius x zara #idk if they have a ship name??? we need to get on that shit guys #black clover

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astroyongie · 17 days ago

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𓆉⋆｡˚⋆❀ Goddess Worship: An Introduction of Venus 🐚🫧𓇼 ˖°

Note: Day 21 of our October calendar! Today we have an introduction of deities I work with/worship. This post is to provide some information about the deities but also how I work with them personally. Everyone has their own methods with the Gods, and you should do whatever feels right with you while also respecting the bases of the religions.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Historical Background:

Venus is the Roman goddess of love, beauty, desire, and fertility, whose origins lie in the Greek goddess Aphrodite (they are basically the same deity but one can have a preference for one or another when it comes in terms of naming. I personally like Venus denomeation better than Aphrodite, yet Aphrodite's cult is older and thus more accurate when it comes to history). She played a major role in Roman culture, not just as a goddess of romantic love but also as a symbol of the prosperity and power of the Roman state. Julius Caesar claimed to be a descedent from Venus through her son Aeneas, who was a Trojan hero and a central figure in Roman myth. You can find a vast historical symbols and lore with Venus. Out of the three goddess that I work with (Venus, Freyja and Hekate) she is the most well represented through art, literature, historical history and mythology.

Attributes and Symbols:

Doves and Sparrows: they are birds sacred to Venus, representing love and desire but also innocence and purity. These birds often accompany her in art as a part of her symbolism. Shells and Pearls: Venus is famously depicted emerging from the sea on a shell, symbolizing her birth from sea foam. Anything directly linked with the sea can be symbolic in her name Roses and Myrtle: Both flowers are sacred to Venus, representing love, beauty, and fertility. Golden Apples: Associated with the goddess, these were the prize in the famous myth of the Judgment of Paris, where Venus was deemed the fairest of all. Other red fruits can also be associated with her, anything that holds a connotation of love and desire. (The apples are also an association with Eve and the forbidden fruit)

Worship and Rituals:

Veneralia: A festival held in honor of Venus Verticordia (Venus the Changer of Hearts) on April 1st. This festival was primarily concerned with cleansing rituals, bathing in myrtle-laden water, and offering prayers for purity in love and relationships. Venus Genetrix: A title meaning "Mother Venus," this aspect emphasized Venus’s role as a progenitor of the Roman people through Aeneas. Julius Caesar established a temple in her honor as Venus Genetrix, showing her importance in Roman political and public life. Gardens and Shrines: Venus had many shrines and temples, particularly in Rome. Shrines to Venus often included lush gardens, which were a symbol of her fertility and life-giving powers. This is also an idea to set al whole altar/shrine for her, that doesn't need to be inside of home and can be creative with your outside space. Erotic and Fertility Rites: Venus was invoked in matters of love, sex, and fertility. Offerings of flowers, perfume, and wine were common, and her blessings were sought by women who wished to conceive. Pretty much like Freyja, people would have sexual intercourse in her honor State Worship: Venus was integral to the Roman state religion. Augustus, following Caesar’s example, elevated her status, linking her to the success of the empire and military victories. Any "birth" was dedicated to her

-> When worshipping Venus, you can make a pretty altar while respecting her symbolisms. Venus can help with love, but remember she helps with self love first as well. Do not invoke her only to have X falling in love with you. her cult needs to be taken seriously. Offerings need to be maid every friday and during her ritual days. Never use her power to become "the prettiest of them all", as Venus doesn't take well humans who try to use her name for pettiness. Be grateful for her, shower her in love and admiration and she will bless you in return

-> Ideas for offerings: Wine, honey, shells, feathers, mirrors, roses, myrtle, perals, jewlery, perfume, incense, scented candles, hairbrushes or makeup, apples, red fruits, sea water or sand, anything symbolic with the sea and love.

BIBLIOGRAPHY:

"Venus in Rome: A Translation of Book II of Ovid's Fasti" by Ovid, Translated by Betty Rose Nagle

"Venus Genetrix: Political Imagery and Female Personifications in the Late Republic" by Paul Zanker

Carney, J. (2013). Venus in Augustan Rome (Doctoral dissertation, Florida Atlantic University).

Flory, M. B. (1988). Pearls for Venus. Historia: Zeitschrift für Alte Geschichte, (H. 4), 498-504.

#venus #venus astrology #roman #roman mythology #roman gods #venus goddess #venus cult #venus deity #aphrodite #greek gods #deities #greek deities #hellenic deities #gods and deities #deity work #paganism #deity worship #polytheism

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bucca2 · 1 year ago

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Shrike pt. 1 - words hung above but never would form

definition. male shrikes are known for their habit of catching insects and small vertebrates and impaling them on thorns

König x high school sweetheart reader

2nd person, gender neutral reader for now but reader is afab and referred to as a girl, reader is Austrian/has lived in Austria and speaks German for most of the story, romance, pining, friends to lovers, reader's nickname is Thorn, König's first name is Alexander

4.8k words

tw: bullying, brief mention of cheating and domestic abuse (not explicit, mentions of violence, and not done by König), mention of terrorism, suicidal thoughts

[NEXT]

based on this post by @ceilidho, who gave me permission to write this! many thanks <3

this post is dedicated to @papaver-decervicatus, who I am so proud of for finishing chapter 4 of her fic cat/mouse/den (which I highly recommend) and eating NO glass in the process. her headcanons for König have had a huge influence on me, and while there are some differences between julius and alexander, I absolutely must thank Caedis for her wonderful portrayal of König.

and of course, to @danibee33, for fueling my König brainrot. without you, I probably would not have returned to writing <33

disclaimer, I am not Austrian, I do not speak German, so if there's anything that needs correcting, please do reach out!

You admit, you’ve always had an affinity for protecting the weak.

When you were twelve, a bird slammed headlong into your bedroom window. The poor thing had avoided snapping its own neck but was certainly in no condition to fly. You’d bolted out of your childhood home to check on it, but by the time you arrived, a huge grey tomcat was prowling, sitting back on his haunches and ready to pounce. You generally liked cats, but this one was a mean old stray, and you’d always been frightened to go near him.

Without hesitation, you had shoved the cat aside, spitting and yowling, and taken the little bird into your hands.

It took a few days to nurse back to health, and you still remember the day you released it back into nature. It was worth the long scratch down your arm, pride swelling in your heart as it spread its wings and flew into a vivid blue sky. You remember it even now: a charming little gray bird, a streak of black coloring over its eyes. A shrike, your mother had identified it as.

People are no different than animals, sometimes. People can be cornered, battered, and bruised as well. You recognize the broken hunch of the bird you rescued in the boy sitting by himself at lunch time. His shoulders curl inwards with a desperate need to go unnoticed. You’ve seen him around: he’s not in any of your classes, but your classes always seem to end up in the same hallways, so you pass each other all the time.

He jumps a little as you slide into the seat next to him, shrinking away from you in a way that breaks your heart. “Hey.”

No response. You offer your name, but he seems reluctant to divulge his own.

“Is it okay if I sit here?”

He shrugs.

“Thanks. I don’t know anybody at this school, so it’s nice to have a friend.”

“…friend?” He has a nice voice, you think. Timid, but almost sweet.

“Well, if you’ll let me call you one.”

“…”

And so begins your friendship with König.

I was housed by your warmth Thus transformed By your grounded and giving And darkening scorn

You didn’t call him that in high school, of course. You wouldn’t know that name until much, much later. It takes a while to coax him out of his shell, cajoling him that you can’t call him “green-eyed boy” forever, to get his name.

“Alexander is a very good name,” you assure him, and he seems pleased. He’s still hesitant to speak to you at all, but that’s just fine by you. You’ve got plenty to talk about, anyway.

“You know, I read this book about Alexander the Great. There’s this crazy story about one of his battles at a city called Tyre. He was laying siege to it after a misunderstanding with their king…” you chatter on, unaware of the intense stare from the boy sitting next to you.

“…ordinarily, sieging an island is pretty difficult, but you won’t believe what he did,” you rattle on. “He—”

“He built his own bridge,” Alexander says, so quietly you almost don’t hear him at first. You look at him in surprise.

“Yes! You know this story already?”

“I read a lot about him.”

“Then why did you let me ramble on about it if you knew about it already?” You’re a little embarrassed, having felt proud of yourself for knowing niche facts about historical figures.

“I like listening to you talk.”

That shuts you up for a moment. Only for a moment though, before you start to laugh.

“What?” he asks, an edge creeping into his voice.

“Nothing! It’s just—usually people tell me the opposite,” you say. “People say I talk too much.”

“I don’t mind.” His eyes dart to your face before looking away again.

“That’s good to hear. But I hope you know this means you’re never getting rid of me now,” you tease, nudging him gently.

He doesn’t respond, but for a second, you could have sworn that a corner of his mouth had turned up into a smile.

Learning more about him is like trying to draw blood from a stone, but you do your best. He mentions sharing a room with a cousin. His oma makes the best comfort food. Sometimes his mother takes him into town to buy candy, but he has to hide it or his cousin will steal it. Not that he cares that much—he doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but his family doesn’t come from means, so it means a lot to him whenever his mother spares a few pennies to buy him a frivolity.

It's what he doesn’t say that tells you the most about him. The way he fidgets with his clothes when he’s nervous. The brief panic that shoots through him whenever you call his name before he relaxes when he realizes it’s just you. The way he shies away from people in the hallways, just to avoid any contact whatsoever.

The fact that he never talks about his father.

The way he curls into himself when he’s being bullied.

“You should be apologizing to me for being in my way right about now, freak,” Andreas taunts him. He’s knocked Alexander’s books to the ground, like some sort of cartoon caricature of a bully, and you’re fed up.

“Hey!” Without missing a beat, you slide yourself between Alexander and Andreas. You’ve recently hit a bit of a growth spurt, so you note with a bit of smugness that you’re at least an inch or two taller than Andreas. You’re also quite a bit taller than Alexander, you realize. The two of you are usually sitting when you talk, so you’ve never really noticed.

“Leave him alone!” You stand your ground even as Andreas fixes you with a withering glare.

“Ah, so you’re gonna let your big strong girlfriend fight your fights now, is that it?” Andreas sneers. Alexander stiffens behind you, and you decide right then and there that you’ve had enough of this nonsense.

“You’re the last person who should be bringing up girlfriends, Andreas,” you say, staring him down with a look that you hope is sufficiently intimidating. “Everybody knows Yulia broke up with you because you can’t get it up.” You don’t know Yulia. You don’t give enough of a shit about Andreas to follow the gossip about him. But by the way his cheeks get ruddy, you know you’ve struck a nerve. The handful of spectators your little confrontation has attracted snicker.

“You little bitch,” he snarls. You hear the gasp of the students surrounding you before you feel it. You put a hand to your rapidly reddening cheek.

The little twerp had slapped you.

“That’s what you get for getting in my way,” he says, with a smug little look that you want to wipe off his face.

You’re not a violent person. And honestly, you could have been expelled for what happens next. But you cast a quick glimpse behind you at Alexander on the ground, and something about the look in his eyes reminds you of that bird you rescued, and a quick and hot anger rises in you.

You punch Andreas.

With no wind-up, no warning, you break his nose, and he drops like a rock, howling and clutching at the blood pouring from his nostrils. A sick little giggle comes out of you as you watch, drowned out by the uproar of your little audience.

“What on earth is going on here?!” You hear a teacher roar, and the crowd quickly begins to scatter. Without hesitation, you pull Alexander up and escape before you can be subjected to the consequences of your actions.

“Boy, am I glad he didn’t put up more of a fight,” you say gleefully, high on adrenaline. “That could have gotten quite ugly.”

“I didn’t know you had that in you,” Alexander says when the two of you have gotten far away enough. The way he looks at you now is a little different—almost reverent.

“I didn’t know either!” you say. “I’ve never done that before!”

“Who knew such a pretty rose had such sharp thorns?” he mumbles to himself. Your eyes zip to him, and even he looks surprised at the words coming out of his mouth.

“A pretty rose?” you tease, nudging him on the arm. He flushes pink and turns away, but there’s a bit of a lopsided half-smile on his lips.

You’re not sure why, but the sight of it makes your skin tingle.

The first few years of high school are relatively uneventful outside of skirmishes with Alexander’s various tormentors. Your biggest regret is that you can’t always be there for him—sometimes you have to spend your free periods catching up on readings or speaking with teachers. But you’re always there for him afterwards, poison in your voice as you hatch plans to make his bullies’ lives miserable. The plans never go anywhere, but thinking about retribution always seems to make him perk up a little. And really, that’s all that matters to you.

It's silly, how long it took you to realize how much of a fixture he was in your life. There’s a street corner a few blocks from the school you always meet him at so the two of you can walk the rest of the way together. The few times you share classes, you’re always sitting together, exchanging notes and quietly judging your classmates together. And you always, always sit with him during lunch. Even when you start making other friends who surely would welcome you at their tables, you always return to the quiet green-eyed boy in the corner.

You tell yourself it’s because he’s lonely, and he needs the company. You tell yourself the rumors about the two of you are silly, the result of bored hormonal teenagers who can’t fathom being a genuine friend to someone of the opposite sex. You tell yourself it means nothing that your face feels warm whenever he smiles at you.

You never get the chance to figure out if it does mean anything. He gives you the bad news on the last day of classes before summer break.

“I…I see,” you say, trying to swallow past the lump in your throat. For once, you’re at a loss of what to say. His fingers twist around each other in his lap, the way they only do when he’s really anxious.

“Well, a fresh start is good, right?” You offer him a smile, but your heart’s not in it. Maybe you haven’t spent as much time with him as you used to back in first year—you’ve started to take more advanced classes, and you’ve been so swamped with homework and projects that sometimes hanging out with Alexander is put on the back burner. But you’d always taken comfort in knowing that he would always be there at mealtime. A steady presence in your life, as everything around you seems to be speeding towards a future you’re not quite ready for yet.

Now he’s leaving. You’d like to think your concern is for him—what’s to say his new school won’t also be rife with harassment? Will he be able to make new friends? Or will he be all alone at the lunch table again? But really, who are you trying to fool? The sudden heaviness in your chest is selfish. What are you going to do without him?

The roaring in your head stills as you feel his hand cover yours. You stare at it dumbly, unable to lift your head and look him in the eyes. Your gut feels like it’s flipping and twisting all over itself.

You lift your eyes to his. For one breathless, indescribable moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. You’re sure he’s going to kiss you. You lean closer to him, and you can feel his breath on your lips.

Your eyes slide shut.

A shout startles your eyes back open, and he jolts away from you. It’s your mother, calling that she’s here to pick you up. You let out a frustrated noise as you call back to her that you’re coming before turning back to him.

The moment is long gone, and your heart twinges with regret as he avoids meeting your gaze. “You’ll write to me, won’t you?” you say softly. “And we can still see each other?”

“Of course I will, rosethorn,” he says, with that shy little smile you love so much.

You don’t see him for another ten years.

I couldn't utter my love when it counted I couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted Ah, but I'm singing like a bird 'bout it now

It’s ironic, really. Saving birds. Saving boys. But the one person you can’t save is yourself.

Your life post-König is like the drop on a roller coaster, but with none of the thrill. High school flies by in a flurry of deadlines and mental breakdowns. It’s worth it when you get into a good university—at least, you thought so. In reality, there’s no work in Austria for someone with your degree. Your parents are older, well on their way towards retirement, so you find yourself unwilling to burden them. You’re lost, stuck, and so very alone.

And then you meet him.

Tall, handsome, a little older, with a blossoming career. In hindsight, how much of a perfect package he presented himself as was the earliest red flag. But when you’re young and behind on rent, anything better than that feels like a miracle.

You know better, really. You knew it the whole time. Getting married after knowing each other for 2 months isn’t as bad as it could be, but it’s still too quick for your comfort. But the eviction notice was on your door, and he was a perfect gentleman. What could go wrong, right?

Everything. He at least has the decency to keep up the façade for another month, but that’s the only credit you’ll ever give the man you’ve shackled yourself to. It becomes increasingly obvious that he only married you to have a live-in maid while he philanders around as he pleases. You try, oh god do you try, for five long, fruitless years. God, it’s so silly when you think about it. You liked him so much, it took you so long to realize he had never liked you in the first place. He’d scooped up the first desperate college grad he’d found, and thinking about it makes you want to hide from everyone you know.

Which you do: hiding from what few friends you do have, hiding from your parents, hiding from the part of your brain that screams that you’re wasting the best years of your life cleaning up after a grown man who won’t even touch you, much less fuck you. Your 20s are for drinking, one-night stands, and figuring out what the fuck the rest of your life is going to look like. There is plenty of drinking, but the rest of it, not so much.

You’re going to divorce him, you tell yourself in year six. Once you get a job, you’re out. But you’re no fresh grad anymore, and the 6-year gap in your resume isn’t helping matters. You spot a glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel when he tells you you’re moving: his company is offering him a higher paid position, and it’s in a bustling downtown area. Plenty of opportunity for you, right?

That’s when he starts hitting you.

You’re away from your parents, your friends, your home. You took English classes, but that won’t exactly help you in this equally European foreign country whose language you don’t speak. Now that you’re approaching your 30s, your husband seems to be rapidly realizing that his youth is also disappearing. His new job is more stressful, and most days he has no outlet for it other than taking it out on you.

Now you long for the days when he didn’t come home until you’d already fallen asleep.

And then the terror attacks begin, and your once-bustling city shuts down. More isolation. Even less hope. You stay at home all day, torn between hoping someone will get rid of your husband for you and the abject terror of being left all alone in a foreign country torn apart by violent partisans.

That’s when the despair really sets in: you’ve wasted over a decade in this awful, dead-end relationship. Sure, you’ve got a roof over your head and food in your stomach: you should feel grateful. But you don’t.

You start hoping the attacks will take you out instead.

I fled to the city with so much discounted Ah, but I'm flying like a bird to you now Back to the hedgerows where bodies are mounted

“There are mercenaries in town.”

You look up from your breakfast, lost in thought thinking about all the errands you have to run today. “Yeah?”

“About time we stopped relying on our corrupt fucking military,” he grumbles. “Maybe they’ll end this goddamn conflict once and for all.”

You don’t have much to say about that. What does it matter to you, anyway? The only conflict that matters to you lives at home, and you stopped trying to fight it a long time ago.

“The curfew’s a pain in the ass, though. You behave yourself, you hear me?” His sharp glare reminds you that he’s not saying this out of a concern for your safety: if you make trouble for him, you’ll pay for it later. You nod mutely.

Your morning goes by relatively uneventfully. You do the dishes, stare at the wall, sigh, stare at the wall some more. As much of a prison as this apartment is, you like it decently well when he’s not in it. Going outside and seeing the ravages of war all around you is anxiety-inducing. But you can’t put off buying groceries anymore.

The arrival of the mercenaries makes itself immediately apparent. The streets are somehow even emptier, and what people there are on the streets move quickly and cast suspicious glances at everyone else.

You were hoping not to interact with anybody, but your hopes are dashed when you see a checkpoint ahead, manned by soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms. Although most of them are wearing different gear, they still look more orderly and well-kept than the country’s own military. Murder must pay well.

You look around nervously, but there’s no alternate route here, and nobody local going through with you. You strongly consider going home, but you’d just have to do this all over again tomorrow.

You steel yourself with a deep breath.

“Identification?”

You show the mercenary your ID with trembling fingers, gripping your bag tightly and praying he doesn’t find your nervousness suspicious.

“Where are you headed?”

“Just—just down the street,” you say, wincing at your heavy German accent. Years upon years of living here and you still sound like a foreigner. “Getting food.” You’re so anxious you forget the word for “groceries” for a moment. You only know enough of the local language to get by, and you’re sure you must sound like a kindergartener.

The soldier raises an eyebrow at you. “You are German?”

“I…Austrian,” you answer hesitantly. Oh God, you hope there’s no issue with that. You’re not so much afraid of being detained as you are of getting home too late to make dinner.

“Interesting.” The soldier hands back your ID. “Our commander is Austrian, as well.”

You perk up a little bit at that. You’ve met a handful of German-speakers here, but not a single one of your countrymen.

Well. Aside from the one who came here with you.

“He should actually be arriving here any moment now. Big guy in a hood. You can’t miss him. They call him König.” As if on cue, a military grade vehicle pulls up to the checkpoint, military personnel stepping out. And then…

Your blood runs cold.

Nothing, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of the beast that steps out of the car. Even from a short distance, you can tell he’s a colossal size. Two metres tall, easily, wearing a dark hood that reminds you of a medieval executioner. And as if that weren’t intimidating enough, two red trails, like bloody tears, are bleached under his eyes. His eyes, which must have some sort of black paint around them, giving him the impression of being two eyes staring out at you from the pitch blackness of the hood.

Two piercing green eyes.

Trained directly on your face.

Staring in disbelief.

“I…need to return home. I’ve forgotten something.” All worries about appearing suspicious fly out the window as the enormous man in the hood hesitates for a moment before making his way towards you with alarming speed.

You all but fly back down the street, making a beeline for your building. Just a few moments ago, you were excited to meet the man. Now, the image of his eyes staring into yours fills you with a fear you can’t describe.

The next day you take a long detour to avoid the checkpoint. It’ll take you twice as long to get home this time, but it’s worth it. You can’t put the shopping off another day: the brand-new bruise on your arm throbs as a reminder. And you certainly don’t want to run into the hooded soldier again.

You get your shopping done without much fanfare. The old lady cashier, who usually looks at you from over her glasses with the stern look you’ve seen a lot of people around here level at foreigners, even pressed a piece of candy from behind the register into your hand. You’re pretty sure it’s just because she wanted to get rid of it, but it does wonders for your mood.

You’re busy plotting when to enjoy your little treat when you turn a corner and freeze.

He’s here. He’s there, standing in an alleyway near your building. Somehow even larger than you remember him yesterday, still wearing that awful hood.

Does he know where you live? You curse yourself for running straight home yesterday. He must have seen the direction you went in—or did he follow you? You attempt to quietly retreat and take another route home, but your shoe scuffs a paving stone. And like a hawk spotting its prey, his head darts towards you.

You book it.

“Wait!” calls a deep voice. Tears spring to your eyes as you hear heavy footsteps pursuing you. What have you done to deserve this? You’re no criminal. Your only crime is being a naïve dumbass in your twenties.

Your arm burns as you turn corner after corner, not bothering to take note of where you’re going. It’s no use, though: you can hear him gaining on you. Fuck, is this it? You can’t even fathom what he wants you for, and you don’t want to think about it either—

“Rosethorn!” You come to a screeching halt.

There’s only one person who has ever called you that.

You turn around, chest heaving with exertion, as the hooded soldier—König, the soldier said his name was—comes into view, approaching you slowly.

“It’s me,” he says, holding his hands out like he’s approaching a wounded animal. You’re not really sure what the point is, considering the gigantic knife he’s got strapped to his thigh is intimidating all on its own, but somehow it still puts you at ease.

“Alex...?” you whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

“Yes,” he says. His posture has changed from when you saw him at the checkpoint. He’s hunching over, trying to make himself smaller. It reminds you of that first day when you sat next to him at lunch.

It’s him.

You instantly drop all your bags and cling to him in a hug, tears spilling from your eyes. He’s so different: most obviously, he's so tall. He must have hit some growth spurt after he moved away, because he towers over you now. You can feel under all the gear that he’s put on serious muscle—not surprising for a soldier, of course. And when his arms fold themselves over you, you’re filled with a sense of safety you haven’t felt in a long time.

“What are you doing here?” you both ask at the same time. A giggle bubbles out of you as you watch his eyes crinkle in an obvious smile. God, his eyes are so green.

“I’m stationed here because of the conflict,” he says. “But what are you doing here? I contacted your parents, and they said you had moved here, but they didn’t say why.”

You’re not surprised. You’re still in contact with your parents, but you don’t talk about the elephant in your home. You know they would have helped you, if only you had asked for it, but you never have.

“I…it’s complicated,” you say, withdrawing from the hug. You stare at the ground, brushing away the wetness in your eyes.

“I have nothing urgent right now,” he says, staring at you intently.

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I…got married,” you whisper.

Instantly, his body language changes, stiffening in shock. He takes a half-step away from you, which makes you want to cry all over again. This is awful. This is humiliating. You wish you could go back in time and shake some sense into yourself.

“I see,” he says in a strangled voice. “Congratulations.”

Despite your best efforts, the tears spill over again. “No, not congratulations,” you say. “It—”

It was the worst mistake of your life, you want to say, but you just can’t get the words out. He must notice you beginning to quake with fear, because he raises a hand to touch you gently on the arm—right on the bruise.

His stare hardens as he watches you flinch. “Rosethorn, what’s the matter?”

Everything, you want to say. I’m standing in an alleyway with my childhood crush, shaking like a leaf because a monster lives in my house, and I can’t get away from him.

With a feather-like touch surprising for a man with such large hands—he grew so much— he goes to push up your sleeve. You catch a glimpse of the bruise before you have to turn away again, shuddering. It’s ugly: black and green, and very clearly shaped like a human grip.

“I…bumped into a shelf,” you say lamely. You can’t bring yourself to rope him into your troubles. He’s a soldier now, for Pete’s sake. He has bigger problems.

You can’t read his expression due to the hood—but there’s a blazing anger in his eyes you remember all too well. The quiet fury you often saw in him so many years ago.

He must see in your expression that you don’t want to be questioned about it right now, and thankfully, he relents. With an ease in his movement that must stem from some newfound confidence, he reaches over and picks up your bags for you. “Let me carry these for you.”

It’s nice, to be taken care of for once.

Your mad dash took both of you quite far away from your building, so you have enough time for quite a nice little chat. You tell him about your time in university, he tells you what happened to him after he moved away. He’d jumped at the chance to enlist as soon as he turned 17, on the recommendation of an uncle who had spent time in the military. You laugh when he tells you that they wouldn’t let him be a sniper, a pout in his tone. You could have imagined him as a sniper back in high school, but he’s so large now it’s impossible not to notice him.

“The discipline was good for me,” he recounts. “I needed to grow a spine.”

“Don’t say that. You were just trying to get by in school, like everybody else.”

He shrugs. “I wanted to be like you.”

“Like me?” You ask incredulously.

“My rose with thorns,” he says, with a fondness that makes you blush. “Do you remember that day you punched that punk Andreas?”

“How could I forget? My fist hurt for days,” you say with a grin. “But I didn’t regret it for a second.”

He looks down at you—that’s new—with pride in his eyes. “I thought about you that day all throughout training,” he says. “You were my guardian angel.”

Your cheeks grow even warmer, and you feel like a teenager again. How can he still make you feel this way so easily after all this time? “He had a punchable face,” you say dismissively. “If not me, then it would have been someone else.”

You’re almost disappointed to arrive home. Only yesterday, home was your sanctuary. Now, it means being separated from the one person you trust fully in this country. You turn to him, almost bashful. “This is where I live."

He sets the bags down like they’re made of fine china, and he’s standing so close you almost stop breathing. The air is charged, the same way it felt that night when you almost kissed. You watch him as he watches you.

“Can I see you again?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Of course,” you say, and the sparkle in his eye dazzles you.

You watch him leave until you can’t see him anymore. And for once, you enter your home with a light heart.

Remember me, love When I'm reborn As the shrike to your sharp And glorious thorn

if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just drop a reply! feedback is always appreciated, and my inbox is open, so please feel free to drop me an ask! I will 100% write little scenarios/headcanons about this couple because I have so many thoughts and ideas for them lol

I anticipate about 2-3 parts for this, maybe with König pov in the next part? he doesn't come across this way in this part, because it's from Thorn's perspective, but he is a very nasty boy indeed. also, I know putting lyrics in the middle of a fic is so passé, but I can't help myself. it's hozier! indulge me. also this isn't beta read so I really hope it doesn't suck

#bucca writes #könig #könig x reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod #mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig x reader #fic:shrike

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dukecollinsbf · 2 months ago

Text

guess.

if u guessed EVEN MORE OF MY DARLIN OC HEADCANNONS UR CORRECT. sum nsfw

sorry to all. im obsessed w him.

he loves zombie movies. and zombie games. call of duty zombies with his brothers used to be his shit. he was also very competitive. like, before he even hits the floor in the game he's yelling at his brothers to revive him. (im projecting :P)

after being with the pack for a few months, julius was convinced he'd never be a part of the pack like the rest of the teens were. they all already formed their bonds, found themselves in groups; they were a family. julius was just... there. even when asher would force julius to hang out with them, julius would feel so out of place and would just sit quietly

this feeling only grew stronger as he grew older and STILL didn't have any close bonds within the pack. he was fully convinced asher was trying to include him out of pity and it pissed him off. he HATES being pitied

he ALMOST got a tattoo for quinn cus he was young and fully conviced he and quinn were forever

now he has a tattoo of sams name

he also copies sams accent. and milos. and porters. not to be mean, but cus they like the way they talk! they did it with quinn too and he didnt take it well

he punched another pack member for making fun of him once. lol

HUGE RESTING BITCH FACE.

again, guyliner. one of the pack adults (i cant decide which) and julius x that one scene from the dairy of a wimpy kid movie

"are you wearing eyeliner??"

julius also had a crush on rodrick heffley. he wanted him AND wanted to be him.

"IM SORRY WOMEN :/"

he orders food then overthinks the interaction. "wow... i stuttered while asking for cheese on my sandwich... this is the worst thing that has ever happened to me."

not julius, but sam uses emojis properly. especially the sad ones. julius thinks its so cute.

also sam dad bod and chst hair and

me^

as mentioned in past post, he was sent to an empowered tti. he DID escape, but he didnt get to finish highschool cus of it. he makes fun of himself for being a dropout even tho it wasnt even his choice.

again, projecting, but he has an issue with telling others to kts or threatening to khs.

when he was a kid and he found out ur teeth dont fall out til youre like seven he cried cus he wanted money

this is alrdy agreed upon by the fandom but hes a WHORE. and HOT.

hes taller than sam... IM BOUTA BUST

one time when sam went in for a kiss julius turned his head away and went SWERVEDDD and sams face was pure shock and betrayal

he rubs his cheek against sams

bright eyes and sam that one meme

"why does julius call u babygirl?"

"how bout we stop talking for a little while."

baggy jeans.... compression shirt... or.... tight tanktop.... *busts*

slurty waist....... msucles....

neck tattoo........................ and others cus he TATTED

he wears rings too and he has a necklace he like NEVER takes off.

i alrdy said this too but im saying it again he has heterochromia (my twin) hes so sexy im gonna kiss my own oc

BJ KING!!

he bites. in a freaky way and in an intimate way

like he loves sam sm he js needs to bite his bicep or titty pec

he used to smoke. like A LOT

early sam and masc darlin was a homoerotic friendship. i know that sexual tension was crazy.

garfield lover. youll never like garfield like HE likes garf.

HE SUCKS AT GEOGRAPHY SO BAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

the end (for now)... do yall have hcs for my oc cus ill eat them up and send u a million dollars. but also just gimme darlin hcs

AGAIN IM SORRY IM SORRY IF UR SICK OF ME LMFAOO

#are yall sick of me yet #does this count as a #matt yaps #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted darlin #redacted sam #redacted quinn #redacted headcanons

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johnwickb1tsch · 9 months ago

Text

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 12 all chapters

- Lunch is a lovely affair in a quaint little trattoria that has been making world class dishes since the turn of the previous century. It seems like every inch of this city is steeped in history. The prices on the menu would blow your whole daily budget on one meal. But the scampi alla Veneziana is out of this world, and you force yourself to eat slowly, and not just inhale the perfectly prepared shrimp and noodles with a delicate lemon olive oil dressing.

John's friend, Julius, is a kind and utterly elegant older man who accepts your presence at the table with kingly grace. They speak in a mixture of Italian and English, the latter you think is for your benefit. John very generously includes you in the conversation, telling Signor Castellari that you are an artist, talking you up to what you feel is an exaggerated degree. Julius asks to see your work, and you let him flip through your new sketch book. Your drawings are a mixture of studies and whimsical travelogue, and it feels like you’re baring a piece of your soul, but he’s so gracious you feel you can’t say no.

There is more than one sketch of Mr. Wick in those pages you did from memory with an aching heart, but the old man is kind enough not to call you out on it, or even draw John’s attention to it. You think if he did, you would simply crawl under the table and die of embarrassment.

He exclaims over an ink and watercolor pencil plein air you did in Rome of a sunset over St. Peters with the Sant’Angelo bridge in the foreground, saying it reminds him of a special day when he was a much younger man. You offer to let him keep it, and he seems truly delighted.

You watch with some surprise as John produces what looks like a razor-sharp knife from seemingly nowhere to carefully cut the page from your book. Julius accepts it like a precious treasure, and you are flattered to your toes.

Then John and Julius chat about older books, and Julius produces a very old looking volume, handing it over for the younger man’s perusal. As he runs his hands over the leather cover John’s eyes shine with an almost childish delight—its utterly adorable.

While they are gushing over the antique tome two intimidating men in dark suits approach the table, fixing John with a hard look. One of them has a gnarly scar bisecting his brow. They say something that sounds none too friendly. You catch the name d’Antonio—but John waves them off with a glare, insisting, “Sono ritrirato.”

You’re pretty sure that means I’m retired.

Julius watches the exchange with a sadness in his eyes you don’t understand.

Finally after some grumbling the tough men go away. John watches them with eyes sharp as a hawk’s, and something in the back of your brain titters a little warning. But you’re having too lovely of a time with Signor Castellari, so you ignore it.

When you part ways Julius kisses your cheeks and takes your hands in his. “Be good to him, bella,” he says with a glance to John. “No one I know deserves happiness more than him.”

You don't want to contradict him about your actual relationship with John, so you just nod.

Later you ask, “Did you tell him we're...”

“No, but even if I told him we weren't, he wouldn't have believed me. Sorry. I hope that didn't make you uncomfortable...”

“It's fine,” you say, not offended in the least.

It’s more than fine.

It's incredibly flattering, really, that he thought the two of you could be a match. You're fairly sure you look like an unsophisticated street urchin next to Mr. John Wick.

“Where would you like to go now?” John asks with a little smile, as though he knows you've been hopelessly turned around for the past two days. You’ve managed to find the big landmarks, like the Piazza San Marco and the Doge’s Palace. It’s the smaller sights that have escaped you.

“Let’s go for a walk,” you suggest, wanting to see the city, and knowing you will finally get to do it unmolested with the forbidding figure of John towering at your side.

You are standing on a bridge, watching gondolas go by, when he asks you, “If I told you I have a reservation at Casa Nova, would you have dinner with me?”

You press your lips nervously. Lunch is one thing, you know, and dinner something else entirely. Two people alone together in an intimate setting, sharing a meal over candlelight with good wine...the thought sends a thrill to the tips of your fingers that’s so intense it’s almost painful.

“I don't have anything to wear to a place like that,” you admit. You read about it in a Condé Nast magazine on the plane, and you’re pretty sure it has at least one Michelin star. “I'm backpacking. My dresses are literally all rolled up in a bundle.”

He chuckles at that, a low sound that tugs at your abdomen. He leans a little closer on the railing, and not for the first time this day you just wish he would kiss you.

“What if...I took you shopping?”

You raise an eyebrow to that. “Are you trying to be my sugar daddy, Mr. Wick?” You mean it as a joke, but suddenly there is something electric in the air between you. John's initial embarrassment sharpens to something almost…predatory.

It catches your breath in your throat.

“Do you want a sugar daddy, y/n?”

You laugh it off nervously, your heart skittering about in your chest.

“Very funny.”

You have a feeling he wasn’t joking at all.

However, like a gentleman he lets you have the out, but doesn't drop the shopping offer.

“Let's go to the Calle Larga,” he says, and out of pure curiosity you agree.

John's idea of shopping is taking you to Gucci.

The impeccable store is filled with beautifully crafted but honestly kind of boring goods, arbitrarily priced at a thousand dollars or more a piece. John fits in perfectly with the smartly dressed clientele, but you? You feel so incredibly out of place amidst the filthy rich people in the shop, and when you look at the price tag on the only dress you vaguely like you think you might break out in hives.

“John...”

You don't recognize it just yet, but you call him John when you're agitated, and Mr. Wick when you're feeling playful.

He senses the desperation in that one word, and he takes you by the hand, leading you outside.

“I'm sorry...” you say, because you feel stupid, and not posh enough by half to pull off any of the clothes in that high-end boutique. You are a bonafide gremlin, compared to the unearthly creatures in there. You do not belong, and maybe you’re a coward, but a part of you wishes John would just let you go back to your own plans for the evening. A long solo walk, a cheap slice of pizza, inevitably get lost in the maze of streets and canals, draw a little or read some of your book, before returning to your hard, lumpy hostel bed alone, where you can’t make a fool of yourself.

“Don't be,” he says with an amused little smile that makes your tide of panic recede a little. “I like it that you know this stuff is bullshit,” he soothes you.

“I just...it’s so out of my wheel house.” You could have paid nearly four months rent for what that dress had cost.

He nods. “It takes some getting used to,” he admits. “I certainly wasn't born into this.”

You wonder if he’ll ever tell you about his earlier life, but sense this isn’t the time or place to press him.

“I just don't want you to spend your hard-earned money on stupid things for me.”

“I’m not saying I didn’t work hard for my money…” he offers with a wan little smile. “But it would make me happy to spend it on you. If it would make you happy.”

You look at him for a long time. He meets your gaze, not flinching. There’s something different about him here. He’s more…open with you, perhaps? It takes some getting used to. He’d never outright admitted his interest in you before, always circling around it, and you wonder what’s changed.

Maybe not even John Wick is immune to the romantic atmosphere of il bel paese.

“Why are you being so good to me?”

“I like you, y/n. If you haven't noticed.” The corner of his mouth quirks at that.

It makes you sigh.

“I like you too, Mr. Wick.”

He makes a small sound in the back of his throat.

“You can call me John.”

“But do you want me to call you John?” you tease.

He moves a fraction closer, looming over you, and for a heart stopping moment you think maybe now he might finally kiss you?

“Depends,” he admits, his voice gone a little rough, but he doesn't elaborate further.

You feel as though you have a live electric wire sparking under your skin.

He steps back a little, and again you feel the loss of him like an ache over your heart. You continue to stroll down the street. You are not entirely sure how your hand ends up in his, only that it is there, and you are content.

None of the high fashion shops really interest you, until you pass by the window of Dolce and Gabbana, and your feet involuntarily slow as you take in the maximalist riot of glitz and color on the mannequin. You've always admired their wildly bedazzled designs, flaming hearts and candy colored jewels with copious gold embroidered trim. Maybe you’re just a crow-brained peasant who’s impressed by shiny things, but they look so fun.

John smiles a little, as though he’s finally answered some question to himself about you. “Aha,” he says teasingly, and you sigh, restraining yourself from pressing your nose to the window like a child outside a candy store.

“Can we just…look?”

You are trying to be reasonable.

“We can.”

As it turns out, you want one of everything in the store.

It's all so over the top, the designs are so artistic and ridiculous and unabashedly joyful, from bejeweled purses to crown-adorned headphones, loud floral dresses and majolica printed silk scarves, and you fight not to betray which pieces catch your eye because you're afraid John might buy them all.

He is drinking in your enjoyment, looking utterly pleased.

Even just the store itself is utterly breathtaking inside, crystal chandeliers, inlaid marble floors and stone pillars. Gilded crown moulding and inlaid wood trim. You could just sit and look at this place like it’s a museum, you reckon.

John is not looking at the building though. He watches you browse with eyes that miss nothing, and it makes you squirm a little. You feel so seen. You’re not sure you like it, like you’ve been caught in the act of enjoying something that you know is absurd.

You feel absolutely silly.

“Try something on,” he urges you. To be practical, you decide to try on a black lace dress. Just in case you might like it. And a pair of black platform wedges printed with crimson red roses…because you can actually walk in them, so it makes sense, you know...

When you exit the dressing room John's gaze darkens, his pupils blown wide with desire, and once again you sense that predatory edge in him. If you had any sense you might have been scared, or at least cautious—but all it does is give you the most exquisite chills, an aching sense of anticipation, and an excess of moisture pooled between your thighs.

“That one,” he confirms, and for the way he looks at you, like you are a bunny in the woods he'd like to eat up whole, the outrageous price of the ensemble seems like a bargain.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick x you #keanu reeves x reader #john wick fic #keanu reeves #bittersweet john wick imagine #john wick imagine #i couldn't find julius's last name?#anyone kno?#yandere john wick

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brokenwinebox · 2 months ago

Text

What’s Your Character’s Theme Song?

A song breakdown for the characters of Jeremy Allen White, Lionel Boyce, Matty Matheson, and Ricky Staffieri. It will discuss the connections other people and I made for the characters Carmy, Marcus, Neil Fak, and Ted Fak.

↓ long text below

Jeremy Allen White

Jeremy Allen White, who ironically, is about to play Bruce Springsteen in the upcoming Bruce Springsteen film, said that Carmy’s theme song would be “The Ties That Bind.”

The expression 'the tie that binds' is used to describe a common idea or belief that links people together. It can also be used plurally as 'the ties that bind'. For example, you may say: ''We are family, held together by the ties that bind. Nothing will tear us apart. (x)

This is when it gets interesting. The Ties That Bind is an opening song for his fifth album called The River.

The songs on The River reveal a tension between the need for community and the need to be alone. "The Ties That Bind", along with "Two Hearts" and "Out in the Street", is one of the key songs on the album about the need for community. (x)

This feels so incredibly reminiscent on the struggles of Carmy. His driving force to fully isolate himself to those he cares about while probably also feeling like he needs the people he’s pushed away.

This also reminded me of @espumado’s post The Night Of The Hunter & The River which was then talked about by @currymanganese’s post on the potential parallels between two romantic relationships in the The Night Of The Hunter and The Bear.

There’s so many weird horror elements in the show. Which is interesting because in this picture we see a revised 2nd edition of The Exorcist! So how farfetched is it to see those elements on the show. Especially this season!

I mentioned before in my post, “Fourth Wall (being broken)” that the Save It For Later song could be about Carmy being lost and it became a reflection to the season. I can’t help but wonder if Save It For Later could have multiple meanings for each character.

@happylikeasadsong broke down some lyrics of the song and explains what it could do with Sydney’s decision.

Lionel Boyce

Lionel Boyce said Sèrgio Mendes, “Ides Of March.” for his character Marcus’ before realizing that’s probably not the name of the song. It was actually “Waters of March��

Sèrgio Mendes is most known for his song, Mas Que Nada, which translates to whatever and anyway. In this article I read, they call him a bossa nova king and Mendes explains how life is about magical encounters.

This is probably a funny coincidence but I actually know a song named Soul Bossa Nova by Quincy Jones. It was playing on a playlist that’s about songs you’d hear during magic shows. (x) (x) (x)

Although, Ides of March wasn’t the name of the song and I write metas for The Bear (AKA I’m insane), I did research on both to see what I can find!

Ides of March, day in the ancient Roman calendar that falls on March 15 and is associated with misfortune and doom. It became renowned as the date on which Roman dictator Julius Caesar was assassinated in 44 bce and was further immortalized in the tragedy Julius Caesar by English dramatist William Shakespeare.

On the topic of William Shakespeare, @currymanganese has a post on The Bear being a super deconstructed Shakespearean pastoral comedy.

It was then corrected to Waters of March. I tried to find the meaning for that particular song by Sérgio Mendes but it all lead to “Water Of March” by Antônio Carlos Jobim.

The inspiration for "Águas de março" came from Rio de Janeiro's rainiest month. March is typically marked by sudden storms with heavy rains and strong winds that cause flooding in many places around the city. The lyrics and the music have a constant downward progression much like the water torrent from those rains flowing in the gutters, which typically would carry sticks, stones, bits of glass, and almost everything and anything. Antonio Carlos Jobim wrote the song during a visit to his family rancho, in the interior of Rio de Janeiro state amid a steady rainstorm which had turned the roads and landscape to mud.

sticks and stones may break my bones, (but words can never hurt me) - said in order to show that people cannot be hurt by unpleasant things that are said to them (x)

When it comes to mud, I was immediately reminded of @whenmemorydies’s post on Claire being clear [as] mud. (Which I’ll go a bit more into depth in another post). I’m also fairly certain @ago0112 talked about it as well!

I talked about the topic of glass in my previous meta, The Glass Table & The Glass Fish Tank, where I found parallels to Claire and Donna. Those comparisons got a little confirmed in the script of (2.02).

I did some research on the scripts about Claire on (2.02) as well.

In the post, there was a bit of a deep dive on the potential meaning of glass/shattered glass and here’s one of them I found a connection to.

Connection between the fragility of glass and the human condition: Glass can be tough, but it becomes fragile when it faces too much pressure. Similarly, people can be strong, but life's challenges can make us feel a bit delicate. The broken glass helps us see that we all have both strength and vulnerability inside us, teaching us about the balance between being tough and sensitive in our own lives.

When it talked about how broken glass helps us see that we all have both strength and vulnerability inside us, teaching us about the balance between being tough and sensitive in our own lives, I was reminded of this particular thebearfx’s post:

After that, I recalled dialogue that I wrote about in my post on Richie being a fox and a caterpillar. In this scene, Natalie and Richie talk about the soul of the dining room in (3x07).

Richie: [scoffs] “Dining room sounds like shit.” Natalie: “Like, the acoustics?” Richie: “No. It’s like, the soul, you know? It’s like--Service sounds like total chaos.” Natalie: “Every day can’t be perfect.” Richie: “Every day is like the Super Bowl. I could use a lightning bolt.” Natalie: “Can’t control the weather.”

In Waters of March, there’s a reference to a fox in a brush.

The oak when it blooms A fox in the brush A knot in the wood The song of a thrush (x)

What’s so fascinating about this particular rabbit hole is about what it all potentially means for Marcus as a character.

The song is about spring in Brazil as an allegory for life: how it continues on despite our best efforts to control it. It reminds us how with the ugly, comes the beautiful. (x)

The ugliness could be about death while the beauty of it is what the love he has for his mother could inspire for Marcus.

The plan of the house, the body in bed, the car that got stuck, it’s the mud, it’s the mud. a float, a drift, a flight, a wing, a hawk, a quail, the promise of spring.

He had become frustrated with the difficulties the rain was causing for the construction of a new boundary wall along his property line. The skies rained from above while chaos reigned below, as plainly stated in the lyrics: “It’s the mud, it’s the mud…” With plenty of time to contemplate the situation, Jobim created a modern parable for daily life. (x)

I’ll certainly talk about all of this in a separate post (whenever that will be) but there’s so many small details that evolve into a beautiful narrative.

The Coca-Cola Jingle

youtube

Coca-Cola tapped Antonio Carlos Jobim for the rights to his ‘Águas de Março’, giving new lyrics to ‘The Waters of March’ to make the jingle a worldwide sensation. Jobim even became a celebrity spokesman for Coke in a relationship that lasted for several years. (x)

Coca Cola is one of the most popular soft drinks in the world. In doing my research, I found an article talking about how design elements of the soft drink’s logo clearly portray the idea of energy, fun, and good times.

The recent 2021 hug version logo of the brand was termed as “magical” and “genius” by designers. It ended up being introduced with a new tagline as “real magic.” Apparently, it’s considered magical because you can imagine the bottle even when it is not there.

There’s even a well-known story about the white and red logo being inspired by the brand’s first advertisement that featured Santa Claus wearing his red and white suit with a bottle in his hands. (x)

@vacationship made an analysis on the green and red sauce and the potential importance of its symbolism.

Sydney and Claire have an interesting parallel with coke. I actually found that little connection earlier but didn’t know it had any relevance to this until now.

(Sydney pouring/drinking coke after the scene of the group being at Marcus’ mother’s funeral isn’t a coincidence.)

Matty Matheson

Matty Matheson chose Hakuna Matata for his character Neil Fak. The Bear’s instagram account also talked about how he is a master mocktail maker.

Hakuna matata roughly translates to “there are no troubles” in Swahili. The phrase was popularized in English by the 1994 Disney movie The Lion King, where it's translated as “no worries.” It has a connotation of not worrying about things outside a person's control. The movie popularized the phrase internationally, making it a cultural staple and synonymous with Disney's family-friendly brand.

'Hakuna matata' is Swahili for 'no worries'. As such, it is the perfect catchphrase for Timon and Pumbaa, as it perfectly reflects their relaxed, devil-may-care attitude to life. (x)

@outmakingmoonshine has discussed the possibility that the Faks are the inner voice/imaginary friends for the protagonist (Carmy).

Are they suggesting Pumbaa, Timon, and Simba are Neil Fak, Ted Fak, and Carmy?

The Lion King was released on June 15, 1994, receiving critical acclaim for its music, story, themes, and animation. With an initial worldwide gross of $763 million, it finished its theatrical run as the highest-grossing film of 1994 and the second-highest-grossing film of all time, behind Jurassic Park (1993).

Timon: Hey, where you going? Simba: Nowhere. Timon: Gee. He looks blue. Pumbaa: I'd say brownish-gold. Timon: No, no, no, no. I mean he's depressed. Pumbaa: Oh. Pumbaa: Kid, what's eatin' ya? Simba: Who cares? I can't go back. Timon: Ahh. You're an outcast! That's great; so are we! Pumbaa: What cha do, kid? Simba: Something terrible. But I don't wanna talk about it. Timon: Good. We don't wanna hear about it. Pumbaa: Come on Timon. Anything we can do? Simba: Not unless you can change the past.

Simba: Hakuna matata? Pumbaa: Yeah. It’s our motto! Simba: What’s a motto? Timon: Nothin’ what’s a motto with you?! (laughs) Pumbaa: Hakuna matata: These two words will solve all your problems. (x) (x) (x)

Carmy could have a side of him that feels outcasted by the rest of the group (there was also a group chat he had no idea about) so he conjured up another set of outcasts that promote a motto and philosophy to solve all of his problems.

Neil Fak is the naive/childlike aspects of himself that I suspect Carmy got from his childhood with his mother. I can’t help but wonder if the Faks representing Carmy’s inner voice was only applied to the dumpster scene when I found dialogue about how nice it is in the office before Carmy called Sydney nice after checking her out. Does it only apply when they’re all alone together?

As with many characters in The Lion King, Pumbaa's name derives from the East African language Swahili. In Swahili, pumbaa (v.) means "to be foolish, silly, weakminded, careless, negligent."

Richie and Carmy calls Neil Fak a bitch in (3x02)

Neil Fak: “Nat, the vibe’s weird.”

Carmy: “You’re such a fucking bitch.”

Richie: “You’re such a bitch.”

Natalie: “I know, sweetheart. Don’t be scared.”

Most of these could probably best describe Neil Fak (and even Carmy perhaps) but I wonder about the negligence of his character. Is this about the lack of real tools of his? Another detail that I’m not sure connects here is that Neil Fak mentioned being afraid of boxes to Ted Fak.

Warthogs regularly come into contact with villages and people. When this happens, they usually cause havoc, scampering through a garden or village and making a mess of everything. There is one Pumbaa adjective that is correct. They can be lazy. Rather than digging their own burrows, they will often just use the burrowed home of other animals. (x)

I remember this dialogue vividly, but there was a scene where the Faks asked Donna if they could stay over her house during Christmas.

Neil Fak: “Do you think that we can sleepover—” Donna: “There’s no sleepovers at Christmas. What the fuck?” Neil Fak: “No, we can sleepover.” Donna: “No, you can’t sleepover on Christmas. No. Mm-mmm.” Neil Fak: “No? No. Big Neil got us skateboards.” Donna: “You know what? Shut up. Michael!” Neil Fak: “Michael hid ‘em.” Donna: “Hey, Michael. Get in here. Mike? The Faks are asking me stupid things—”

(The fact that there’s a Hakuna Matata reference after Hulu is bought by Disney is also not lost on me.)

Timon is a historical Greek name, taken to mean "he who respects." Timon's name may derive from Shakespeare's tragedy Timon of Athens, another Shakespeare reference in a film which derives its plot from Hamlet. The tragedy is based in the history of the real Timon of Athens, a famous misanthrope during the era of the Peloponnesian War, who refused life in Athens to live isolated. Another explanation is that he is named after the Greek philosopher Timon, a disciple of Pyrrho, the founder of the school of skepticism. (x) (x) (x)

I happened to stumble upon another Shakespeare reference. If Timon is meant to be Ted Fak then this is going to be a bit ironic because of what Ted Fak’s theme song is!

Ricky Staffieri

Ricky Staffieri chose Back Then by Mike Jones for the theme song of his character, Ted Fak. Ironically, this song is vulgar in nature with calling woman “hoes” and all.

In the same meta I mentioned earlier, @outmakingmoonshine talked about Ted being sex driven and maybe representative of Carmy’s primal mind.

We also have @thoughtfulchaos773 having a post on the inappropriate double entendre jokes on the show.

I never really listened to the lyrics until about two months ago, but now that I have, they’re pretty amazing. On the surface, it’s a vulgar song about “hoes,” but on a deeper, more philosophical level, it’s an anthem about self-confidence. The overall message in Jones’ song is that the ladies in his life were never really gave him the time of day until he started to make it big. When you really listen to the message of the words – and not necessarily the words themselves – a lot of it is just him spewing the harsh truth. I think it speaks to all of the ugly ducklings out there, or the really shy people who never put themselves out there until they found themselves later on in life. That cute girl in middle school or high school who is now a bombshell? Yeah, she remembers how you treated her. (x)

Claire always told Carmy about their past history when they were young but Carmy seemed to have no recollection of it.

After reading this analysis on its philosophical meaning, I couldn’t help but wonder what it all meant pertaining to Ted Fak. Do we really know anything about Ted Fak’s history in high school besides Carmy? I just got a sudden wave of theories that this is referring to Carmy.

For Ted Fak, maybe this is about being treated poorly in high school. Now, he ended up working for a popular food establishment with very sudden attention from woman which had never happened before.

For Carmy, Ted Fak could be the more anxiety/primitive ridden version of him.

The reason I talk about the anxiety aspect is because some people have the personal experience of saying things they don’t mean when they have anxiety. Ted Fak could be representing the brutal ‘truths’ that Carmy could or don’t really mean.

Anxiety activates people’s fight or flight instinct When someone has an anxiety disorder, they'll often feel intense fear towards possible threats and dangers. For someone with a social anxiety disorder, this could be crowds or social events, whereas for someone with generalised anxiety disorder (GAD), their fear could be focused on a broad range of potential scenarios, such as losing their job, damaging their friendships or getting into accidents. These thoughts cause people to experience symptoms of anxiety such as an increased heartbeat, shortness of breath and nausea. This is because thinking about the possible dangers activates their fight or flight instinct. Irritability is a symptom of anxiety When a person is experiencing anxiety, they'll often be more irritable than usual. This is a common symptom of many types of anxiety disorder. (x)

The increased heartbeat caught my attention because Claire noticed his heart was beating fast in a scene before it cuts to Carmy looking at a clock in (3x04).

The other part of the song I absolutely love is: “I ain’t got no time to call her. I’ma stall her like she stalled me, now she trying to call me; (girl) I’ma dog your whole ass like you dogged me.”

I can’t lie. I laughed so hard when I saw this lyric. Like damn, I wonder who exactly this could refer to here? It could be about Kelly but I’ll have to do more digging to figure that out.

I can’t speak for everyone in the world, but I know that I have an elephant-like memory when it comes to people how people treat me – whether it was in middle school, high school, college, or recently. I’m a firm believer in that unless someone gives you a reason to treat them like dirt, you shouldn’t. I know that I don’t pay any mind to people – not just girls – who treated me like crap and are now trying to make like everything is OK. Respect is earned, not given with me; I believe people can change (to a degree), but it will take time for someone to earn my trust and respect, if violated.

This is when we get the depiction of respect and how it’s earned, not given. Does Carmy respect Claire and vise versa?

I didn’t really get the vibe that Claire was a mean person or a bully with the way she spoke about her and Carmy’s history. But what if she scrubbed the ugly parts of it?

It’s making me ponder whether Carmy felt bitter that Claire suddenly had this interest in him because he’s well known as a chef now. It’s even more bizarre because they were both in New York. Mikey told her about Carmy’s chef adventures by the time of Christmas. Why didn’t Claire reach out to him then? Did it really take Mikey passing away for her to make a move?

There was discussion between @devisrina, @thoughtfulchaos773, and I about this. This is when I had the thought that Claire might’ve started talking to Carmy to humor herself and her friends because Carmy was the loner in high school. It was after the scripts came out and we discovered Claire was originally supposed to be blonde like Carmy’s mother. There’s so many questions on whether Claire and Carmy really had a crush on each other.

The Phone Number

I’m at the early stages of what I hope will be a very successful sports reporting career, so some people have reached out for various reasons (advice, recommendation, etc.). I’m happy to try and help the people who treated me well, but I almost want to laugh at the people who treated me like dirt and are now asking for a favor, however small. Mike Jones may use more colorful language than I would have had I wrote this song, but its underlying message is essentially the Golden Rule laced with profanity: Treat others the way you would want to be treated.

Something that I thought was interesting, was that Mike Jones rapped his phone number into the song. The most obvious parallel to this is that Carmy (purposely?) gave her the wrong number when they reunited by the grocery store fridges.

They see that I'm a star, now they wanna sit in my car Now they wanna count my cheese, smoke my weed and sip my barre now They used to love to me diss me, now they rush to hug and kiss me now They tellin' all they friends when I leave how they miss me now (281) 000-000 Hit Mike Jones up on the low cause Mike Jones about to blow Befo' the ice was in my grill, before I got my major deal These hoes wouldn't give a damn if I was ill, geah (x)

Apparently, ice on grills is a thing in the cooking industry. Graham Elliott revealed in an interview that his trick for making better burgers is pressing an ice cube into the middle of the patty before grilling.

“And if you're worried about the ice cubes making your burgers cold or wet — don't! The ice melts pretty quickly so no one will even know they were there.” <- This just felt reminiscent to my theory on Claire being an illusion. (x) (x)

Chef Graham Elliot Remembers Charlie Trotter “Famed Chicago chef Charlie Trotter died on Tuesday at age 54. Graham Elliot joined Charlie Trotter’s at age 21, and worked in his kitchens for three years.”

It seems important to note that Graham Elliot had three years of experience with Charlie Trotter.

Chef, mentor, trailblazer, philosopher, artist, teacher, leader. These are the words that immediately come to mind when I think of Charlie Trotter, or CHT, as he was referred to by the team. Rarely does one encounter an individual that can both inspire and frighten you with his (almost perverse) dedication to excellence and perfection. I learned his philosophic approach to cooking, and that everything was of equal importance. That you had to be your own toughest critic. That we weren’t in the “food industry” but in the “make it happen” business. To this very day, I try to foster the same ideals in my team: That the food you put on the plate, the way you keep your knives sharp, the way you wipe down your station—all of those represent who you are as a person. (x)

@moodyeucalyptus recently tagged me in their post discussing the documentary about Charlie Trotter and the similarities with Carmy’s asshole boss. I don’t think it’s a coincidence I found this connection.

We know that Carmy was buying very expensive food ingredients/supplies and helped Claire’s mother with moving boxes. (Not to mention, he was literally moving boxes with Claire like he was doing with the Faks.)

As @outmakingmoonshine pointed out, Carmy had a problem with Richie calling Sydney sweetheart in the very first episode but didn’t really seem to care about Claire being called a piece of ass by Ted Fak. The only thing he did was clarify what he meant and that was it.

Is it possible he didn’t really flinch because these were his thoughts about her for a while and has been trying to navigate through his true feelings for her?

What really caught my eye was the smoke my weed part. Funnily enough, in season three, we see Claire and Carmy share a cigarette.

Claire: “Can you just not make this weird? Like, I need a favor. My cousin bailed on me.”

Did he feel a certain way after doing that favor for her? Which would explain why he asked her for a favor too and struggled to explain why he gave her a fake number. Carmy mentioned how he liked her alot at the party. Did he think it wasn’t anything more than what it was, exchanging favors?

Claire: “You know he, uh he told me you guys are really close and he’s your best friend.” Carmy: “Fak said that?” Claire: “Mhm.” Carmy: “No no no. Fak’s not my best friend.” Claire: “Really?” Carmy: “No no he is. He’s probably my best friend.” Claire: “That’s interesting. To sit with. For you.”

I thought Claire saying this was very strange because I couldn’t grasp whether she was saying a lighthearted joke or making fun of him.

Considering the new information thebearfx had given, did Carmy sense that? Especially when Jones talked about how they wouldn’t care if he was ill. It felt so reminiscent to Claire leaving Carmy in the fridge after he said things that were more concerning rather than hurtful.

Maybe Carmy didn’t realize the type of relationship it was until it was too late.

Thank you so much for reading!! This seems so convoluted. I made a good majority of this on August 7th. Feel free to call me insane for this rabbit hole (I’m well aware of how insane I look). There’s alot of information that I just discovered recently besides this meta but I don’t even know how to put it in the proper words. So, bear with me for a bit lmao. Fair warning, the topic of animals, gardens, plants, water, glass, and cigarettes might come back in a good majority of my metas for now. Hopefully I’ll be able to properly explain why later lol.

#the magic trick #the bear is a magic show #i have alot to unpack for this one #feel free to give me your interpretations of it!#i’ll probably go more in depth with most of this in separate posts soon hopefully #jeremy allen white #lionel boyce #matty matheson #ricky staffieri #sydcarmy meta #the bear meta #carmy berzatto #anti claire bear #anti claire dunlap #marcus brooks #neil fak #ted fak #the bear fx #the bear

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starheart-blog · 5 months ago

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Julius The Cartoon Cat au memes with Julius The Cartoon Cat au X reader aka Y/N memes.

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magicalbuttertarts · 3 months ago

Note

heyyy, will you write for Taylor Rotunda/Bo Dallas/Uncle Howdy?

if yes, how about being Taylor’s girlfriend(also a wrestler) but not part of the Wyatt Sick6 and Chad Gable decides to bring Taylor’s girlfriend into their feud? maybe she even ends up injured because of Gable and the Creed Brothers?

thanks🫶

WWE Masterlist

Daydream

Bo Dallas/Uncle Howdy x f/Reader

This has not been proofread. Please enjoy though.

Warnings: mentions someone getting hurt, but no descriptive fights. Mentions black eye, blood, & broken arm.

Requested by anonymous. I hope you like it.

Gifs do not belong to me: @mxmoth

WC: 649

Charles - Chad, Drew - Brutus, Jacob - Julius, Samuel - Dexter

Today started out just like any other day.

My girlfriend and I got to the venue as we always like to get a layout of the place, even more so if the place has been renovated.

After a kiss goodbye, she went and joined Chelsea, and I went off to find Samuel, but I kept an eye out for Chad and his two cronies, Drew and Jacob.

I have gotten word that she would be brought into our feud, even though we agreed to keep our loved ones out of the feud.

When I told her what I heard, all she said to me was, "I'll be fine baby. They have been good so far."

But how wrong she was.

I was with Samuel, going over tonight's strategies, when I heard the sound of people running.

I saw what looked to be paramedics being shown where to go.

Then I heard my name being called over the PA. I followed behind the paramedics, with Samuel right behind me, and what I saw will forever be seared into my mind.

My girlfriend, sitting up against the wall her arm bent at an odd angle, blood pouring from her nose, and what looked to be a black eye starting.

She had bruises on what looked to be all over her body.

All the voices and noise faded into the background as I slowly walked towards her, wishing that this was all a daydream and that she wasn't hurt.

Chelsea was standing off to the side, telling what happened.

"I walked out of the room to take an important phone call, and when I came back in, not even seven minutes later, I saw Samuel, Drew and Jacob standing over top her and she was covering her face..."

I zoned out after that, already hearing what I needed to hear.

I got down beside her, and touched her gently, and she flinched slightly.

"It's me baby." I told her.

She slowly turned her head to look at me.

"I am sorry. I should have protected you." I started to apologise even more, as she sat there and stared at me.

I could see all the pain and emotions on her face. She didn't deserve this. No one deserved this.

I felt a hand on my knee and I looked down to see it was her, and she squeezed my knee.

"You did not do this. They broke the agreement. No loved ones were to be involved."

"Excuse me, sorry to interrupt, but we have to take her to the hospital now. Besides her arm, she may have a few broken ribs. She has to be checked out."

I got up and let the paramedics get her on the stretcher.

We walked down the hallway, to where the ambulance is, and I didn't look at anyone as we walked by.

Just as she was being placed in the ambulance, and I was going to join her in the back, she asked for a moment.

"You stay here and get back at them. Make them pay for what they did to me."

"But baby, I should be with you." I insisted, but she shook her head, no.

"I will be fine. You stay here with guys, and plan your revenge. Those three should know that this will not be pushed aside."

I leaned down and gently cupped her face, kissing her, muttering how much I love her.

Once she pulled back, she looked at me with so much love in her good eye.

"I love you to, Taylor."

I watched as the ambulance drove off. Not moving from my spot until I couldn't see it anymore.

Samuel stood next to me, waiting for to do or say something.

I crossed my arms across my chest. "We got work to do. This will not go unpunished. They hurt the woman I love, they will pay."

Tag list: @lghockey @nicoleveno14 @madhatterbri @legit9thlunaticwarrior @hooks-martin @wwenhlimagines @melissahausen @faerieofthenightcourt @tahiri-veyla @crowleysqueenofhell

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wardenparker · 10 months ago

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The King's Queen - chapter 8

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Prince Javier of the Balearic Islands has always known that one day he would have to follow in his father's footsteps to be the caring and steadfast king that his people deserve. What he did not know is that he would be stepping into the next phase of his life alongside a woman he has never met before - and amidst a rocky sea of unusual circumstances of every kind.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 7k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: arranged marriage, age gap, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, mentions of American politics, deceased parents* Unnecessarily sexy use of a mirror, lingerie, size kink, loss of virginity, praise/worship, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex Summary: The night is finally here, and taking the next step with Javi feels even more natural than you dreamed. Notes: Welcome back to the Balearic Islands and welcome to smut time! (Gif is representative of the vibe, not of reader's appearance.)

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7

The first people to rise from the dinner table are you and Javi, which is as it should be. Everyone is finished with their meal when the king is, and you are more than happy to leave present company tonight. You take Javi’s arm with a smile and say your good nights, sparing a sly smile for Maisie and Gabriela as you go.

“That did not seem as painful as I was expecting.” Javi admits with a reassuring pat to your hand. “Your father was more restrained, I think.”

“I don’t think he expected me to ever tell him no,” you admit softly. “I wonder if he was bitching to my stepmother about me in the stables because he knew he couldn’t do it at dinner.”

“If he was, we can find out, if you wish.” He tells you with a smirk. “The stables have cameras.”

“I honestly don’t know if I want that kind of knowledge.” You admit with a shake of your head. “But please. Less talk of my father and more of us? We weren’t parted long this afternoon, but I’d like to hear about your day.”

“Not another word.” He promises, smiling at you. “Julius had me read over more agreements. Sometimes I feel like all I do is sign things. I need a stamp with my signature.”

“If you had that, then anyone could sign your name.” An idea which is alarming for several reasons. “I know it’s tedious, querido, but it is important.”

“I know.” He sighs and shakes his head. “Anyway. What did you and your ladies do this afternoon? Your first official as Princess?”

"We talked about you a little." It makes you smile as he seems so surprised by that fact. "I went over a few things with Flores and Sebastian went over my schedule for tomorrow with me after he came back from the stables. It was...fairly uneventful." All accept the conversation with Maisie and Gabriela in your closet, but of course you don't want to give away the surprise they helped you plan for him.

“That sounds lovely.” Javi tells you with a smile, nerves settling in his belly as you approach your bedroom suite. “Although tomorrow the wedding planning begins, sí?”

"Sí." The planning will begin in earnest, and there will be so much to do that it makes your head spin a bit. Or perhaps that's the nerves of anticipation for tonight. You cannot truly tell at the moment. "Would you still like me to have two dresses, mi amor?" He had said so in your first conversation about the wedding, and if it is something he truly dreams of then you will make sure it happens.

“Only if you wish.” He doesn’t want you to feel like you have to. “I just know that the traditional wedding dresses of queens are not…” he struggles to find the right words. “Party ready.”

"Maisie has already been showing me examples of designs so voluminous I would take up half the room." It does make you giggle, though, and you hug his arm. "I'll talk to the dressmaker. See what she thinks."

“Whatever you want.” He reminds you, “Catherine’s dress was gorgeous and simple lines.”

"I'm afraid I might have a more...active imagination than the Duchess of Cambridge did." The grin you aim in his direction is only slightly guilty, not mentioning that you also do not have a fussy British granny to satisfy with propriety. There is only him and you, but you won't say it like that.

“Diamond encrusted trains?” He jokes as he stops in front of your suite door. The footmen are absent and he smiles at the way Julius took his wants to heart. He knows everything inside will be perfect.

"I'm not aiming to be Marie Antoinette." Diamond encrusted trains sounds like the latest Kardashian wedding dress, and you smirk. "But I do like a classic, princess-y ballgown."

“Then that’s what you should have designed.” He smiles again, imagining your first dance in a beautiful wedding dress. “If your dress is your dream dress, just wear it all night. I want you to be happy.”

"I have an idea, and hopefully it will be workable." Not thinking of anything but being alone with him, you push open the door to your suite and gasp the moment you step inside. There are stunning bouquets of multi-colored daisies dotted with red roses on every surface. Crisp white candles of all different shapes and sizes are lit in just as many places if not more, and you could swear that an ice bucket and tray of something are sitting across the room on the coffee table in your sitting area. It's a movie-perfect moment of absolute romance if you ever saw one before and you nearly sob at the sight of it. "Javi...you...did you do all of this?"

“The staff set it all up.” He ducks his head in embarrassment, wondering if it didn’t count because he had not placed the items in your room himself. “I know that we talked about tonight and…” He takes your hand and presses it to his mouth. “You deserve romance. For it to be something you remember, hopefully very fondly.”

“It’s beautiful, mi amor.” As nervous as you have been, something about all of it slips from your shoulders in the face of this much love. In the care he has taken and the thoughtfulness of wanting to make the night a complete experience. “And not something I am ever going to forget; I can promise you that.”

"Good." The relief makes his answer whoosh out, shoulders sagging slightly and his grin one of complete pride. Despite being king, being the most powerful man in the islands, he wants your approval. Your happiness. Guiding you into the suite, the door closes behind you and he examines the room with approval. The staff had outdone themselves under Julius's guidance and he will have to thank the man. But for now, he turns towards you. "There is champagne and strawberries." He tells you with a small smirk. "Tonight is just for us, and there is no right or wrong here. Whatever you wish, nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed of, Margarita." He wants you to know that he's not going to believe that you have to act a certain way or do certain things just because you are a Princess. You are a woman. One who deserves to have her every sexual desire fulfilled by the person you love. Him.

“It is for both of us, isn’t it?” Your arms slip around his waist to keep him close, feeling suddenly as though it is vitally important to be touching him at all times. Feeling as though if you let go, you may burst. “I…have a surprise for you also…though it is slightly less impressive and much less grand than all of this.”

“For me?” He’s surprised that you would do anything for him, his brows arching up. “Amor, you did not have to do anything for me.” He quickly assures you, hoping you are not panicking and making things up.

“It’s…small…” The smirk that forms on your face mostly has to do with how petite the lingerie Maisie gave you actually is. It barely covers anything at all. “But I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“Anything from you I will love.” He promises, cupping your cheek gently.

“Then I think we should pour some champagne.” With the thought he put into this, it would be a shame not to sit along at the beautiful flowers and share a drink before moving forward with the night.

Delighted that you seem to like his surprise, Javi guides you over towards the champagne bucket. Pulling the bottle from the ice, he makes quick work of popping the cork and pouring two flutes. “To the beginning of our intimate journey.” He toasts.

“And the rest of our lives.” You tap your glass against his, the distinct tinkling assuring you that you’re drinking from crystal tonight.

Javi takes a sip, smiling at you and then he bends down to pick up a strawberry off the tray so he can hold it up to your lips for a bite. “Try the strawberry with this champagne.” He urges, noticing that Julius had outdone himself. There are plain strawberries and then some that are dipped in chocolate.

For all the decadent combinations you may have tried in your life, this is not one of them. It’s doubtlessly your imagination that makes the strawberry the sweetest you’ve ever tasted and the richest chocolate, too. It’s your imagination that makes the taste of the champagne around them transform, but even so you’re practically giggling with delight at the discovery of how perfect one makes the other — both enhanced tenfold when you have them together. “That’s amazing,” you hum, careful not to drip on yourself in any way whatsoever, and grinning like the lovestruck girl that you absolutely are.

The heated gaze that Javi gives you isn’t the calculated one the playboy prince might have given the object of his interest. It’s the look of a man completely in love with the woman in front of him. He hums, setting his own champagne flute down to cup your cheek. “Let me taste.” He murmurs, right before his lips descend on yours.

And all at once, there might as well not be anything else in the room — no furniture or flowers or paintings or treats — because nothing else in the entire world matters besides him. Javi licks into your mouth and you sigh for him, letting him explore you easily and remapping every inch of his mouth while your tongues dance and tangle together in earnest worship. He doesn’t move from kissing you. Content to spend the rest of his life right here with his lips on yours. Holding you close, he can feel you start to tremble in his arms.

It’s overpowering in the best way possible, and with your knees literally shaking and threatening to come out from under you, you grip his shoulders that much harder. There’s something thick and magical and true in the air between you tonight and it has you moaning softly into his kiss as you pull him closer.

Javi doesn’t want to breathe. Everything and everyone beyond the doors to this suite fade into obscurity and he tilts his head, deepening the kiss slightly.

Without being entirely sure how you got there, you can feel the wall at your back. The blanket over your senses that Javi has pushed everything else out of your awareness and you could not care less in this moment. All that matters is him — is now. The way he tilts his head and the way he grasps at your frame. The way you’ve already forgotten where you left your drinks. The way the candlelight makes both of you glow even though no eyes are open to see it.

“I love you.” He promises again as he manages to pull his mouth away from yours.

“I love you.” It can never be said enough, and his beautifully flushed cheeks and heavy eyelids make you grin unrepentantly. “More than I thought possible.”

“You will let me know if you want to stop.” It��s not a command, it’s not a question. It’s a fact in his mind. If you want to stop, you will say something. “Or if there is something you do not like.”

“And so will you.” Although you highly doubt either of you will stumble on that circumstance tonight, if he should decide his grief is still too strong, you want to make sure he knows you are willing to stop any time.

The thought of tonight had fueled him through the paperwork after your coronation ceremony. He picks up your hand and starts to kiss up your arm. "Never." He drops another kiss higher. "In." Kiss. "A." Kiss. "Million." Kiss. "Years." Kiss. "Amor." Kiss.

"Javi." Gently picking his chin up with two fingers, you press a kiss to his lips when his head is level with yours again. "Take me to bed, amor."

"I can do that." Javi isn't a virgin, but he's aware that your first time should be special. Sighing softly as he takes your hand and guides you towards the large bed that the two of you have been sharing. Now, it will be used for something more than cuddling and sleep. "Turn around, Margarita."

Doing as he asks, you shiver with your back to him. Giving him power over the situation would be scary if it was anyone else but with Javi there is only trust and anticipation. Whatever happens next, it starts with heated kisses and the feeling of his broad hands caressing your skin. "I'm going to untie your dress." Javi hums, his hand sliding over your shoulder and across your chest to where the tie is fastened. "Look across the room." He whispers in your ear. "The mirror."

"Shit Javi..." You would tell him that there is no need to seduce you. That you already want him enough to have no reservations about this. But the second you look up and find his eyes watching you in the mirror, you're mesmerized. Suddenly there are no protests, only a thick swallow of air and a soft nod of your head that tells him you will follow his instructions to the letter tonight.

"My beautiful Princess." He murmurs in your ear, smiling at the fascinated look in your eyes, the darkness in them. "I want you to see how I see you. See how wonderful you are."

"The only thing I see is you." And maybe it's cheesy, but it's true. Despite most of his body being behind you in the mirror, all you care about is watching him. His smile is shy, almost bashful as he starts to pull your dress loose. Untying it and sliding his hand underneath the material to push it off one shoulder.

Even though you went through quite a bit of gleeful planning to make sure he would have something beautiful to see under your dress, you're still nervous. Alright, you're borderline terrified. But despite that, you help his hand slide the dress away from your shoulders and force yourself to watch his reaction in the mirror – hoping that he at least likes what he sees.

“Margarita.” He breathes out your nickname in awe when the delicate, see through, pale pink lace of your lingerie is revealed. “You– you wrapped yourself up for me like a treasured gift.”

“Surprise,” you huff softly, feeling your cheeks burn at the wonder in his expression. The awe in his eyes is impossibly endearing.

“I am constantly surprised by how wonderful you are.” Now he lets the dress fall to the floor, groaning when he sees your full body in the mirror. “Te amo.”

“Te amo.” If he didn’t have you in precisely the position that he wanted in this moment, you would have whirred you around to kiss him instantly. As it is, his hands start to roam, making you gasp when he touches the most sensitive places on your skin and swallow the sighs of longing while you wait for him to touch more. “I’ve thought about this more than you might think.” He groans in your ear. “Since that first night. I had hoped this is where we would end up. Naturally.”

“And here we are.” His fingers glide down your arms to let his hands rest on your hips for a moment. “Just where we were meant to be.”

“Just where we were meant to be.” He drinks in the sight of the lingerie and he twitches in his pants. “Did you wear this on purpose or do you normally wear things like this?” He asks softly. He had always given you time to change before coming over to your room to sleep so he wasn’t aware.

“I’ve never worn anything like this before in my life,” you admit softly, feeling a little embarrassed about it but that’s overridden by how much he seems to like it. “This is just for you, amor.”

“You look beautiful.” He promises breathlessly. “But you look beautiful all the time.” His hands slowly slide over your skin, worshiping you with a gentle touch.

“You’re always so handsome…” Little touches leave you breathless tonight, the anticipation building right down to your bones. “I’ve always thought so. Since…since the first time I saw your photo.”

Javi is proud that you find him appealing. His hands continuously moving as he maps your body. Despite holding you every night, he had kept his hands in respectable places. Now, he can indulge. “You are like a goddess, an angel that tempts me and soothes me.”

Gently, almost afraid to spoil the moment, you turn carefully around in his arms and reach first for his tie. Slow, seductive, and incredibly romantic is a wonderful tempo for this night, but you want to have him on the same page as you.

Javi watches you as you start to pull his tie free. Giving you leave to do whatever you want with him. He’s yours and you are his. That is what the two of you have promised each other. “What do you want tonight, amor?”

"Just you." It's the truest answer to the easiest question he could possibly ask, and when you pull the silk tie from the collar of his shirt, you drape it carefully over your nightstand and turn back to him to take the cufflinks from his shirt before you unbutton it.

There is something poignantly intimate about being undressed. Certainly it has happened before, but this time strikes a chord inside him. The desire and love are equal in the depths of your eyes, and it makes him shudder in pleasure as your fingers graze his body had the buttons slip from their slot.

It is certainly more careful work to undress Javi, his suits always being carefully styled and meticulously tailored, but you don’t mind. It’s almost the opposite, actually. The privilege of being the one to be allowed to undress him practically makes you shiver with anticipation.

He can’t be passive. Now when you are looking like that and gazing at him like he’s Adonis. Reaching up, his hands slowly slide up your stomach, hovering just below your breasts, looking so mouthwatering in their lacy cups.

“You’re allowed to touch,” you remind him with a small laugh, wondering if he is as nervous as you are from the way he’s hovering but not quite crossing the line yet.

“That’s good, Margarita.” He hums softly. “I want to touch you, want to make you feel good.” His hands move up and cup you, groaning slightly.

As gentle as he is, that first little bit of truly intimate contact is divine as you peel his shirt away from his shoulders. He’ll have to take his hands off you to fully take it off, but you don’t want that yet. You want him to explore any way he wants…so you reach for his belt buckle with shaky hands instead.

“You’re so gorgeous.” He rasps out. “I feel lucky, undeserving of your love. Your touch.” He wants to make sure you know how much he is in awe of this moment.

“Undeserving?” No, you can’t agree with that. Instead you lean forward and press your lips to his as you slide his belt open. “Mi amor, you deserve the entire world.”

“I don’t know if that is true.” He huffs, cock hard and aching as your fingers move to the clasp of his suit pants. “You deserve a night you will never forget.”

“Then I already have everything I deserve.” Before you touch his zipper, though, you look up for one last moment of confirmation before completely undressing him. If he changes his mind at any point you will respect it, and that includes right now.

He nods quickly, knowing that he needs you to set the pace. This is your first time and he will let you have anything, do anything you want with him. “Go on, amor.”

It’s not as though you’ve never seen a man naked. And not as though you’ve never done things before. But Javi is different. He is important. He is the rest of your life. And you love him so much more than you thought would ever be possible. When you strip his pants away the pair of charcoal gray boxer briefs underneath leaves very little to the imagination, and your pussy clenches at the first glance of your hand over the front of his briefs when you pull his pants down.

“It helps.” He tells you with a small smirk. “The crown did not wish to have a camera on my pants when I was attending events.” He explains.

“So they have your pants taken out?” The realization that he has to be dressed specifically to hide how big his dick is, is a very interesting one indeed. One that has you sputtering slightly and makes your cheeks even hotter.

“Along with making sure that my penchant for not wearing underwear is kept to the family wing of the palace.” He isn’t joking, but it is amusing, remembering that conversation with his father.

“Javi.” You can’t help but laugh at that, the giggle built out of you with absolute disbelief. “You’re ridiculous, mi amor.”

“As long as you don’t believe I’m boring.” He hums, smirking at you and biting his lip when your fingers slip under the band of his boxers.

“Never.” The deep breath you take before peeling away his boxer briefs is really just for your own fortitude. Apparently, up to this point, you had only been with boys. Javi is…mouthwatering. And all over again you have no trouble believing anything you ever read about him as the playboy prince.

For his own part, Javi is nervous. Wondering what you might think of him. Hoping that he measures up to whatever expectations you have about him. He twitches slightly in the cooler air of the room, released from the confines of his briefs.

“You’re an absolute dream, mi amor,” you assure him, seeing the nerves written all over his face. Instead of going down to your knees, which is the first instinct you have, you stand up straight again and put both your arms around him, drawing him in close to be able to just hold each other for a moment and share a kiss. It’s clear you’re both anxious but eager and you let your hands map his torso and hips for a moment while you pour your reassurances into an increasingly deep kiss.

He had never known he would be so nervous when being with the woman he would marry. It’s almost as if he were a virgin himself, but the nerves melt away into the kiss and he starts slowly becoming bolder in his touch.

While the moans that he drags from your throat may have started out polite, they are definitely not anymore. They’re hungry and needy, coming from deep in your chest or even down around your belly where his cock is currently trapped between your bodies. No matter where the sound originates — it might be your toes for all you know — it shifts slightly when you start to step backward, knowing the side edge of your bed is only a few feet away.

“You wish to lay down?” He is more assertive right now, but he still checks in. Wanting to make sure you are ready to lay down.

“I think we’ll be less nervous,” you admit, even though the thought feels silly out loud. “We’re used to being in bed together.” That’s a good point. Javi guides you back to the bed and follow you as you lay down, kissing you as he kneels and crawls with you, his cock bobbing heavily between you.

Every piece of Javi’s clothing is discarded now, and you feel acutely aware of the lingerie that still hugs your finger. It’s far more than just the pinky ring left touching Javi’s finger, but it seems to be something he likes a whole lot so you’ll let him decide when it comes off.

“If I could paint, I would paint this moment.” Javi wonders, his lips against your throat and up your jaw. “Capturing it forever, mi amor.”

“This is only for you, mi amor.” One of his hands cradles your cheek and the other is slowly tracing your side, and you shift to urge it downward without rushing him. “There should be something that is just for us.”

“Oh, I did not mean that anyone would see it.” He huffs, smirking down at you in almost gentle lust. “It would be locked away where only I could view your beauty. Remember that I have a literal angel as a princess.”

“It wouldn’t be very angelic…” you hum, laying kisses along the hollow of his throat. “To let you paint me naked, mi amor.”

“I should take you to our museums.” He chuckles. “Plenty of nude angels frolicking.”

“Maybe we’ll find it inspiring?” You tease, sighing softly when his hand finds your thigh and his thumb grazes the soft skin so close to the silk and lace covering your core.

“I’m going to taste you, mi amor.” He hums as he rubs soft, enticing circles over your thigh before moving his thumb over a fraction of an inch to press against you through the lace. “I’ve imagined tasting you at least a thousand times since meeting you.”

“Javi.” His name is a bare, plaintive whisper, but that’s mostly because he’s taken your breath away about a dozen times already tonight. His sweet touches are growing bolder every moment and if you melt into the bed never to be heard from again, it will be worth every second. “Whatever you want, mi amor. I’m yours.”

“You are mine.” He groans. “Just like I am yours. And I take care of what is mine.” The little clasps of the lingerie make getting to your covered cunt easy, unhooking them to expose your folds to his hungry gaze. “Beautiful.”

It might have been fussy to get into, but Javi clearly has no problem peeling away the fabric covering those few last places on your body, and you swear that you might spontaneously combust just from the wash of hot breath over your sensitive skin. "Yours," you breathe out, watching every tiny movement. "Te amo."

“Te amo.” The sentiment, the promise, is whispered out right before his mouth descends on your most intimate places. The king gorging on his queen to be.

Instead of a shock or a jolt, you melt even further into the bed, moaning softly as your eyes flutter closed for one long moment before you pry them open again to watch everything. Javi’s mouth is bliss. Quick flicks where they feel best and long laps when that is exactly what you need. It has you twisting underneath him in no time, fingers tangling in the sheets and breath coming in needy pants.

You are so soft, so responsive to him. Giving him wordless praise as you move under his touch. Javi's touch stays soft, grip light as he lets you move your hips as you feel like you need to. Not anchoring you down, but allowing you both to drift along the bed.

Your fingers comb through his curls, not pulling or scratching but anchoring you to him in one more place. Since you’re always feeling like you could float away, an anchor seems like a good idea.

Javi has always been a giver, the love 'em and leave 'em playboy image had been crafted by the press, in their attempt to scrounge for whatever tidbits of information they could. All of his previous lovers had been bound by non-disclosure agreements, a necessity so there weren't interviews talking about the future king's prowess as a lover. If interviews had happened, they would have said that Javier was generous, slightly submissive and intimate every time he had touch one of them. Now, with you, he's even more so. Wanting his future queen to luxuriate in his arms, in his bed, to be pleased enough that you would never seek solace somewhere else.

Having had every intention of watching him as he indulges in you, his attention is too sweet. It comes in waves too strong to deny. The overwhelming pleasure has you closing your eyes and moaning softly so that it's just for his ears. It's extraordinarily indulgent and so intensely romantic that if your whole body wasn't on fire from pleasure you might be tearing up over how loving he is.

Javi hums into you, taking your sounds greedily and keeping them for himself. Memorizing how you sound, how you look this first time together.

The vibrations roll through you, every sound from his lips increasing the pleasure and caring you off on an absolute cloud. The coil in your core is starting to tighten too quickly and you know that as much as you want this to last forever, there will be so many more nights like it to come. And for that matter? This night has only begun.

Javi's fingers caress your skin, sliding over the slopes and planes, reveling in the divots and creases. Coming underneath his tongue and circling your entrance lightly.

Pants and whines come with your twisting body, back arching and eyes popping open to not only be as close to him as possible but to watch the exact moment that your body gives in to pleasure. The way his eyes have darkened with desire but never leave you gives you an extra shiver of arousal that rolls all the way through your body even as you cum.

This is moment where you are completely his. This moment. When your eyes burst open even wider than before and your entire body lurches up in pleasure as you start to come apart for him.

“Fuck, Javi!” When you can finally take a deep breath again, you comb your fingers through his hair and whimper into the candlelit night. “You’re incredible.”

He hums, deflecting the praise even as he preens. “You are incredible.” He insists. “So responsive.”

"And you're the one who gave me something to respond to." You won't let him wiggle out of accepting your praise, even if you're feeling too limp at the moment to wag a playful finger at him.

"Do you want more, my love?" He asks, softly, stroking your hip and hoping that the night will continue.

The fingers that were buried in his curls caress his cheek, and you nod eagerly. “I never want to stop,” you confess, already addicted to the way he touches you.

“Then we will never stop.” He promises, smiling indulgently. “All of our state affairs will be conducted right here in this bed.”

“That might be awkward for some of your advisors,” you laugh, loving the way he completely and totally indulges in both you and in this moment.

“Perhaps a screen between us and our visitors.” He teases, kissing up your body and smiling at the way you laugh. It’s gorgeous and completely encompassing him.

“That will solve everything.” A sage nod is bowled over by a moan as he kisses between your breasts and your head falls back on the pillows again.

“Beautiful, my beautiful queen.” He praises, tongue circling your nipple before he sucks it into his mouth.

A part of you wonders if this is how he always is with new lovers, or if he is being especially attentive and romantic because he knows what tonight is for you. The fact that he is the first and only man you'll ever be with in this way seems to make every feeling that much more heightened.

He works your tits until they are sore, aching with the attention he is lavishing on you. The small cry of pleasure you give is almost pained and it's beautiful in its pitch to his ears. Your thighs squeeze his torso and he chuckles as he kisses back up your body to your lips. "Are you ready, my love?" He asks softly, wanting to make sure you are wanting to take the next step now.

"Sí." You've been all but begging for him the entire time he's been between your legs, but at this point your mind is blank to absolutely anything else. "Please, amor. More. Por favor."

“I cannot deny you.” He promises, thankful that you do not want to stop. “Wish to give you the world, amor.” Reaching between you, his fingers wrap around his length and guide him to the position. “Now, I give you myself.”

It is a fitting tribute, considering how your world has narrowed down to only him, but the words to point it out are lost. With the slow, steady push forward, your mind fades to fuzz and your voice sticks in your throat for a moment before a deep moan cuts through the night air. Every small roll of his hips is ecstasy, filling you little by little, and you swear you’ve never felt anything as divine before in your entire life.

Javi takes his time, bracing himself over you. There's no fear of pain, no issue with the archaic bedding and taking of your virginity, but he still slowly rolls his hips forward. Wanting the feeling of taking him for the first time to be nothing but bliss for you as he kisses along your jaw.

You pant his name as he fills you, grateful not to feel any of the pinching or pain that you had heard warnings of from other girls as you grew up. The concept of virginity might be made up but there is still a very real physicality associated with it, and having an experienced partner makes all the difference. For you there is nothing but pleasure and the all-encompassing feeling of being surrounded by the man you want to give everything to.

“Beautiful.” He whispers the words into your skin. Finding the strength to hold back. With you, everything seems so smooth, organic. As if this was always meant to be, and in a way, it has. His hand slides behind your head and cradles it gently as he groans, buried completely in the warmth of your body and hopefully your heart.

"So good." With your face buried in his shoulder, you press kisses to his skin and roll your hips to adjust to the feeling of being so full.

“You are so perfect.” His tone is strained, holding back as he waits for you to be ready for more than just him inside you.

"You can move, mi amor." One more shift of your hips makes both of you moan, and you let your legs hitch up higher on his hips so he can sink that much deeper inside you. "Please move. God you feel amazing."

The kiss he gives you is tender, meant to soothe your restlessness as he draws his hips back. Groaning against your lips at how tight you feel, how right you feel. Javi isn't inexperienced, but he feels like he's never had sex before. At least not had an emotional or physical connection like this before.

There is nothing hurried tonight. No rushing. Nothing but bliss as the two of you start to move together. His hands wrap under you to hold you close, encourage your back to bend and arch into his body. Your arms come around him just as tight. Your breath comes in shallow pants. And it's perfect.

Every moan you give him is music, a note in his ear that makes him move. Worshiping you with his own body, giving you everything he has and it still isn't enough.

If there was a word more than perfect, you wish you knew what it was. You wish you could express just how extraordinary this moment feels. How right it all is. And how grateful you are that this is where life has brought the two of you. Instead, all you can see to conjure for words are gasps of his name and moaned praise with every drive of his hips.

Javi takes his time. There's no pace that he sets other than one to make sure that both of you feel everything. Languidly rocking his hips with murmured praises, and hushed gasps shared between you. Tears building up behind his eyes as he stares down at you in wonder.

“Want to— fuck, so good—try everything with you,” you manage to gasp out between moans, adoring the loving pace but wanting to experience as much as possible. Even during the first time.

"We will, amor." He promises, holding you close and giving a sharp thrust to change the tempo.

The way that has stars bursting behind your eyes is immediate and you cling to his shoulders that much more tightly with your fingernails biting into the soft flesh of his back as you moan.

You like that. Javi twitches inside you and gives you another thrust, hoping for the same reaction. Wanting you to enjoy every second you are in bed with him.

The different angle and sharper thrusts hits something different inside you. Like breath being pushed into you and out all at once. It makes your eyes burst open again before you squeeze them shut tight, trying to hold on to that sharp shot of pure pleasure.

"Is that what you like?" He murmurs in wonder. "You like it a bit faster? Harder?" He loves the way your entire body tightens under him and it's squeezing him tight. "Tell me what you need, amor."

You want to try everything, and you've told him that, but whatever he's doing now feels like a revelation. "How deep can you–" The thought is cut off with a moan. "If I – oh god – hold my legs?"

Javi leans back, pushing your leg up onto his shoulder and leans forward again. Pushing deep.

"Oh, fuck!" All at once your eyes roll back in your head and your mouth falls open. "Oh my god–so fucking good, baby."

He groans, eyes darkening with desire and love. "Want you to feel good. Want you to cum for me, amor."

Under normal circumstances you really would pride yourself on being more articulate, but every time Javi pushes his hips forward you temporarily forget how to even think, let alone speak. All you know for sure is that if he keeps doing what he's doing now, it will not take you long at all to fall apart for him again. "More," you moan out, fingernails biting half-moons in his shoulders. "You feel so good, amor."

“Give you ev-everything.” He moans, nodding as he rocks his hips and dips his head down to kiss you again. Needing the extra contact and it presses him deeper.

You gasp into his kiss, the change of angle and how deep he feels inside you making you feel like a firework about to explode. A shiver runs down your entire body that seems never to end and your core tightens with determination. When you cum for him this time it will hit you like a freight train and leave you wrecked.

His hips knock against the back of your thigh, pulling grunts out of him that he pours into you. Still holding you as tenderly as he can while he thrusts harshly.

“Javi—” The sound of his name is always sweet to your ears but right now it feels like it’s an absolute prayer. “I’m—I’m going to—oh god!”

Javi groans your name, loving that you are coming apart for him. Watching as your mouth drops open and your eyes go wide before they flutter closed.

This is your new definition of bliss. Head tossed back with Javi buried deep inside you while you fall apart at the seams, pussy clenching his cock so tightly that he loses his rhythm right along with you. Existing only with him in such a deeply intimate and personal moment is breathtaking.

His breath stutters, caught in his lung and he’s unable to think of anything but you. The grip you have on him and the way your body begs him to follow you into bliss has him giving in.

Truly you thought the feeling of fullness couldn’t be any more complete, and then he starts to cum. Painting the walls of your throbbing pussy with his seed and making you groan all over again while the two of you pant for breath and cling to each other in the collapsed heap of your bodies tangled in bedclothes. It’s the closest to whatever heaven is that you’ve ever felt in your life and you swear that if there really is such a thing as soulmates, this is what it feels like to be with yours.

Your skin is sweat slick and his own is equally damp. Making it warm and wet when he collapses against you and tucks his face into your neck. Kissing your pulse gently. "I love you." He whispers softly.

"Te amo." You turn your head to kiss him, basking in the glow of his affection and the adrenaline high that comes from sex in general. Sex with Javi is a whole other level.

"Te amo, my queen." He whispers, smiling against your lips and feeling like he is finally whole. This is what it's like. He hums in delight, hoping that this feeling never fades.

“My king.” It’s almost odd to acknowledge, having grown up your whole life in a country without a monarchy, but here he is. He is deeply loving, devoted, king, and he is your king. Loving him is as natural as breathing, especially in this moment of quiet between you.

Javi reluctantly moves, aware that you should not be pressed down by his weight for too long and he groans quietly as he pulls out of you. "Wait here, I will get something to clean you up."

“Don’t be gone long.” There’s nothing you want less than for him to leave you, but clean up is…rather important.

He smiles at you and nods before he hurries into the bathroom so he can get the cloth and slide back into your arms.

______

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