#and doesn’t want to think about what the empire is

[clairewritesfanfics]

Mark Grayson Variants as Husbands

Characters: Emperor Mark, Mohawk Mark, No Goggles Mark, Omni-Mark, Prisoner Mark

Emperor Mark

Surprisingly enough, he doesn’t have any concubines. He is mature enough to know that he doesn’t have the capacity to manage a harem of alien brides. Despite his occasional childishness, he is devoted to you and you alone and takes great pride in his monogamy. He would be lying if he said he doesn’t want a harem composed of versions of you though.

He can be, for lack of a better term, a brat and insists on “my way or no way.” But in the end, he always buckles to what you want, because he hates upsetting you.

He values your opinion. You are his consort, his only equal. He will always seek your advice before he makes any major decisions, especially ones that may affect the empire.

Mohawk Mark

Reads all the books you like to read, and even the fanfics you deemed “shameful.” Though he teases you, he never mocks you. 

He’s a philosophy nerd–actually, he’s a total bookworm who’ll read anything, from The Nancy Drew Cookbook to the Kama Sutra–but he has a soft spot for Camus and his peers. He talks to you about the inherent meaninglessness of life while you two eat pizza and watch TV.

He loves seeing you use and wear the stuff he buys you. It’s rare for him to actually make a purchase with the intention of getting you things, but he always thinks of you. Even when he isn’t thinking of you, he can’t help but think of you. 

One of his favorites is the heart-shaped locket which contained braided locks of his hair. He has an exact replica of that locket that contained your hair, too. 

No Goggles Mark

Resembles a puppy dog who loves his owner too much. A cute, obsessive, six-foot-tall murderous dog. His day starts and ends with you.

He would probably be your devoted househusband if he had any choice in the matter, but you don’t like him being alone. 

Out of all of them, he’s the reddest flag purely from the fact that he has difficulty, or rather, has zero interest in interacting with others when you’re not around. 

He’s also one of the more competent fighters, but he always comes home bleeding and bruised. It’s because you fuss over him. More blood means more affection. 

He doesn’t get the human concept of the “nagging wife” because he relishes in your voice, in your undivided attention. It doesn’t matter if you’re reprimanding him or praising him, whether you throw flowers or dirt, life with you is one big, beautiful garden. 

Omni-Mark

Appears cold and distant to outsiders, to the point that they can’t even picture him smiling or being all cuddly, but he’s just a man who knows when and how to separate business from pleasure.

He is very observant. He repairs any problems in the house before you even notice, like a leaky faucet or a squeaky door hinge. 

A man of his word, he prioritizes his commitments to you over everything else. If you two planned a vacation together on the other side of the world, then he is ignoring any and all calls from work. 

He has endless time, but time with you can only be for so long, which makes it all the more precious than the lives of everyone else in the universe. 

Prisoner Mark

The actual househusband.

He gets super competitive when it comes to cooking and maintaining the house’s cleanliness, which, while you do appreciate, concerns you a bit. You don’t want him to get too obsessed with the housework because it means he always finds an excuse to stay at home. Granted, he’s an ex-con, but you still want him to interact with other people.

Despite his rough exterior, he is still a sweetheart. When random thugs aren’t making trouble for him, he is pretty chill.

You find that you have nothing to worry about when you discover that he is on a first name basis with the cashier lady at the grocery you two frequent, is affectionately called “Boo Radley” by the neighborhood kids, feeds the ducks and pigeons near the park, and is loved by every dog and cat that crosses his path.

Author's Note: I'm so lonely. Disclaimer: The images above are not mine but are screenshots from the Invincible TV series.

Masterlist Husband headcanons for: Cap Mark, Full Mask Mark, Maskless Mark, Shiesty Mark, Sinister Mark, Viltrumite Mark

[angelsuecult]

gold dust woman | s. crosby

Pt. 2

"heartless challenge

pick your path and i'll pray"

warnings: explicit sexual content, MDNI, 18+, nsfw, strong language, controversial age gap, father's friend, infidelity.

summary: Two weeks after your encounter with Sidney, he is finally able to give you what you wanted that night.

word count: 10.1k

song: gold dust woman - fleetwood mac

a/n: im going to assume you guys just wanted sidcros porn so i just put as much of it as i could, enjoy and let me know what you think!

Part 1 | Part 2

—

It had been two weeks since Sidney had seen you last, two long, agonizing weeks filled with nothing but thoughts of you. Every night, he found himself staring at his phone, scrolling through your social media, looking at pictures of you—ones you’d posted months ago, pictures with your friends, or even a few random ones of you smiling, laughing, or just looking effortlessly beautiful. And even though he didn’t have any social media accounts of his own, that didn’t stop him from searching. He’d found himself palming himself off to the thought of you more times than he’d like to admit, his mind consumed with everything that had happened between you two in his car. The way you’d kissed him, the way you tasted, how soft, pliable you felt under his hands—it was all he could think about.

The summertime wasn’t easy now. With the season over, he had so much free time, and all of it was spent thinking about you. He’d tried to stay busy, working out, hanging with friends, doing anything to distract himself, but nothing worked. Everything came back to you, and the memory of that night kept replaying in his head like a broken record. He needed more, and it felt like he’d never get it.

Now, here he was again, back at your dad’s house, sitting with him and a couple of old friends, watching a baseball game. It was supposed to be a fun, casual afternoon, but Sidney couldn’t shake the feeling of anticipation buzzing under his skin. You were in the house, just a few rooms away, and he could already feel the effect of your presence on him, even if you weren’t sitting with them.

To Sidney’s left, Cooper—one of your dad's oldest friends—reached for the bowl of peanuts and grunted. “Where’re the kids tonight?”

Your dad leaned back, cracked open another beer, and let out a long breath. “The boys are out with my wife. Took them over to that new batting cage downtown. Y/n’s here somewhere.”

Sidney’s chest tightened at the casual mention of you. 

Cooper popped a peanut into his mouth and chewed noisily. “Yeah? How’s that boyfriend of hers? Kid’s a riot.”

That got a round of snorts from the other guys in the room. Another voice chimed in from across the coffee table, Doug maybe—Sid wasn’t really listening, not when your name and boyfriend were in the same sentence.

“Last time I saw him,” Doug said, “he spent ten minutes talking about his protein powder regimen. Swear to God, thought the kid was gonna ask me to spot him right there in the living room.”

The men laughed, low and rough, the sound filling the space. Your dad shook his head, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, he’s somethin’, all right. Showed up to family dinner last month wearing loafers with no socks. Said it was ‘European.’”

Another round of laughter. Sidney stayed quiet, but a slow, smug little curl started at the corner of his mouth. He kept his eyes on the TV, but his ears? Locked in.

Cooper grunted again. “A riot, I tell ya. Real character. Got opinions on everything, doesn’t he?”

Your dad took a swig of his beer, then let out a laugh that sounded more tired than amused. “Oh, you have no idea. Kid’s got a new scheme every week. Last week, he wanted Y/n to go in on some crypto thing with him. Said they could ‘build an empire.’” He made air quotes with his fingers and shook his head.

Sidney’s jaw tensed, but not out of jealousy. No. If anything, it fed that growing satisfaction in his chest. No one here was singing the boyfriend’s praises. Not your dad, not his buddies—and he already knew how you felt about him.

Doug chuckled darkly. “Bet Y/n’s thrilled about that.”

Your dad snorted. “She says he means well. But I can tell. She’s over half his shit already.”

Sidney’s fingers drummed against his thigh, slow and steady, like he was keeping time with the game. But really, it was because he was riding the little surge of victory swelling in his chest. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. Because every jab and joke the guys made about your boyfriend was another tally in Sidney’s column.

And God, wasn’t that just sweet?

The game was dragging, or maybe it just felt that way because Sidney’s mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t focus on the TV, couldn’t engage in the conversation around him. His mind was too preoccupied with you, and it didn’t help that every time he thought of you, his body reacted. He shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable, but there was a persistent ache, a need that wouldn’t go away.

When the need to use the bathroom finally gave him an excuse to leave the room, he stood, making his way down the hallway toward the bathroom near your bedroom. His heart was already beating a little faster, the anticipation of possibly seeing you making his pulse quicken. He didn’t know if you’d come out, didn’t know if you even knew he was here, but the thought of being close to you again, even for a second, was enough to send a thrill of excitement through him.

Sidney stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, and let out a slow breath as he splashed some water on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror, trying to clear his head, trying to calm the heat that had been building inside him since he walked into your house. But it was no use. The moment he stepped out of the bathroom, there you were, leaving your bedroom at the exact same time.

You were dressed in some sweats and a little cropped t-shirt, looking effortlessly perfect, and the sight of you knocked the breath right out of him. He froze for a moment, his hand still on the bathroom door as he took you in, his eyes roaming over your body, his mind already racing with thoughts he knew he shouldn’t be having.

You met his gaze, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. There was a tension between you, a pull, and before Sidney knew it, he was reaching out, his hand wrapping around your wrist, tugging you into the bathroom with him.

The door clicked shut behind you, and the second you were alone, it was like the floodgates opened. Sidney’s lips crashed against yours, his hands cupping your face as he kissed you with all the pent-up need he’d been holding onto for the past two weeks. It was desperate, frantic, and he couldn’t get enough. You tasted just as sweet as he remembered, and the soft sound you made against his lips had him groaning low in his throat, pulling you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between you.

His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him as he backed you up against the sink, the cool porcelain biting into your lower back as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

“Fuck,” Sidney muttered against your lips, his hands roaming over your sides, slipping beneath your cropped t-shirt to feel the warm skin beneath. You moaned softly into his mouth, and that sound—the one that had been haunting him for weeks—made his head spin.

Your hips pressed against his, grinding against the growing hardness in his jeans, and Sidney let out a low groan, his fingers digging into your waist as he moved against you, the friction sending a jolt of pleasure through his body.

“Missed you,” he breathed, his lips moving to your neck, kissing a trail of fire down your throat. “You drive me fucking crazy.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your hands gripping his shoulders as you pulled him closer, your lips brushing against his ear. “You think I haven’t been thinking about you?”

Sidney groaned, his teeth grazing your skin as he kissed you again, his hands slipping lower to cup your ass, lifting you slightly onto the edge of the sink as he pressed himself between your legs. Your hips rocked against him, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you ground against him, the heat between you growing with each passing second.

You let out a soft whimper, your hips moving in sync with his, the heat between you growing unbearable. His hands roamed your body, sliding down to your ass, squeezing, pulling you tighter against him as you both moved together in a slow, intoxicating rhythm.

“Sid,” you breathed, your voice full of need, your head tilting back as he kissed your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made you shiver. “We can’t—God, we can’t do this here.”

Sidney let out a rough laugh, shaking his head as his hands slid beneath your shirt, his thumbs brushing against your skin. “You’re gonna get me in so much trouble,” he muttered, but there was no mistaking the heat in his voice, the way his hands lingered on your waist, the way he looked at you like he couldn’t wait to take this further.

You let out a soft whine of frustration, grinding your hips against him one more time, just to see him squirm. “Why not?” you teased, a little smirk playing at your lips. “Scared we’ll get caught?”

 “Your dad’s right down the hall.”

“C’mon Sid.”

He groaned, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he tried to catch his breath, his body still pressed against yours, still moving, still desperate for more. “I know, I know,” he muttered, but he didn’t stop. His hands were still roaming your body, his lips still trailing over your skin, and the way you were grinding against him wasn’t helping. “Fuck, I just need you so bad.”

Your hands were in his hair, tugging, guiding his lips back to yours, and Sidney didn’t hesitate. He kissed you again, deep and slow, his tongue sliding against yours as he pressed you harder against the counter. The friction between your bodies was driving him wild, and he could feel how much you wanted him, how ready you were, even through your clothes.

“Fuck, baby, you’re killing me,” he breathed against your lips, his hands sliding down to your hips, guiding your movements as you both ground against each other, the heat building, the tension unbearable. “We can’t do this here, but I can’t fucking stop.”

You moaned softly, your hips moving a little faster, the desperation in your movements matching his. “Then don’t stop,” you whispered, your voice breathless as you kissed him again, your hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer. “Don’t fucking stop.”

Sidney groaned, his hands slipping under your sweats, gripping your bare skin as he pulled you tighter against him. He could feel how wet you were, how desperate, and it was taking everything in him not to take it further. But you were right—they couldn’t do this here. Not in your dad’s house. Not with everyone just a few rooms away.

“We have to stop,” he muttered, though it sounded more like a plea than a command. His hands didn’t stop moving, his lips didn’t stop kissing you, but there was a part of him that knew they couldn’t take this any further—not here, not now.

Reluctantly, you pulled back, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Your lips were swollen from his kisses, your skin flushed, and the sight of you looking like that—like you needed him just as badly as he needed you—was almost enough to make him forget every reason why this was a bad idea.

“Then let’s do it somewhere else,” you whispered, your voice soft, but full of intent.

Sidney’s heart skipped a beat, his eyes darkening as he met your gaze. “You serious?” he asked, his voice rough.

You nodded, your lips brushing against his as you spoke. “So serious.” Then you reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone, and opened it like you had every right to, with a small, knowing smile. “There,” you whispered, your voice still shaky. “Now you have my number.”

Sidney blinked, his mind still hazy with desire, but he took the phone, quickly saving your contact. His heart was still racing, his body still buzzing with the need to pull you back into him, but he knew this wasn’t the time or place.

“This isn’t over,” he muttered, his voice low and rough as he leaned in, pressing one last kiss to your lips. “I’ll call you.”

You smiled, a soft, teasing smile that made his heart skip a beat. “I’ll be waiting.”

With that, you slipped out of the bathroom, leaving Sidney standing there, hard, breathless and buzzing with anticipation for what came next.

Later, when Sidney left your house, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. His mind was flooded with every second you’d spent together, the feeling of your lips on his, the taste of your skin, the way your body had fit so perfectly against his. He gripped the steering wheel tighter as he drove, his mind racing, heart pounding, every muscle in his body wound tight with the anticipation of what was to come. He was so worked up he could barely focus, and it took everything in him not to turn the car around, march back to your house, and pull you into his arms again.

But he knew better. He needed to cool off. He needed time to think—to figure out what the hell he was going to do with this burning, relentless desire for you. He spent the next few hours pacing his house, trying to distract himself, trying to calm down, but the more time passed, the more he felt the weight of his need for you pulling him back in.

He hadn’t even made it three hours before he found himself sitting on the edge of his bed, his phone in hand, staring at your number, thumb hovering over the screen. He couldn’t stop thinking about you—your lips, your breathless moans, the way you’d looked at him with those pretty eyes, your body pressed so tight against his.

Fuck it.

Before he could talk himself out of it, his fingers were moving, typing out a text. He hesitated for only a moment, feeling the tension build inside him as he hit send.

Sid: Did you make it through the rest of the game without missing me too much?

It was short, to the point, and he hated how basic it was, but he didn’t have it in him to come up with anything clever. His heart pounded as he stared at the phone, waiting for your reply, and when it finally buzzed, he felt a surge of excitement shoot through him.

You: Wouldn't you like to know? ;)

Sidney couldn’t help but smile at the little winkey face, something so simple yet so fucking cute, and it only made him more eager. He settled onto the couch, his fingers flying across the screen as he responded.

Sid: Been thinking about you. Can’t stop, actually.

He didn’t even bother trying to play it cool anymore. You both knew where this was headed, and he didn’t have the patience to beat around the bush. He needed you to know exactly what he was feeling.

It didn’t take long for your reply to come through, and when it did, it had his heart skipping a beat.

You: Oh yeah? What exactly have you been thinking about?

Sidney let out a low groan, his body already reacting to your words. He leaned back against the couch, adjusting himself as he felt his cock stir in his sweats. The memory of earlier, the way you’d felt grinding against him, the way your breath had hitched in his ear—it was all too fresh in his mind.

Sid: You really wanna know?

The next message that popped up on his screen had his breath catching in his throat.

You: Maybe…

A slow smirk spread across Sidney’s face as he leaned forward, his mind already racing with possibilities. He could feel the tension between you two growing with every passing second, and the thought of you on the other end of this conversation, thinking about him, wanting him just as badly—it was driving him insane.

His fingers shook slightly as he typed out his next message.

Sid: You’re killing me, you know that?

Your reply came almost instantly, like you were just as eager, just as impatient for whatever came next.

You: Come on, Sid. You can handle it.

He felt his cock twitch at your words, his breath catching in his throat as he shifted on the couch. His body was buzzing, his skin hot as he imagined you saying those words to him in person, imagined you looking up at him with that teasing smile, daring him to do something about it.

Without thinking, his fingers moved quickly, typing out his address.

Sid: Come over.

There was a pause, a few agonizing moments of waiting, and Sidney’s heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the screen, waiting for your reply. His mind was racing, the anticipation building to the point where he could hardly breathe.

When your reply finally came through, it was like a shot of adrenaline straight to his veins.

You: Send me the address.

He wasted no time, quickly sending you his address, his hands shaking slightly from the adrenaline rushing through him. His body was already buzzing with anticipation, and the thought of seeing you, of finally getting to touch you again, was almost too much to handle. You were coming over. You were actually coming over. And the thought of seeing you again, touching you, kissing you—it was almost too much to handle.

He glanced around the living room, running a hand through his hair as he tried to calm himself down, but there was no stopping the heat that was coursing through him. His cock was already tenting against his sweats, the anticipation of having you so close, so soon, driving him crazy.

The seconds seemed to stretch on forever as he waited for your knock at the door.

When it finally came, the floodgates burst wide open.

Sidney didn’t waste a second. The second he opened the door and saw you standing there, everything he’d been holding back for the past two weeks came rushing to the surface. You were wearing a simple hoodie and shorts, but he barely noticed, his focus entirely on the fact that you were finally here, standing in front of him, alone.

“Hey,” you started, a small, knowing smirk playing at your lips.

But Sidney wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries. He stepped forward, pulling you inside and shutting the door behind you.

 “Come here, baby,” he muttered, his voice thick with need as he grabbed you by the waist, immediately pulling you into him. 

His mouth was on yours before you had a chance to say anything else, kissing you with the kind of urgency that only weeks of built-up tension could bring. You melted into him just as quickly, your hands fisting into the front of his shirt as you kissed him back just as eagerly, your lips parting against his, tongues tangling in a messy, desperate kiss.

Sidney growled low in his throat, his hands sliding down to grab at your hips, pulling you flush against him. Every part of him was on fire, his body buzzing with the need to finally have you, to finally touch you the way he’d been aching to. You moaned softly into his mouth, and the sound sent a jolt of heat straight through him. He pulled back just enough to press his forehead against yours, both of you breathing heavily, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Who helped you that night?” Sidney rasped, his breath warm against your lips.

You blinked up at him, a little dazed from the kiss, your lips swollen and pink. “What?”

“That night,” he repeated, his voice a little harder now, his hands tightening on your waist. “In the car. You left me like that. Who helped you?”

You stared at him for a second, and then a sly smile spread across your face. “Oh, you mean since you didn’t want to help me?”

Sidney let out a low groan, his jaw clenching as he stared at you. “Yeah, baby. Who’d you run to after?”

You tilted your head, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you traced your fingers up his chest, your nails lightly scraping over his skin through his shirt. “Oh, Sid,” you purred, leaning in close until your lips were right by his ear. “Who do you think?”

His grip on your hips tightened as your words sent a rush of heat straight through him. Sid pulled back slightly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you.

“Don’t tell me it was that asshole.” He couldn’t hide the edge of jealousy in his voice, the thought of you going to your boyfriend after everything that had happened between you made his blood boil.

You smiled, that same teasing smile that drove him crazy, and shrugged, clearly enjoying the way he was reacting. “What was I supposed to do?” you asked innocently, your lips brushing over his jaw. “You didn’t want to take care of me. So I had to go somewhere else.”

Sidney’s grip on you tightened even further, his body practically vibrating with frustration and jealousy. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. 

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes dark with the same need that had been driving him crazy for weeks. “Maybe next time you won’t leave me hanging, then,” you whispered, your voice low and teasing.

Sidney let out a rough laugh, his head tilting back as he dragged a hand through his hair. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, but there was a heat behind his words, his eyes darkening as he looked back down at you.

You pressed yourself even closer to him, your body warm and soft against his. “What are you gonna do about it, Sid?” you asked, your voice a breathy whisper as you leaned up to kiss him again.

That was all it took to snap whatever restraint he’d been holding onto. With a low growl, Sidney’s mouth crashed against yours, his hands sliding down to cup your ass as he pulled you against him. The kiss was messy, desperate, all teeth and tongue and heat, both of you too worked up to care about anything but the feel of each other. Sidney backed you up against the wall, his hands roaming under your hoodie and your shirt, his fingers brushing over your bare skin. He slowly backed you up against the door. You gasped into his mouth, arching into his touch as he pressed himself against you, his thigh sliding between your legs.

“Fuck, baby,” Sidney groaned against your lips, his hands gripping your hips as he rocked you against his thigh, his voice low and rough. “You feel so fucking good.”

You whimpered, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you ground down against him, the friction making your head spin. “Sid,” you breathed, your voice shaky as you pressed your forehead against his. “Need you.”

His breath hitched at your words, and for a second, he almost lost control completely. The thought of finally having you, of being able to touch you the way he wanted, was almost too much to handle. But he wasn’t going to rush this. He wanted to savor every second, wanted to make you feel every bit of what he’d been holding back for the past two weeks.

“Not yet, baby,” Sidney muttered, his voice thick as he kissed along your jaw, his hands still gripping your hips tightly as he guided your movements. “We’re gonna take our time.”

You let out a frustrated sound, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him back to your mouth, kissing him harder. “I don’t wanna wait, Sid,” you panted against his lips, your body trembling with need as you ground down against his thigh.

Sidney chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin as he kissed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. “I know, baby. But I want to enjoy you.”

You let out a soft curse, your nails scraping down his back as you pressed yourself even closer to him, your body practically humming with the need to feel him inside you. Sidney groaned, his hands wandering beneath your clothing as he pushed your hoodie over your head, leaving you in just your little crop top and shorts. His eyes darkened as he looked down at you, his chest rising and falling heavily as he took in the sight of you standing there, flushed and breathing hard, your eyes full of want.

His hands moved to the waistband of your shorts, his fingers grazing the bare skin of your hips as he tugged them down slowly, agonizingly slow. His lips pressed against your neck as he worked your shorts down your legs, leaving you standing in just your panties. “I’m gonna take care of you, I promise.”

The sensation of his lips against your skin, his hands gripping your waist, was almost too much to handle. You pressed your body against his, your fingers tugging at his shirt until he finally pulled it off, tossing it carelessly to the floor. The heat of his bare skin against yours sent a shiver down your spine, your breath hitching as you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper into the kiss.

Sidney groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding down to grab your ass, and lift you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His warm, insistent mouth devoured yours, his tongue exploring deep, as if trying to claim every inch of you. The door behind you was the only thing keeping you upright at this point. The sound of fabric shifting filled the quiet room as his large, calloused hands slid up your bare thighs, sending shivers down your spine. Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging gently as you moaned into his mouth.

Just as you were losing yourself in the feel of him, the sound of your phone vibrating on the floor underneath you cut through the fog of lust clouding your mind. You ignored it at first, trying to focus on Sidney’s hands, his mouth, the feel of him pressed against you. But then it buzzed again, and again, loud against the hardwood floor, and you cursed softly under your breath.

Sidney pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours as he tried to catch his breath. “That your boyfriend, baby?” he murmured, his voice a little teasing.

You rolled your eyes, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Probably,” you muttered, Sid reached for your phone, handing it to you. You glanced at the screen, your stomach flipping at the sight of your boyfriend’s name flashing across it.

Sidney watched you, his lips quirking into a lazy smile as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Go ahead,” he whispered against your lips, his breath warm and teasing. “Answer it.”

Your eyes widened in shock, your heart racing as you looked up at him. “Are you serious?” you whispered, incredulous.

Sidney chuckled, his hands sliding down to your hips, pulling you against him. “Go on, baby,” he said softly, his lips brushing over your jaw as he kissed down your neck. “Answer it. Let’s see if you can keep quiet.”

With trembling hands, you swiped to answer, pressing it to your ear. "Yeah?" you managed to croak out, trying to sound as innocent as possible. Sidney took the opportunity to trace the line of your collarbone with his teeth, nipping and sucking gently, sending waves of need through your body. His hands found your tits, his thumbs teasing your hardened nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt. You bit your lip, suppressing a whimper, trying to focus on the voice on the other end of the line.

"What's going on?" your boyfriend asked, his voice suspicious. You felt Sidney's hand slip under your shirt, his rough fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your stomach before cupping your breast fully. His thumb continued to circle your nipple, his other hand sliding down to the waistband of your panties. "Just...just out at the lake," you lied, trying to keep your voice steady as Sidney's teeth grazed your pulse, his breath hot and uneven.

"You don't sound like you're at the lake," your boyfriend said, his tone growing more insistent. Sidney chuckled against your skin, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. "Everything okay?"

"Mhm," you hummed, feeling Sidney's fingers toy with your panties, not yet sliding under. "It's just... really hot." Sid’s quiet laughter vibrated through your body, turning into a groan as he slipped his hand inside your panties, finding the wetness that was already building. He stroked your clit with his thumb, the pressure firm and deliberate. You nearly dropped the phone as he pushed two fingers inside you, filling you up and curling them to hit that sweet spot that made your toes curl in your socks.

You struggled to keep yourself from crying out, especially as Sidney's other hand traveled up to your face, his thumb brushing your cheek, collecting the beads of sweat that had formed. "It's just... it's a really nice day out," you managed to say, trying not to let the pleasure seep into your voice. He leaned in closer, his breath hot and heavy against your ear. "Feelin’ good, baby?" he whispered, his voice a low purr that sent shivers down your spine. His fingers pumped in and out of you, his thumb still playing with your clit in a rhythm that was driving you insane.

"I can't talk right now," you murmured into the phone, your voice strained. "I'll call you back later.." You could almost hear the confusion in your boyfriend's voice as you ended the call, your eyes never leaving Sidney's as he watched you intently. His pupils were blown wide with lust. He took the phone from your hand and tossed it aside, his focus solely on the task at hand.

"Good girl," he smirked, his eyes darkening as he dipped his head to capture your mouth again. His kiss was demanding, his tongue sweeping in and out of your mouth as his fingers worked their magic between your legs. You felt yourself leaking onto his hand, the ache in your core growing harsher with every stroke. He broke the kiss, moving to trail wet kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing the soft skin. You couldn't help but arch into his touch, desperately needing more.

"Sid...oh," you gasped as he found your clit again, his fingers moving in delicate figure-eights that had your thighs trembling. 

He chuckled, his breath warm against your skin. 

"That good huh baby?" His voice was a low murmur. You nodded, unable to form coherent words as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

You felt him lift you slightly, your legs tightening around his waist as he adjusted the angle of his hand, his thumb pressing harder on your clit while his fingers continued to explore the warm depths of your pussy. His teeth grazed the shell of your ear, sending bolts of pleasure straight to your core. 

"Tell me," he whispered, his voice a hoarse demand. "Tell me how much you want me."

You took a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself. "I...I want you so bad, Sid," you murmured, the words barely audible. 

His fingers stilled for a brief moment, the sudden absence of movement making you whine with need. He chuckled softly. 

"That's it, baby," he said, before resuming his relentless pace. The tension coiled tighter in your stomach, your muscles clenching around his fingers as the first waves of an orgasm began to build.

With a groan, you buried your face in Sidney's neck, biting down lightly to muffle the sounds that wanted to escape. He kissed along your hairline, his free hand massaged your trembling thigh. 

"Come for me, baby," he whispered against your cheek, his voice demanding. "Want to feel you come all over my hand."

You whimpered into his mouth, the pleasure too intense to hold back anymore. Your eyes squeezed shut as the orgasm washed over you, your nails digging into his shoulders as you tighten your legs around his waist. His fingers slowed, allowing you to ride out the waves of pleasure that crashed through you. When you finally came down from the high, you opened your eyes to find Sidney watching you with a smug smile. 

"Fuck, you're beautiful like this," he murmured, his voice filled with awe against your shoulder.

Sidney scooped you up into his arms, carrying you over to the plush sofa with the same ease he'd use to lift a puck off the ice. He laid you down on your back, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly lowered himself onto you, his hard length pressing against your thigh. You could feel the heat of his body, his dick straining against his sweats.

"Jesus," he whispered, his eyes dark and hungry. You felt your pussy clench with need, your body begging for his touch.

With a groan, Sidney slid his hand down your body, his fingertips dancing over your stomach before delving into the waistband of your panties. He tugged them down with a rough jerk, exposing your bare pussy to the cool air of the room. You shivered at the sensation, your legs spreading wider in invitation. His eyes never left yours as you tugged his sweats and boxers down to expose his hard cock, he immediately lined himself up with your entrance, the tip glistening with precum. You take it in hand, pumping it a few times before dragging it up and down your throbbing pussy.

"Oh, fuck me," he hissed, his eyes rolling back in his head. 

You took the opportunity to stroke his cock, feeling the veiny skin and the hot, hard length beneath. His precum slicked your hand, making your movements smooth and easy. You watched as his expression tightened, his jaw clenched and his eyes snapped back to yours. "Tease," he groaned, his voice thick.

Your hand continued to glide over his length, the tip of his cock grazing your clit with every pass. Each touch sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, making it even harder to resist the urge to take him inside you. You leaned up, capturing his mouth in a kiss, your tongue tangling with his as you both fought to get closer, to taste more of each other.

Sidney groaned into your mouth, his hips jerking slightly as he lost some of his control. He broke the kiss, panting. "Need to fuck you, now," he said, his voice raw with need. You could see the restraint, the effort it was taking for him not to plunge into you without another moment's hesitation.

"Then do it," you dared him. "Take what you need."

The wait was torture, your entire body thrumming with need. He didn't tease you anymore, instead choosing to fuck into you with a single, powerful thrust that made you cry out in pleasure. The feeling of fullness was overwhelming, your pussy stretching to accommodate his thick length.

You arched your back, your nails digging into the couch cushions as Sidney began to move. His hips pistoned into you with a slow, steady rhythm that made your eyes roll back in your head. "F-fuck," he whispered, his face a mask of concentration and desire. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, needing more of him inside you. His movements grew more frantic, his cock sliding in and out of you with a wet, squelching sound that filled the room.

With every thrust, you could feel him hitting that perfect spot deep inside you, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. "Right there," you moaned, your voice rough.

Sidney's eyes never left yours as he moved. "Right there?" he asked, his voice low. "You like my cock inside you, baby?"

You nodded frantically, unable to form coherent words as the sensation of his thick length moving in you overwhelmed you. "Mm," you managed to breathe out, the word coming out as a desperate plea for more. "Fuck me harder, Sid."

Sidney's smirk grew wider, his teeth flashing in the dim light of the room. He loved it when you talked dirty, when you begged for it. His hips slammed into you with a force that made the sofa creak beneath you. You could feel your breasts bouncing with every impact, your nipples tightening into painfully hard peaks that begged for his attention.

He leaned down, his teeth capturing one sensitive nub, teasing it with gentle nips before soothing the sting with a swirl of his tongue. You cried out, your hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, pushing your chest up to meet his hungry mouth. His other hand slid down to cup your pussy, his thumb finding that sweet spot that had you seeing stars moments ago. He rubbed it in time with his thrusts, the dual sensations making it impossible to think of anything else.

"Sid, oh my fucking God, Sid," you chanted his name. Your legs tightened around his waist, urging him on, your pussy clenching around him. He groaned into your skin.

Sidney's rhythm grew more erratic as he approached his own high, his breathing coming in ragged gasps. He could feel your wetness coating his cock, your walls pulsing around him. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss. Your hands roamed his body, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles, the dampness of his back as sweat beaded and rolled down his spine.

"You're so fucking perfect," he murmured against your lips, his voice barely above a growl. He could feel his release building, the pressure at the base of his spine growing almost unbearable. You whined into his mouth, your body begging for relief, your pussy tightening around his cock as if trying to milk him dry.

With a final hard thrust, Sidney buried himself to the hilt inside you, his hips grinding against yours as he spilled his seed deep within you. The feel of him coming inside you sent you spiraling over the edge once more, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless and trembling.

For a second, he didn’t move, his cock pulsing, breath hot and heavy against your neck. Then, with a low groan, he pulled out, the loss of him leaving you feeling empty. You watched as he sat back, his cock still hard and glistening with both of your juices. "Shit, baby," he panted.

He reached for your hand, bringing it to his mouth to kiss each of your fingers. "You're mine," he murmured, the words sending a thrill through you even with the sticky mess between your legs. You felt his come start to dribble out of you, probably staining the cushion beneath you. "Always going to be mine."

He took his cock in hand and stroked it slowly, watching you watch him. He gathered your mixed releases onto his tip and pushed into you once again. He didn't move, didn’t thrust, just stared into your eyes as if making sure you knew he was trying to make sure you could feel him.

"Sid..." You breathed out.

He reached down, his hands sliding around your thighs, and before you knew it, he picked you up, never pulling out of your still-quivering pussy. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your legs automatically going around his waist as he carried you through the hallway, the warmth of his cock still inside you. It was a strange feeling, being so filled and yet so empty at the same time. You could feel the warmth of his come on your thighs as he carried you, and it sent a fresh wave of arousal through you. He lays you down on the bed, the cool sheets a big difference to the heat of his body. He takes a moment to appreciate the sight of you, sprawled out and panting, before climbing back over you. He kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing your collarbone as he moves down to your chest.

"I've been dreaming about these tits for weeks," he murmurs, his eyes dark with lust as he cups your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples. You gasp as he takes one into his mouth, sucking hard. His tongue swirls around the peak before he bites down gently, the sting making your pussy throb. You can feel your need building again, a slow burn that's starting to spread through your entire body.

He kisses down your stomach, his scruff tickling your skin, and you can feel the heat of his breath as he approaches your core. "Spread your legs for me," he says, and you obey, needy to see what he'll do next. His tongue immediately swipes over your clit, and you jolt, your body already sensitive from your recent orgasm. He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin. "So responsive." He licks you again, this time a little slower, savoring the taste of you.

He's relentless, his tongue flicking over your clit before plunging deep into your wetness. You grab fistfuls of the bedsheets, trying to hold on as he takes you to the brink again. "Sid...oh, fuck," you gasp, your hips bucking against his mouth. He hums in response. He kisses the insides of your thighs before moving back up, his mouth finding yours again. You can taste yourself on him, which almost makes up for the orgasm he didn’t give you.

But he wasn't done with you yet. Not even close, not when he’s been waiting weeks to feel you. He stood up, his cock hard again. "On your knees," he said. 

Before you can say anything, or even move, he flips you over himself, so you're on your hands and knees on the bed. He just smirks down at you, that knowing smile that makes your stomach flip. You're on the edge of the bed now, knees spread, ass in the air. 

You look up at him through your lashes, your eyes full of want, and he nods, wanting it just as bad as you do. You lean forward, your hands wrapping around the base of his dick as you take him into your mouth. He groans, his hands coming up to tangle in your hair as he starts to fuck your mouth, his movements rough and demanding. You gag, but you love it, the feeling of him filling you up so completely, pushing past the limits of what you thought you could take.

You could feel his eyes on you, watching as you took him deep, your cheeks hollowing with each pass. His hand tangled in your hair, guiding your movements, setting a pace that had you gagging slightly around his length.

Your eyes water, but you don't stop, your tongue swirling around his length as he hits the back of your throat, it only adds to the feeling of being used and adored all at once. His hips are a blur, his cock moving in and out of your mouth in a steady, punishing rhythm that makes your throat tighten around him. You reach down to touch yourself, your pussy slick and swollen, your fingertips slipping easily through the mess he's made of you.

"Fuck," he groaned, his eyes half-closed with pleasure. "Your mouth is heaven." You took him in deeper, letting his cock slide to the back of your throat and sit there. You felt his grip tighten, his other hand coming to rest on the back of your head as he pushed in even further. You choked, your throat convulsing around him, and he chuckled. "Take it," he encouraged, his voice a low whisper. "Take all of me."

Your scalp begins to sting as he starts to fuck your mouth with more urgency, his hips pumping faster. You can feel his release coming, the muscles in his thighs tensing, and you know he's close. You suck harder, your cheeks hollowing out as you take him all the way in, your throat working around him. He lets out a strangled groan, his cock swelling even more, and you know you're pushing him to the brink.

With one hand still playing with your clit, your pussy is so sore. The stimulation is intense, your fingertips rub against your sensitive flesh, and you can't help but whine around his cock. You're so close again, your body begging for release, and you give in, sliding two fingers inside yourself. They glide in easily, coated with his come and your juices, and you start to fuck yourself in time with his thrusts. The vibration makes him curse, his eyes never leaving yours, his strokes growing more violent. "You're gonna make me come," he warns.

You can feel your jaw starting to ache, but you don't care. All that matters right now is getting him off, making him come apart in your mouth. You reach up to grip the base of his dick, using it to stroke him in time with your bobbing. His cock sliding in and out of your mouth with a wet, lewd sound that makes you even wetter. You can feel your pussy clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled by him again, but for now, this is enough. This is more than enough.

His balls start to tighten, and you know he's close. With a final, desperate push, Sidney empties himself into your mouth, his warm come spurting against the back of your throat. You keep sucking, eager to get every last drop, then he pulls out with a wet ‘pop’. You open your mouth and show him your tongue, white with come, the salty taste of him filling your mouth. 

“Christ,” he rasps out, panting, his cock glistening with your saliva and his come. You lick your lips, savoring the taste of him, feeling more alive than you ever have before.

Still on your knees, Sid puts his hands on your hips, moving you so that you're facing the mirror across from his bed. He's not done with you yet. He presses down on your lower back, forcing your ass further up. "I want you to see your face when I make you come again," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

You look up at him in the mirror, your cheeks flushed. You know what's coming, and you can't wait. He lines his cock up with your pussy, and you feel a shiver of anticipation run down your spine. With one hand, he grips your hip, holding you steady as he slams into you from behind. You cry out, the force of his entry making your eyes water, and he slaps your ass, leaving a red handprint that makes you moan.

"Touch yourself, baby," he says, his voice a low growl. "Go ‘head."Your body is already stretching around him, your pussy slick with come and need. His strokes are deep and slow, his cock dragging out before slamming back in, making you whine and squirm. He grabs one of your hands, guiding it between your legs, your fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in tight circles as he fucks you. "Yeah, just like that," he murmurs, his eyes on your reflection as you touch yourself.

You can feel his hand on your neck, squeezing gently, the other gripping your hip so hard it's probably going to leave marks. He's lost in the rhythm, his eyes half-closed, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip. You're lost in it too, your hand moving faster, your breaths coming in pants. "Sid...baby," you moan, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. His eyes snap open, meeting yours in the mirror, and the intensity of his gaze makes you feel like you're going to break.

"Gonna come for me, baby?" he grunts, his voice strained with his own need. "Wanna feel you come all over my cock." The words are like a trigger, sending you spiraling. You tighten the circles on your clit, your body arching as wave after wave of pleasure and pain washes over you. You feel him swell inside you, his own orgasm close, and you push back into him, eager to take all of him.

You moan into the mattress, your hand still working your clit, your other hand squeezing your breast. The pressure builds, a crescendo of pleasure that feels like it's going to tear you in half. You can see his face in the mirror, the look of concentration as he watches you. "Come for me," he grunts, his voice deep and demanding. "Come all over my cock."

And then you do. With a cry that's half pleasure and half pain, your body convulses, your pussy clenching around him as you squirt, the wetness soaking the bed beneath you and his thighs. He pulled back, his cock slipping from your quivering, dripping hole, the sight of you squirting making him even harder. He drags his cock through your folds, his thumb pressing down on your clit, drawing out your orgasm until you're shaking, until you can't take anymore.

Sidney's cock was still hard, still demanding more, but he took his time, his hand moving between your legs to gently coax more pleasure from your swollen clit. You whined, the sensation almost too much, but you didn't want it to end. Sid seemed to know that, "Just need a little more baby." Before pushing into you again. He needed to come, and he was going to do so inside.

"Sid, please," you begged, your voice barely a whisper. He moved a bit faster, his eyes never leaving your face. 

"I'm almost there, just a little more, baby," he murmured, his voice strained. The feel of your walls pulsing around him was too much for him to resist.

"Oh, fuck, baby," he groaned, his voice tight with tension. "You're going to make me... ah, fuck..."

Sidney's cock swelled inside you, and with a final thrust, he came. You felt the hot spurt of his come fill you, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm. He groaned, his eyes squeezed shut, his entire being focused on the pleasure that was consuming him.

He groaned, his eyes squeezed shut, his entire being focused on the pleasure that was consuming him. "Fuck, baby," he panted, his voice hoarse. "That was... fucking incredible."

You couldn't help but hum, a smile tugging at your lips. Your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your own climax. As his hips slowed, you could feel his cock begin to soften, his come leaking out of your pussy and onto the bed. You felt satisfied, a need had been fulfilled beyond your wildest dreams. "It was," you agreed, your voice a breathless whisper.

With a sigh, Sidney pulled out of you, his soft cock glistening with your combined releases. He collapsed beside you, his strong arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you into the crook of his body. You snuggled closer, feeling his warmth seep into your bones. The bed was a mess, the comforter and sheets sticky with sweat and your juices, but it was your mess.

He nuzzled into your hair, planting soft kisses along your neck and shoulder. "You okay, baby?" he murmured, his voice filled with genuine concern. You nodded, your cheek pressing into his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

With a gentle tug, Sidney pulled the comforter up, so that you were nestled against his side, your legs tangled in the mess of the bed sheets. The scent of sex clung to the air. He reached over and grabbed a clean towel from the chair beside his bed, gently wiping away the sweat and come that coated your skin. His touch was soft.

His arms were heavy around you, but you didn’t mind. Not one bit. You fit against him too perfectly, like you were made to lay right here — chest to chest, his big hand sprawled warm and wide over your bare back, fingertips tracing lazy little circles at the dip of your spine. The air in the room was cool, but his body heat had you flushed and soft and sleepy against him, every inch of you sinking deeper and deeper.

He smelled faintly like sweat and his sheets, and just under that, like whatever was left of your perfume, transferred to his skin from hours tangled up together. His nose nudged into your hair every so often, and each time, his hold tightened. Like he was still trying to convince himself you were really here.

Your breathing was slowing down now, evening out with that heavy, blissful sleepiness settling in your bones. But his heart �� you could hear it, thudding strong under your ear where your head rested on his chest.

Sid let out a soft sigh through his nose and pressed a kiss to your temple, voice low and a little rough. "Baby... you falling asleep on me?"

You hummed, barely moving except to nuzzle closer, lips brushing against his skin. "Mhm... comfy." Your voice was wrecked, scratchy and soft, and it made his chest tighten in the best, most dangerous way.

"Shit, you’re so sweet like this," he muttered, voice dropping lower. His hand skimmed higher, fingers threading into your hair at the back of your head, massaging slow, gentle strokes that made you melt. "Could hold you like this all night, y'know that? Don’t wanna let you go."

"Then don’t," you mumbled, barely coherent, and god — that made him smile, all crooked and a little breathless.

He kissed your hair again. "But you gotta go, yeah? Before your old man starts sending out a search party."

At that, his home phone rang sharply against the nightstand. You groaned, face scrunching up as he reached for it with a sleepy grumble. Sidney’s big hand held it for a bit before hitting answer.

"Stay," he murmured, voice gravelly, lips brushing your cheek. "Just for a little longer."

The phone rang again.

With a dramatic sigh, you peeled your face off his chest and squinted at the screen. "It's my dad," you groaned. "Fuck."

Sid let his head fall back against the pillow with a grunt. "Of course it is. Perfect fuckin’ timing."

He tapped to answer, already bracing. "Hey, man..." he said, trying his best to sound normal, like he didn’t have his buddy’s daughter naked in bed after what felt like marathon sex. Your eyes flicked up, catching Sid watching you with that stupid soft smile and sleepy eyes, one hand still stroking lazy circles on your back.

Your dad’s voice crackled through the speaker. "Hey Sid, how’s it going?"

"Goin’ good, you?" His voice stayed steady, thank god, but you could hear his heart pounding.

"Good. Good. Hey, you wouldn’t have happened to see my kid around, have you?" he said, clearly not suspecting.

"No, no, I haven’t. Everything alright?" 

“I think so. She said she was gonna go out with her friends but… she just hasn’t been answering her phone.”

“Gotcha, well I haven’t seen her but I’ll let you know if I do.”

“Alright, thanks, Sid, talk to you later.” And with that, he hung up.

"Jesus Christ," you muttered.

Sid chuckled, deep and low, the sound vibrating under your ear. "Well, guess that’s our cue, huh?"

"Unfortunately." You scrunched your nose and peeked up at him through your lashes. "Gotta go before this turns into a whole-ass disaster."

Sid sighed, long and reluctant, but his hand smoothed down your back, comforting. "Yeah, yeah. I get it, baby." His other hand cupped the back of your head again, guiding you in for one more slow, lingering kiss — warm and sweet and just shy of desperate. "Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though."

You smiled against his mouth. "Nobody said you had to."

"Fuckin’ hell," he muttered, kissing you again, this time slower. His hand squeezed your hip gently. "You feel so good in my bed, baby. Gonna have a real hard time letting you leave."

"You're not making this any easier," you whispered, grinning as you finally pulled back.

"Yeah, well—" He sat up with a groan, dragging a hand over his face. "C’mon. Let’s get you dressed before I change my mind and keep you here." His voice was playful but thick with that same frustration you both felt.

He climbed out of bed first, stark naked and not bothering to hide the mess you two had made of each other. You giggled, covering your face.

"Don’t laugh at me, baby," he grumbled, smirking as he handed you a blanket so you could go back to the living room where every single piece of clothing was abandoned. 

He followed closely behind. Watching as you grabbed your shirt from where it had been tossed onto the floor hours ago. "Here. Arms up."

You did as told, sitting up slow with a wince. "God... everything hurts."

Sid’s hands paused as he helped you slide the shirt, no bra, down over your head, eyes flicking up to meet yours with a look equal parts concern and satisfaction. "Sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to wreck you that bad." He smoothed the shirt down over your hips, lips quirking. "Actually, that’s a lie. Kinda did."

You swatted at his arm. "Dick."

He just laughed, soft and warm, helping you to your feet next. His hands steadied you when your legs wobbled. "Easy, sweetheart. I got you."

You gave him a look, half annoyed, half fond. "God, you and your big ego."

Sidney just grinned, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. "Uh-huh. And you love it."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, too busy stepping into your shorts, no panties, with a grimace. "I’m gonna be walking funny for days."

Where the hell are your underwear?

His hands smoothed down your sides once you were dressed, thumbs stroking little circles at your waist. "Should’ve thought about that before you came over looking like a fuckin’ dream." His lips brushed your ear. "You gonna be okay with all those marks, baby? Your dad’s not gonna ask questions?"

You shrugged, careless. "He won’t. He’ll just assume it’s my boyfriend." You shot him a wicked little smile over your shoulder. "Let him."

Sid barked out a laugh, low and sharp. His hand swatted lightly at your ass as he turned you toward the door. "Alright, c’mon. Before I say screw it and drag you back to bed."

You both padded through the quiet house, the late hour making every creak in the floorboards sound louder. At the door, he grabbed his hoodie from the hook and draped it over your shoulders. "Here. Cover up those pretty marks I left."

You smirked, pulling it tighter around you. "You’re obsessed with me."

"Damn right I am," he muttered, pulling you in for one last kiss. This one was slower, deeper, his hand cupping your jaw while his thumb stroked your cheek. "Text me when you get home, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah," you whispered against his lips, heart hammering. "Promise."

He kissed you again, like he couldn’t help it. "Good girl."

Your legs were still a little wobbly as you made your way to your car, Sid trailing behind you, big and warm and still looking like he didn’t want to let you go. At the driver’s side door, he caught your hand, lifted it to his mouth, and kissed your knuckles slow.

"You drive safe, baby."

You squeezed his hand back. "I'll see you soon."

"You better." His voice was rough now, low with something that made your stomach flip.

You slid into the car, biting your lip to keep from smiling too wide.

Sid leaned down, kissed your temple through the open window, and then stepped back with a soft curse under his breath. "Fuckin’ troublemaker," he muttered fondly.

And as you pulled away into the night, Sidney just stood there in his driveway, arms crossed, watching your taillights disappear — already counting down the minutes until he could get his hands on you again.

—

[therebelcaptain]

I’ve been thinking about the similarities in Cassian’s actions following Aldhani and Ghorman and how they seem to be motivated by the intense shock he’s in. While what he witnesses and experiences on both planets is different, Cassian still walks away both events extremely traumatised and wanting to run away from it all. He tells both Maarva and Bix that they could find somewhere free from the Empire and live in peace, that they already had everything they needed and they could just leave the next morning. The fact that those two conversations, though separated by a few years, are so similar makes it clear that this is an instinctive trauma response on Cassian’s part—his way of protecting himself and his loved ones is by trying to get as far away from the danger as possible. Unfortunately for Cassian that simply isn’t possible under the Empire, but he can’t see that when he’s in that state of mind. The shock is dictating his actions and clouding his judgement which is why in both situations, Maarva and Bix end up making the decision for him—one stays behind and the other leaves him behind. Both are made with his best interests at heart as staying on Ferrix was too dangerous for Cassian and his leaving Yavin would have been to the detriment of the rebellion, even if he doesn’t completely understand it in the moment.

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

*shyly stumbles into asks, blushing and giggling* uhmmm heres a silly one...bill with a girlfriend who really likes boba fett (we are talking original trilogy. bill is a prequels anti. i will explode on that hill.) & wants to...get freaky with him..while he's wearing the helmet / cosplay...? ‪‪❤︎‬ thats niche !! if its too silly, disregard ‪. ❤︎‬ hehe.. xoxo - @battingmyeyelashes

(Lol he gonna go full nerd on you, gatekeeping and all

Title" STAR—WHORES"

(Epilogue bill dickey x reader smut, role-playing, star wars references, dorky shit)

You’re sitting cross-legged on the musty futon in Bill’s basement, surrounded by half-unboxed McFarlane Toys and the faint stench of Mountain Dew Baja Blast that permanently haunts the carpet. You’re in your Boba Fett shirt (1983 print, thank you), and Bill’s ranting about The Mandalorian again—he’s one bong rip away from a coronary over "lore desecration."

“It’s not even him! It’s his f**king kid cousin with Disney-fied trauma and a plush toy sidekick!”

You smirk, half-listening, until you spot the Fett helmet and gloves on the shelf behind him. It's dented in that perfect, screen-accurate way. You slink off the futon and grab it.

“What the hell are you—don’t smudge the visor, I swear to God, do not—!”

You cut him off by placing it on his head.

"Just leave it on," you purr.

Bill pauses. Under the helmet, he’s quiet—too quiet. You’d think you asked him to LARP as Jar Jar Binks. But then… then that sick little glint creeps into his body language. That self-important, smug power trip kind of silence. He adjusts the helmet. Stands up straighter.

“You want Fett?” he grunts, voice muffled through the helmet. “You got him. But only the OT version. None of that prequel Mandalore crap.”

You nod, climbing back onto the futon. He’s still in cargo shorts and a torn Flash Gordon tee under the helmet, which is somehow even funnier. But hey—it's Bill. He’s not gonna not leave the socks on.

You reach for him and he jerks back.

"Hold on. You're not worthy of touching Fett yet. Recite the bounty hunter lineup from Empire. In order."

“Are you—”

“IN ORDER.”

You groan. But, okay. Fine. “Bossk, IG-88, Zuckuss, Dengar—"

"WRONG!" he barks. "Zuckuss came after 4-LOM. Jesus. Do you even care about this franchise?"

The helmet fogs slightly as he inhales. Then, dead serious:

"You better start showing some f**king respect if you want to ride Slave I tonight.”

You roll your eyes, legs already draped over the armrest as he paces in the Fett helmet like some gremlin bounty hunter with a superiority complex. Which, well. He is.

“You done?” you ask, cocking a brow. “Or do I need to do a f**king thesis on the Sarlacc pit to touch your dick?”

He stops mid-step. Helmet tilts.

“…You think Fett just lets people touch him?”

“Oh my God, Bill—”

He cuts you off with a gloved finger to your lips, voice muffled and hoarse through the helmet.

“Quiet. You’re not talking to Bill right now. You’re addressing the galaxy’s most feared bounty hunter. And you?” He walks toward you slowly, kneepads squeaking. “You’re my little… carbonite trophy. My precious… filthy… rebel scum.”

You snort, but it turns into a moan when he grabs your thighs—rough, sudden, like he's trying to prove something. He doesn’t kiss you, because kissing is too intimate for Fett (or because the helmet’s in the way), but his mouth is definitely open under there. Breathing heavy. Nerd-lust mode fully activated.

“You’re gonna sit there,” he growls, dragging your hips forward until you’re perched on the edge of the futon, “and I’m gonna show you what a real original trilogy character can do.”

“Oh yeah?” you tease. “You gonna choke me with the Wookiee braids?”

“You wish I’d bring the braids out. You haven't earned that yet.”

He hikes your shirt up with way too much flair, like he’s revealing an action figure variant. There’s a hesitation, though. He’s hard—you can see it through those pathetic cargo shorts—but he’s still Bill, which means even when he’s seconds from railing you, he’s got a goddamn opinion.

“You know, Fett wouldn’t actually do this. He’s too professional. Too controlled.”

“Bill,” you pant, frustrated and turned on in equal measure. “I swear to God, if you break character now, I will peg you in that helmet.”

A beat.

“…Yes, ma’am.”

He gets to his knees like it’s a command from Jabba himself. Helmet bobbing between your thighs now, breath hot through the dented visor.

And somehow, under all that smug geek fury, that helmet becomes the hottest thing in the room.

You're still panting, legs twitching, body wrecked in a way that should be embarrassing, but then again—Bill Dickey just f**ked you in a Boba Fett helmet and had the audacity to salute when he came. You're already bracing for the post-nut review.

And right on cue—

“That,” he says, voice muffled, “was better than anything in Attack of the Clones.”

He pulls out with a wet sound and flops beside you like a dead Jawa, the mattress groaning in protest. The helmet’s still on, tilted back now, his sweaty hair plastered to his neck like a guy who forgot hygiene after middle school.

“Better than Clones? That’s your f**king metric?”

He turns his head (helmet squeaking against his pillow) to glare at you like you just defended midichlorians.

“I sweat for that performance. I bled Star Wars lore into that nut. And you’re asking about metrics?”

You roll over, eyeing his now-soft, vaguely sad dick resting against a gut that somehow jiggles with both superiority and shame. You’re about to say something, but he raises a hand—gloved, still—like a traffic cop.

“No. Listen. I just put in more character work than anyone in the sequels. And you—” he jabs a finger at your chest “—you came harder than an EU author writing Mara Jade fanfic in the ‘90s.”

You blink. “Did you just call my orgasm Expanded Universe canon?”

“I called it peak lore integration. And frankly, you’re lucky I didn’t bring the jetpack. That’s a level two fetish unlock and you haven’t earned it.”

You groan, dragging a pillow over your face. “I cannot believe I let you raw me in that f**king helmet.”

“Oh, you didn’t let Bill Dickey raw you,” he says smugly. “You got drilled by Boba Fett as he was meant to be portrayed. Pre-Disney. Pre-bulls**t. Pure uncut LFL masculinity.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, softly:

“…I love you, but you are the most insufferable man I’ve ever f**ked.”

He grins under the helmet, glowing like a Funko Pop finally taken out of the box.

“And yet. You still came.”

You throw a sock at his face. He lets it hit him like it's a blaster bolt to the chest.

“Bill. Take the helmet off.”

He pauses.

“…You sure you’re ready to see the man behind the Fett?”

“Take it the f**k off, Bill.”

He peels it back with the drama of a Sith Lord revealing himself. Sweat-slick hair, flushed cheeks, glasses askew. That s**t-eating smirk.

And somehow, in spite of everything—the bad breath, the elitism, the deep-seated rage at Rian Johnson—you still want to kiss him.

You sigh, straddling his lap again. “Alright. But this time, I get the lightsaber.”

He looks terrified and horny all at once.

“Only if it’s a legacy replica. I swear to God, if you bring in Force FX, I’ll—”

You cut him off with a kiss, already reaching under the bed for the box labeled “DO NOT TOUCH—SABERS.”

---

[heyclickadee]

One thing about Crosshair is that he’s a remarkably intelligent man with a good read of people and situations and emotionally wrecked life decision-making skills. Dude will have some truly perceptive insight into whatever’s happening that hits on a grain of truth, and then that insight will be filtered through so many layers of trauma and cynicism that his conclusion will end up at least 90 degrees off whatever’s right.

[quasi-normalcy]

Okay, so I’ve got some thoughts for a whole arc about that!

I figure that the Captain be really idealistic about Starfleet and the Federation, and of course the Romulan first officer will be much more cynical about this; and then, on one of their missions (I’m envisioning this series as being basically episodic, but with through-lines) they’ll stumble upon some really quite heinous Section 31 war crimes, and the Admiralty will order the Captain to keep it hush-hush (and maybe there’ll be a mole on the crew who’ll delete the evidence, because I can’t imagine the Captain just going along with this).

And the captain will become kind of withdrawn over this, but then the First Officer will show up in his quarters even though he doesn’t want to talk, and, instead of being smug, what she’ll do is she’ll put out a ceremonial dagger and cut her palm, and she’ll say something like:

“You asked me once when I stopped being loyal to the Star Empire. I stopped being loyal to the Empire when it stopped being loyal to its people. We Romulans have a reputation for secrecy, but this is merely a reaction to living under the boot of the Tal’Shiar. My world burned because of the Tal’Shiar—because we became so closed off and so secretive that we couldn’t cooperate, even in the face of a catastrophe that our scientists foresaw years in advance. Organizations like Section 31 and the Tal’Shiar are parasites. They promise security but serve only their own power. They nest in the hearts of civilizations, perverting them from the inside out, turning openness to closure and trust to paranoia; and in the end, they leave only death. With my heart’s blood, I hereby pledge myself and all resources at my disposal to the cause of rooting out and annihilating this parasite from the Federation—” (*Offers him the dagger*) “If you will have me.” (*and then, of course, he will take the dagger*)

And it will be a big moment, because up to this point, she’s been all-business on the ship, playing her cards really close to her chest; but now they have a common cause.

And then, the last few episodes of the season will be about them securing incontrovertible proof of Section 31’s crimes without attracting too much attention to themselves and leaking it to the press to drive a political crisis. And it will all culminate in this really cool final scene where the Captain and First officer will get together to play the first of their duets over a montage of all of the conspiracists in Section 31 getting arrested, acrimonious shouting in the Federation Council, protests outside of Starfleet HQ, and so forth, until they reach the end of their piece and the Captain just smiles and is like “You know; I think we pair rather well together, don’t you?” And that’s the end of Season One.

Anyways, I've been thinking about it, and if I were to create a Star Trek, the captain would just be a fictionalized version of Jack Layton, and his first officer would be a sarcastic Romulan goth sword lesbian.

[imogenkol]

— FRACTURES

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[please-picturemeintheweeds]

Evermore anon, I just reblogged @wavesoutbeingtossed’s brilliant posts of that exact theme! YES something about all of this and the weight of forever, the reality of a a future that forces a person to get truly philosophical about joining together two humans in such a final and intimate ceremony. That introspection can recomtextualize a lot of relationship stuff that maybe felt more symbolic or abstract until it’s Happening.

[abigailspinach]

The Empire survived the transfer of power, even when the emperor didn’t. “I have some idea,” she said. “What’s the other sort of person? Since domestic terrorism doesn’t usually lend itself to a glorious return to ideal rulership, as most of the populace can’t possibly enjoy it enough to like their new emperor afterward.”

Nineteen Adze laughed, and Mahit felt an outsize satisfaction. Like making this woman laugh was a victory, hard won, long sought-after, each time a prize. Perhaps Yskandr had been Nineteen Adze’s lover—and even if Mahit was lacking his voice and his memory, she still had his endocrine system response.

“The other sort of person,” said Nineteen Adze, when the laughter had subsided, “doesn’t want power; they want the destruction of what power currently exists, and nothing else. We only sometimes have problems with them. But we have been having one now, for some span of years. We are a very large empire, as of late, and peaceful, and it gives men and women a great deal of time to think about what displeases them.” She got to her feet. “Come over to the infographs, Ambassador. Work waits for nothing, even interesting young barbarians like yourself and our Yskandr.”

Our? Mahit thought, startled—and didn’t ask. Watched.

[cloudwisp]

✮ sylus x wife!reader

contents: fluff, suggestive. arranged marriage au. hints of slow burn. you like playing hard to get and he loves calling you his wife. 1.4k wc.

꒰ note ᰔ I had to deposit my messy thoughts somewhere and this headcanon post was the result.

part two here. ꒱

⭒ Arranged marriage with Sylus where he prefers to call it a “strategic partnership” as a means of appearances to flaunt that he has it all—an empire, riches, strength, influence and now a darling wife who waits for him at home. You’re not so much as a random choice, Sylus had been watching you from afar for a while and in exchange for his protection in the N109 zone he strikes a deal with you to play a simple role. You have every reason to be wary of him and know to keep your wits about yourself, but even you acknowledge that your chances are better with him. Though, if you asked him how he was so certain you’d agree to his proposal he’d admit that he wasn’t but he knew you’d consider it if he had an advantage over you.

⭒ He sets his terms and conditions—you reside in his humble abode, wedding ring always worn on your finger, and attend events with him as a pretty accessory on his arm to contribute to his image. But he’ll never admit that he actually enjoys your company at business functions that often feel dull to him. You are more than welcome to spend your days as you please so long you don’t cause him trouble, and that also means you have his black card privileges to spoil yourself rotten. Of course, he accommodates most requests you may have like sleeping in separate rooms if that’s what you wish (and redecorating because his furnishing decisions are quite bleak).

⭒ Luke and Kieran can sense that their boss feels something for you despite his nonchalance toward this little arrangement. It starts off small, it always does—Sylus takes note of your morning and night routine, your picky eating habits and has the chef make adjustments to your preference, how he sees you out in the gardens and come back with spring tulips to brighten the space and the next week he already replaced the slowly withering flowers with fresh ones. The twins whisper among themselves that he’s often less annoyed and irritated when you’re around, and their boss wouldn’t go through the trouble of being considerate unless he cares for you. It’s almost exciting for them both to witness a budding romance unfold before their very eyes and they do offer a helping hand here and there to keep things interesting.

⭒ Sylus thinks it’s adorable how you keep trying to resist him and that’s precisely the reason he loves seeking you out just to watch your resolve crumble under his touch. He finds you in the kitchen preparing a snack and cages you from behind with his hands planted on either side of you against the counter. “Hey kitten, I thought I’d find you in here.” You feel his hot breath down your neck as he pushes your hair aside just enough to lay a soft kiss on your shoulder. He chuckles when you comment that he’s being awfully touchy with you, and he purposely moves closer so that his chest is pressing against your back. “Perhaps I just can’t keep my hands to myself where you’re involved. Besides, you’re my wife now. I think I have the right to touch you whenever I like.”

⭒ You remind him that you’re his wife in title only, but that doesn’t discourage his flirtation and teasing as he allows you to nudge past him. He follows you into the common area and takes a seat on the couch, spreading his legs wide and taking up a lot of space. His gaze is settled on you as he pats his thigh and his lips curl into a smirk. “Come here, wife.” You naturally scoff meanwhile you place the plate of seasonal fruits on the side table and situate yourself closest to the armrest, taking a bite into a juicy red strawberry as you ignore his piercing stare.

⭒ For someone who always gets what he wants, Sylus isn’t used to being defied like this. And had it been anyone else his patience would wear dangerously thin, but he supposes that you’re a special exception because he seems to enjoy the chase and claiming its reward. With one small gesture, he drags you across the couch by a gravitational pull and you squeal when the swirling red easily turn and maneuver you so you’re forced to straddle him and your hands prop on his shoulders for support. “There, much better. Comfy? This is the best seat in the house.” His gaze locks with yours, and he thinks you huffing and frowning at him is simply cute. He firmly grabs your wrist with the bitten strawberry in your hand and lifts it to his mouth for a sweet taste.

⭒ “No fair… using your Evol against me like this.” You grumble under your breath as you gently trail your thumb from his chin to the corner of his mouth where the strawberry juices began to spill. Then an impulsive thought takes over and you pinch his cheek between your fingers, creating a sticky mess on his face. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself. That’s for treating me like a sack of potatoes.” He chuckles once more, his hand falling on your hip and he gives you a light squeeze. “Oh, I do have every intention of fully enjoying my wife tonight.” And by that, he means taking you out for a joyride on his motorbike and feeling your arms wrapped around him tightly as the engine roars through the streets under the night sky and sinking moon. Sylus would never engage in any intimate acts you weren’t ready for, but he loves seeing you fluster at his suggestive remarks.

⭒ As the weeks cross over into months, you never imagined that you’d be spending so much time with Sylus outside of your agreed terms. He’s everywhere in every waking moment of your life even when he’s not there physically. You’re learning new things about him each day and you (begrudgingly) like being around him—even when he can sometimes be a playful bully toward you. When he’s gone for long stretches of time to deal with negotiations and other important matters in the N109 zone, you can feel your heart yearning for him but you’d never say that you miss him out loud when you think he's still toying with you. But with the way he cares for you like you’re both in a real and genuine relationship, it’s hard to know his true intentions and keep your feelings buried deep inside your chest for long.

⭒ You accidentally confirm that Sylus does harbor romantic feelings for you when you carelessly bring up your replacement in a lighthearted joke. You’ve never seen his face falter so quickly at your words as he averts his gaze for a moment to collect himself—a hint of vulnerability in his crimson hues. “I wouldn’t have found a new wife.” He shakes his head and tells you, his voice a little rougher than before. You don’t know what to say, but you manage a soft “No?” that reaches his ears. “No. I wouldn’t have been able to replace you, kitten. You’re it for me. The only one. No one could fill the void you’d leave behind.”

⭒ You and Sylus have kissed before, but this is the first time you’re initiating it. As you brush your lips against his, there’s a softness you never noticed. His hand slips around the small of your back and he pulls you close against him, returning your kiss with the same tenderness as though savoring the taste of you. You lean back after a moment, your palm meeting his cheek in a sweet embrace. “You know, I'm still getting used to the idea that I’ve fallen for you.” You can see him returning back to normal when he offers you a cocky smirk. “And yet here you are. In my arms, with your lips on mine. I think you’re not being entirely honest, my beautiful wife.” Sylus has waited a long time to hear those words from you but you don’t need to know that right now.

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ HOLY GRAIL !

part one | part two

summary: in ancient rome, where survival is determined by the whims of a mad ruler, the empire's beloved general gives you – his first and only love – to the crazed emperor to ensure your safety. (6k)

pairing: marcus acacius / fem!reader, emperor geta / fem!reader

contents: established relationship, strangers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of war and violence, mentions of sex work, swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, m receiving oral, unprotected sex, cuckholding, exhibitionism) (this is a pretty dark fic so pls heed the warnings!!!)

Marcus Acacius was the name on the lips of a thousand fallen empires. His ledger ran a deep scarlet color, which dripped like proof from his sword. The war had destroyed the General over the years — had turned the man into an empty thing filled only by untamable ghosts. The relentless battle had wrung his boyhood from his body like a slow, merciless death. Any remaining innocence has since been replaced with violence.

Rome made a legacy of his grotesque evils, turned him into a saint. Marcus Acacius did not want to be a saint. He did not want to be angry; he did not want to be cruel. He only wanted to love and to be left alone with his tenderness. His mouth filled with blood instead.

You loved him like all doomed, grotesque things are meant to be loved. In the dark. In the shadows of war. In the depths of the soul.

“This is me,” he confesses, the great General Acacius, returning to you like a ghost to its haunt. “This is who I am.”

His golden armor is sullied from a victorious battle, tainted now with blotches of soil and dried blood that’s not his own. His dirtied, unholy fists tremble at his sides as he fights the urge to cross the threshold of your quarters to meet you. Marcus knows he doesn’t deserve to be held by you now. Not when he still wreaks of death.

He can still feel the breath of a fist on his bruised cheek, but the way his sword felt plunging through the beating heart of an enemy soldier plagues him most of all. 

“Love turned on me long ago— It is not a burden I compel you to carry.”

So, please, do not love me, he doesn’t say. I only know how to destroy you.

You smile at him, eyes soft with sympathy, and cross the threshold of longing with an admirable effortlessness. You cradle his weathered, war-torn face in your palms, willingly staining your delicate hands with the blood stained there.

“I love you despite. So I imagine I’ll carry it anyway,” you coo to him, gentle eyes locked firmly with his heavy ones. “And I’m certain you love me in return, regardless of what you think the siege has made of you.”

“There is naught I can do about it,” Marcus admits, words heavy with choked-back emotion. He melts into your touch but continues to deny himself the want to hold you back. “Not while I still oversee this campaign. Not while there is a war to be won—”

“We love each other, don’t we?” you interject, pleading eyes searching for emotion behind his dark, stoic gaze. Marcus swallows hard. His scruffy chin scrapes your palm as he nods once in response. You grin and say the unforgiving truth out loud. “So fuck the war.”

You pull him down by his face to press a kiss to his unclean lips. Marcus rests his shaking hands over your waist and lets you build cathedrals in his mouth with your tongue. The blood in his teeth turns to holy water. 

Marcus long understood that bringing you to the city would be his last act of love.

Keeping you in the heart of Rome was the only way he could ensure your safety, with the surrounding towns still under merciless siege. The people there were docile, and loyal most of all to the General who had won them a thousand wars. They would not hurt you because it was not in their kind too, and because they feared General Acacius’ wrath as much as they respected his mercy.

This was known to everyone in Rome except its Emperors.

Geta and Caracalla ruled together following their father’s untimely demise but shared not a brain between them. They were boys, after all, the oldest being hardly two-and-twenty –– it was in their nature to talk more than they listened, and to pretend as if they knew the world despite never leaving the city walls. 

They were as cruel and as stupid as anyone who wished to rule an empire would be.

But the two of them relied heavily on their General to keep the restless public at ease. It made it easier for Marcus to bring you with him, knowing he had the trust of the most powerful men in Rome. He knew Geta kept meticulous care of his most precious gifts — all Marcus had to do was get you there, really, and the Emperors would do the rest for him. 

It was simple, but it was not easy; though he imagines no war ever has been or would be. Both of you had survived, yes, but neither of you had been spared. Bringing you here was a testament to that, which you seemingly could not comprehend. You were as soft and green as the countryside he plucked you from, too naive for politics.

Marcus tells himself that this was the merciful decision, anyway, as he gives you a tour of Caracalla’s labyrinthine gardens — the place farthest from the feasting hall where the noblemen dined. Hidden behind climbing leaves, free from prying eyes.

“I can’t imagine why you would be so apprehensive in bringing me here. It’s beautiful,” you marvel aloud as you walk ahead of the man guiding you. 

Your sandals pad faintly along the cobbled trail as you skim your palm over the bed of blooming roses. The petals feel like silk against your skin. You pluck one from the soil, careful to avoid its thorns, and hold it up to your nose. You turn to face Marcus with the crimson flower resting on your cupid’s bow.

“And it smells better, too,” you quip softly, tilting your head to your shoulder as you smirk behind the budding rose.

Marcus just barely manages to bite back his own grin until you reach out for him, tapping the delicate flower against the bridge of his strong nose. He exhales hard through his nostrils in place of a laugh.

Your giggling comes carried on the breath of a warm summer breeze — a symphony of salty ocean, dainty florals, and the pretty oils you’d bathed in. The wind billows through your thin, white gown and creates music with rustling leaves. You squint one eye when the setting sun peeks through the swishing tree limbs, bathing you in a golden-hour aura. 

You’re as beautiful as sin. Sweeter than death. Smiling at him like this is the beginning of something that died the moment you entered the city walls.

Marcus clears throat and gently guides your hand away. His cautious eyes flit around the vacant garden. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, you find, despite being the strongest man in all of Rome. You feel safest at his side, so you don’t know why he always looks so frightened.

“I know you are drunk on youth and immortality, petal, but we cannot get ahead of ourselves,” he advises, all stiff and stern, though the term of endearment spills effortlessly from his mouth. “We’re in the city now. So we must play the part. Like we discussed.”

He speaks to you with an unintentional sort of vagueness that makes you bow your head like a scolded child. Your arm falls limp at your side. A scarlet petal slips from its stem and hits the unforgiving stone.

“I know,” you murmur with a poorly hidden frown that conveys otherwise. Your sheepish gaze flits from the ground to Marcus’ unwavering stare and to the ground again. “I just thought— whenever we were alone, that we might—”

“We aren’t alone. We must behave as though the city is full of eyes. Understand?”

“I can’t,” you confess, peering up at the General from beneath your lashes. 

Marcus’ chest stings, like the fiery sun blazing his newly-fashioned armor. “What do you mean you can’t?” he bites emotionlessly.

He looks like a corrupt sort of angel in this light, unnaturally handsome and hopelessly wartorn. He was as hard as the earth below your feet — a statue made of clay, iron, and marble — cold to the touch and melting only for you. 

His heavy eyes were so brown they looked almost black, and they shone with a perpetual sort of gloom. His gaze swam with the prophetic darkness of a man who’s seen too much, though you often felt like you could drown in its void. For a man so adept at killing, he looked at you with a remarkable softness.

It wasn’t as shallow as physical desire. It was something far more cruel. You wanted Marcus Acacius the same way flesh wanted to knit itself together over a healing wound. It was simply in your nature to love him. 

“I mean, it’s impossible,” you ramble with a concerned furrow to your brow. Your grip on the flower’s papery stem tightens until the bulb rattles with the force. “How am I to be here with you but not touch you? That’s like asking the seasons not to change— It’s unnatural, and it’s cruel—”

Marcus swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His hands begin to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists instead.

“It’s the only way I know to keep you safe!” he confesses, words sounding heavy in his mouth. His eyes flit across the garden in a paranoid search of something that isn’t there. “Emperor Geta will take care of you. I know he will. And his brother is a half-wit, but he is kind when he wishes. He’ll take a liking to you, I’m sure of it—”

You interject his anxious rambling with a stubborn shake of your head.

“I can’t be someone else’s,” you murmur, voice as wet as the tears glittering in your wide-eyed gaze. “I don’t know how.”

“You will learn,” Marcus tells you with an emotionless stare. Not because he’s sure you will, but because he knows you have to. “For me.”

Your pretty features swirl with anguish. “Marcus…” you whisper his name in a feeble whimper caught in your throat.

He does not soften at your emotion like you’re used to. He’s practiced apathy for so long that it comes naturally to him now. He bites his tongue to keep from kissing you and lets the blood stain his teeth all over again.

“If not for your own sake, then for mine. The Emperors would have my head if they understood the pretenses I brought you under.”

You flinch at his words, perhaps finally understanding the weight of the unforgiving world in which you live. The surest example of such cruelty stands before you now, in the only man you ever loved now using your purest devotion as a means to keep you pliant. But your anger for the merciless arrangement is long eclipsed by your yearning.

“Then I will,” you tell him, rigid with a glacial disposition Marcus hasn’t seen before now.

The choices here were few. Either you were slaughtered outside the city walls by soldiers and pillagers, or you were slaughtered within them — in the metaphorical sense that burns physically in your chest now. 

Being without Marcus feels like a fate worse than death, but you want him so desperately to live. So much so that you’ll fall on the sword of your longing and bleed out at his feet. Knowing that you’re under the same sky would have to be enough for you. 

You can’t tell which it is — sacrifice or self-slaughter — but Marcus knows it isn’t as poetic as all that. 

Death is death.

Emperor Geta staggers drunkenly down the spiral stone steps of the west wing of his castle. The path to his chambers is illuminated by several dwindling torches hung along the brick walls. The subtle squeaking of his leather sandals sounds much louder in the quiet — filled only by crackling flames, a distant dripping noise, and the song he slurs under his breath. 

The latter ceases suddenly when he stumbles to a stop at the sight of General Acacius. The man stands like a statue outside his bedroom door — arms crossed behind his back, old spine perfectly straight — like the obedient guard dog he is. 

The thought makes the Emperor’s lips curl into a crooked smile. “What are you doing here, dog?” he calls to the General as he approaches him, voice echoing down the soulless corridor.

“Your nameday present, your majesty—” Marcus answers and tries not to make a face when the Emperor stands before him. The bittersweet scent of wine stains his breath, overwhelmingly so. Geta was never one to practice temperance. “—I was told to see that you got it.”

The younger man hesitates. “From my uncle?” he wonders aloud.

Marcus nods wordlessly in response.

Geta pauses for a moment. His wide, glassy eyes flit over the General’s shoulder to the arched doorway behind him. His stomach swirls at the thought of what may lie inside. The last nameday present his uncle sent from overseas was a monkey his younger brother has grown much too attached to.

“Well… What is it?”

Marcus swallows hard and steps aside. “Look inside, your majesty.”

Geta takes a deep breath in and swings the creaking door open. His bedroom is lush with crimson silk and golden candlelight, familiarly fragranced with cinnamon and sweet myrrh. It’s accompanied by something foreignly floral, a feminine rosy-lavender that catches his attention before his eyes ever find you.

He steps through the threshold and finds a strange girl standing by the window, before a platter of fruit and wine — bathed half in the silver beams of a full moon, and half in flickering orange flames. 

White silk adorns your frame, so delicate it’s nearly see-through. One of your shoulders is mouthwateringly bare, and there’s a slit in the fabric that rises to your hip. You look as pure as a dove, though you’re so obviously built for sin.

The ground sways beneath Geta’s unsteady feet.

You crunch audibly into an apple before you realize anyone’s there. The juice runs down your chin before you swipe it away with the back of your hand. Only then do your eyes lock with the Emperor’s, who seems equally stunned to see you there. You tense and say nothing as you hide the bitten fruit behind your back.

“It’s a woman,” Geta observes to no one in particular, though his dark eyes have not yet wavered from yours.

Marcus stands behind him and nods — hands still clasped behind his back, heart still pounding against his ribcage. “Yes, your majesty. In plain terms.”

“Well,” the Emperor glances over his shoulder. “What does she do?”

“Whatever you want,” the General answers, though the words taste like vinegar on his tongue. He swallows the bitterness down like bile and leers at you, looking upon his lover as though she were a stranger. “You need only ask.”

Geta, satisfied by his answer, turns back to you. His initial surprise has ebbed into something more pleased, diabolically so. His pink lips curl into a sneer as he walks slowly towards you, eyeing you up and down with curious eyes — a predator stalking its prey.

“Is that true?” he asks you, voice ringing through the quiet room. “Or is he confusing you for a dutiful hound?”

“A dutiful whore, your majesty,” you correct with an acquiescent smile, following the story as Marcus intended. 

The half-truth comes easily to you. Not a lie exactly, but not the whole tale either. You’d spent many of your years working in a brothel on the outskirts of Rome. You were a young woman, unmarried, without family or viable prospects — whoring seemed the most obvious decision then, though it feels so long ago now. 

You’d waited your whole life for something, for Marcus, though you hadn’t expected it to kill you when you found it. You won’t die a saint if the crazed Emperor decides to take your head, but perhaps you could be a martyr. Perhaps that’ll be enough.

Fear beats through your body like a second heart, but your eyes never waver from the Emperor’s. It’s easiest to meet his gaze. He feels more like a human that way. 

There are flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and dark strands in his gold hair. He’s got stubble on his long neck, spots on his broad nose, and wrinkles on his forehead. Not quite as perfect as the pristine white-gold armor would let on.

His eyes flit down your form once more. Something sparks in the deep brown of them, a flicker of silent realization. He spins suddenly on the heel of his sandal to flash Marcus an accusatory glare.

“Is she your whore, General?” he lilts into the heavy silence. His brows raise when he receives no answer from the man across the room. “The question was not rhetorical, Acacius.”

“No, your majesty. She is not mine,” Marcus answers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. It’s like he’s plunging a knife through his own heart. He can feel the cold sting of the sharpened blade and the burn of the blood on his skin. “Though, I don’t believe whores belong to anyone.”

A boyish chuckle spills from the Emperor’s mouth. “No. They don’t,” he says with an airy giddiness. “Not before now, anyway—”

Geta spins back again, pleated skirt fanning around his pale thighs. His smile fades with an eerie swiftness. “What are you waiting for? Undress,” he commands with a wave of his ringed hand.

Your wide eyes flit instinctively past him to Marcus, who still idles in the doorway. Only then does he realize how long he’s been staring at you. He forces himself to glance off in another direction, but his gaze keeps finding yours — like a magnet, or a planet with its own gravitational pull.

Your eyes lock, and the only thing you hear is each other, though neither of you has spoken a word. This is the only way, you hear his voice in your head as clearly as your own. This is the only way to stay together. The only way to survive.

Geta mistakes your fear.

“Don’t worry about him, little dove,” he coos, and taps the bottom of your chin with his fingers — as soft and petaled as your own. He smiles when your attention turns to him again, speaking loud enough for the General to hear. “He’s only the guard dog. And good boys get scraps, don’t they, Acacius?”

Marcus’ face screws like he’s tasted something sour. He’s grateful the Emperor isn’t looking at him to see it. “They do, your majesty,” he monotones.

“So you will watch. And report to my uncle how his lovely present fared,” he calls to the older man, though his eyes remain locked with yours. You tense when his pale hand reaches suddenly for your face. He holds your cheeks in his fingers until your lips jut in a soft pout. “Let’s hope I don’t have to send him back your head, little dove.”

He says it with an absentminded effortlessness, as though it’s something he’s done before. 

Still, you manage a small smile and blink up at him with innocent eyes. “What good is a dead whore, your majesty?” you quip.

Geta’s grin widens.  “Precisely. Now undress.”

You reach for the singular sleeve of your slip with trembling fingers. Your right hand sweeps across your left shoulder, skin blazing with fear and anticipation. The fabric trails down down down your arm before falling to your feet in a puddle of milky white silk. Your bare body glows silver and gold between moonlight and flame. 

Goosebumps pebble over your skin despite the humid summer night as Geta circles you like prey. His eyes trail slowly down your form in time with his rhythmic steps. The sound of his sandals scrapping the stone floor, crackling candlelight, and subdued breathing are the only sounds in the quiet room for several long moments.

The Emperor disappears behind you, and you forget how to breathe. Your wide, wet eyes find Marcus once more — pleading, though for what, you cannot say. His face reveals nothing but wrath burns in his gaze.

Geta reappears at your right side. You smell grape wine on his breath when he nears you, breathing heavily through his mouth as he reaches out to touch you. His ringed hands smooth over your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat. He smiles as though your fright pleases him.

“You’re skittish for a whore,” he muses, playful in a way that makes your stomach wrench. “Are you sure the General didn’t bring me a virgin?”

You swallow hard as his hand trails down your body. Over the swell of your breast, skimming his thumb over your taut nipple, before tracing the expanse of your ribs. His fingers run down your stomach and past the thatch of hair between your legs. They dip finally between your thighs. 

Geta hums a faint moan at the velvet feeling of your pussy. The way your lips part for his fingers, silky skin warm and wet to the touch. 

“I’m whatever you want me to be, your majesty,” you answer, breathing hard through your nose when he pulls his hand away — a warmth you find yourself begrudgingly grieving.

“I need only ask…” the Emperor coos, running his middle and pointer finger over your bottom lip. They shine with the honey you leak despite yourself. Your mouth parts, and he rests the pads of them on your tongue. “…Do I not?”

You nod wordlessly through the salty fingers in your mouth, trying to imagine their Marcus’.

Geta smiles when he parts from you. “Undress me,” he demands. 

You work at his tricky armor with nervous hands and bated breath. 

You unclasp his cape first. The white fabric, now free from its chain, falls heavily to the floor behind him. Your fingers have gone noticeably clammy as they struggle with the sleeves of his tunic. It takes you a beat too long to loosen the laces at his shoulders. The cloth falls finally and puddles around his feet, leaving his lean body on display before you.

His torso is lean and mostly hairless, save for splotches of chestnut on his sternum and stomach. His skin is smooth and flushed from the alcohol. His stomach is slim but noticeably full. The Emperor is well-taken care of, though his subjects outside the keep suffer from the consequences of war.

Your trembling fingers curl around the hem of his loincloth. His pale skin is warm to the touch, boiling with desire while you freeze over with fear. You crouch before him as you drag the garment down his scruffy thighs. You hear Geta sigh above you when his half-hard cock meets the cool summer night air. 

He’s paler there compared to the rest of his golden body, though the mushroom tip glows a faint strawberry-red color. A vein trails in jagged lines to the base of his heavy cock, fading as it reaches the thatch of dark blonde hair at his pubic bone. He’s not nearly as thick as Marcus, though not many people could hope to be — but he is long and thin and soft like velvet.

“How do I look?” Geta wonders as he steps out of his loincloth. He tilts his chin to his chest to peer down at you, on your knees to untie the intricate laces of his sandals. You blink up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Without my armor,” he adds, then repeats. “How do I look?”

You realize, then, that he wants your praise. Though you’re unsure why, you’re not in any position to deny him of it. “You’re a— a very handsome man, your majesty,” you respond cautiously, with a wavering smile.

You hear his breath catch at the compliment. The corner of his mouth flickers upward, and his nostril flares as he takes a deep breath in. 

“Well, go on, then,” he insists suddenly, nodding his head to egg you onward. “Good whores don’t keep their masters waiting, do they? You don’t want to see me impatient, little dove.”

You wrap his stiff cock in a tentative fist, averting your gaze as you give an experimental kitten lick to the bulbous, strawberry tip. Your tongue swipes away the pearlescent pre-cum beading there. The salty tang is foreign on your tongue, sweeter and thicker than you’re used to.

You imagine your lover when you take the Emperor’s cock in your mouth. A practiced form of dissociation that comes naturally to you now. 

You focus on the way the stone floor digs into your knees as you cup his balls in your hand — a desperate attempt to finish him quickly. Geta shudders when you swallow him whole, burying your nose in the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock. His head tips back as he groans at the ceiling.

“You are a proper whore…” the Emperor moans with a delirious smile. He tilts his flushed cheek to his freckled shoulder to sneer at Marcus, then frowns when his eyes meet the back of him. “Are you distracted, General?”

The man keeps his back turned and his eyes trained on the wall, counting the bricks there to distract his racing mind. His mouth snarls at the Emperor’s words. His hands ball into fists as he fights to keep his composure.

“Just giving you your privacy, your majesty.”

“Nonsense!” Geta laughs, loud. “You should watch! You should observe— so you know what to tell my uncle.”

Marcus can hear the mischievous lilt in the younger boy’s voice. Like it’s all just a game to him. Like you’re just a whore to be played with, and like Marcus’ only hope of companionship is warfare. Both might’ve been true once, but not since you find each other.

The general smacks his lips against his teeth. “As you wish,” he deadpans and spins on the heel of his sandal.

He’s strangely grateful to find the Emperor’s body obscuring your own. Geta’s lean, pale form towers over your kneeling one — back muscles flexing, hips thrusting, fingers knitting in your hair.

But Marcus can still hear the sounds of your mouth on the other man’s cock. The room fills with heavy breathing, wet noises, and the Emperor’s unabashed whines. Embers of envy burn in the General’s empty chest. A wildfire of want and wrath rages behind his ribcage.

You swallow with Geta’s cock in your throat and squeeze softly at his balls. You hear his breath hitch just before a lengthy moan spills from his parted mouth. Several loads of salty cum spit down your throat a second later. The man shows you little mercy as he holds you by your hair, keeping your nose pressed to his pubic bone. You take shallow breaths through your nose and try not to choke.

You pull off of him when he lets you go. A string of saliva threatens to keep you connected. You take a deep breath in and swipe at your swollen mouth with the back of your hand, staying on your knees while the Emperor tilts his head back. He exhales a breathy laugh of relief at the ceiling. You peer up at him with wide, wet eyes, still so uncertain of your fate.

“Proper whore, indeed,” Geta muses, almost to himself, as he drops his heavy head once more. 

His flushed chest sparkles with a foreign feeling at the sight of you beneath him — eyes teary and fearful, lips swollen and rosy, features flushed with sweat and sex. His cock jerks, still sensitive but threatening to harden again. He grips himself with a loose fist.

“On the bed,” he instructs suddenly, then grins madly at your shock. “You didn’t think I was done with you, surely. Not until I mount you like a mare, anyway— Treat you like the bitch in heat you are…”

Geta cups your warm cheek in his free hand. His touch is strangely gentle as he cradles you there, right before he smacks gently at your jaw to urge you upward. 

Your bare feet pad towards the bed, then. Geta swats your ass as you go and laughs when you squeak in response. You fight the urge to look at Marcus, lest you see the rage burning in his eyes — lest he see the heartbreak swimming in yours. 

Marcus watches you crawl over the silken sheets, both of you sporting similar far-off gazes. He feels a bit like a ghost now. An empty, invisible thing, doomed to watch the rest of the world go on without ever being able to live in it. It’s dreadfully symbolic of how he’s lived most of his life, and how he’s spent the years loving you. Because even if a ghost is full of love, the only thing it knows to do is haunt.

The silk pillow feels cool under your burning cheek. The mattress dips under the Emperor’s weight when he kneels behind you. His ringed fingers smooth over your ass and down the arch of your back. He treats you with an uncharacteristic sort of tenderness, as though he were molding you out of clay.

“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” he whispers under his breath. “And timid, too… I like that…” 

Your pussy clenches at his words despite yourself. Geta’s chest swells with pride accordingly. “You don’t have to be scared, little dove. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Despite his words, he does not bother to ready you for his cock when he positions himself at your pulsing entrance. You hadn’t expected him to, of course — not many men were as kind as Marcus in that way, who often treated your pleasure as if it were his own. But the slick sticking to your thighs has made your pussy more than pliant. Your velvet walls swallow Geta’s cock with a pulsing vigor.

The Emperor groans as he fucks into you, savoring every inch as he buries himself to the hilt. His ringed fingers dig into the plush of your waist, as though you were a toy he didn’t want getting snatched away.

“Look at the hound!” Geta giggles boyishly to himself. “He’s itching for a feel of you— I just know it.”

Marcus remains as still and stoic as the battalion trained him to be. He reveals nothing on his face, though his skin prickles with flames of envy beneath his armor. 

Marcus Acacius was not a jealous man. His love for you was a testament to that. He visited the brothel you boarded in and spared the same coins as every man in the establishment did. But it was different now. Because the Emperor does not deserve you, and he forces Marcus to watch as if he knows it, too.

Something within him seethes, like a feral animal trapped behind his ribcage, desperately clawing its way out.

“Look at him,” Geta snaps when he sees you staring at the wall, eyes glassy and glazed over. He’s grinning all over again when your gaze snaps to Marcus’. 

The soldier’s weathered eyes burn with tears then. General Acacius has faced death a thousand times over, but it wasn’t quite as heartwrenching as this. His wrath simmers to a boil. He swallows it down like fire.

This is her salvation, he tells himself. This is how she survives.

Your features twist with the anguish of being seen as the Emperor lays himself over your back. His slick chest sits flush with your spine, pinning you to the mattress. “I bet he can taste you now. Smell you,” he murmurs in your ear, chapped mouth brushing the shell of it. “His mouth is salivating at the thought of putting his tongue on you— Isn’t it, dog?”

Marcus swallows through the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away stinging tears and feigns an air of nonchalance. “It would be… impolite to talk so brashly about something that doesn’t belong to me, your majesty,” the General responds. Obedient. Loyal like a hound.

Geta grins wide. “Good answer, Acacius.”

When the Emperor finally fucks into you, it’s with a sloppy sort of precision. There is no rhythm or care to his thrusts. He is led only by his blinding pleasure, like a man who has only ever fucked playthings and his own fist. He props himself on one forearm and curls the other beneath you, holding your breast in his ringed hand.

Geta’s flushed cheek presses against your own while he slides in and out and into you again. You hear his groaning as you feel it rumbling in his chest, still laid against your back. You stare at a framed portrait on the wall across the room and wait for it to be over, even as your body refuses to dismiss its simmering orgasm.

Your swollen clit ruts against the silk sheets with each of the Emperor’s sloppy thrusts. You can feel a wet spot forming beneath you, and your stomach twists at the thought of seeing proof of your own pleasure. 

His balls smack your leaking cunt, creating a symphony of lewd noises — moaning, whimpering, clapping, smacking. Marcus thinks the sounds of war were more merciful than this.

“Do you understand what that means, little dove?” Geta croons into your ear, words choppy through his labored breaths and irregular thrusts. “You belong— to me now… So whatever you used to be— whoever’s you used to be— no longer matters.”

He thrusts once, hard, and shudders above you with a choked-back groan. You grit your teeth to swallow down your own noises of pleasure. The assault on your clit, though unintentional, is still yet relentless. You feel the distant white-hot burning feeling begin to swell in the pit of your stomach. A coil about to snap.

“Fucking me— Making me feel good—” the Emperor pants, punctuated by his hips against your ass. “—Is your only duty now. Understand?”

You nod, cheek running over the silk cushion as you grip it in your fists. “Yes, your majesty,” you gasp.

Geta presses his smile to the apple of your cheek. He can feel you leaking around him. You’re enjoying this just as much as he is, to be sure. A proper whore, indeed.

“Now… Take my spend like a good bitch, and thank me for it—”

He fucks you harder, and your face twists with a pleasure you’re too weak to fight away. 

Your gaze falls instinctively to Marcus as your orgasm threatens to swallow you whole. Your eyes squeeze shut in a feeble attempt to hide. Your mouth parts with a silent moan as you cum around the Emperor’s cock.

“Thank you, your majesty,” you whimper obediently into the pillow as you tremble beneath him. “Thank you.”

Geta buries a whine in your neck when he cums again. He gives you only two pitiful, warm loads but still possesses more stamina than your Marcus. He stills, then shudders, then rests his unforgiving bodyweight on top of you when pleasure makes a puddle of him. And of you, you assume, as a mixture of your spend leaks out of your cunt and onto the sheets.

“Write to my uncle, Acacius—” Geta slurs into your skin, heavy through labored pants. “—A thank you for my nameday present.”

Marcus forgets, until then, that he can still be seen. He felt more akin to a corpse hidden in the walls, forced to spend his afterlife in a merciless purgatory. His heart has stopped beating, frozen over, and now sits dead in his chest. He will never be as gentle as he was with you. He will be bloodied knuckles and pulsing wounds. Rough and cruel and angry.

“Yes, your majesty,” the General nods, thankful that it’s over now.

Geta rolls off of your body and onto the empty spot beside you — not shy about his nude form or yours. The sudden lack of warmth makes you shiver. 

“And tell him to send another— To keep the General’s bed warm, too,” he says, patting your ass with his palm before smoothing tenderly over the skin. “One whore’s as good as any other, I’m sure.”

Marcus flinches at the thought of being with anyone other than you. He couldn’t hide the look of disgust if he tried. It makes the Emperor laugh loudly in response.

“Oh, did you— Did you want to try this one?” Geta muses knowingly, pointing to your limp body, still trembling beside him with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“No. No, no, no— See, this one’s mine,” he corrects the General as if he were a child. “And it would be impolite to touch something that belongs to me, would it not? It would be treasonous, even.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Marcus nods, lip flickering in a mere hint of a smirk as his plan finally comes to fruition. “It would be.”

The Emperor sees you now as his property, and no one hurts what belongs to him without meeting a certain death. Marcus is comforted only by the thought that nothing can touch you now. Not even him. But perhaps that’s the price he pays for love. Perhaps, in the end, love is grief.

“So best tread lightly, Acacius,” Geta warns with a crooked smile, petting you like a dog. “I’d hate for someone to get hurt.”

[sadagios]

Icarus, and the Sunflower

PART TWO: UNFIXABLE ERROR

PROLOGUE: PART ONE

3.4k words below the cut

SOME BEGINNING NOTES: - This AU is only character shipping, and references a lot outside the life series events (evo, hermitcraft, empires, etc). This is not meant to ship the CC’s themselves and if anything alludes to it, it is purely unintentional. - This is not canon-compliant ermmmm i do what i want and i will put every idea i have into this - No more bullet points this time... taking off the baby wheels - This is to add more to the first part! Please read that one before this if you haven't - Tags for this part? Game dev AU, Past BigB/Grian, a lot of BigGri flirting, some characters are real and some are fictional, this is only the prologue (part 2!), Grian is still down bad for Scar, absolutely not beta'd i only have one impulsive braincell, contains some fake chats

I. HALLOWEEN

The game awards have been announced, and it was the talk of the company. Evolutionists’ Portal has been online for 4 months now, and it built itself a dedicated fan base with a peak of about 80k players a month. Updates were still on the way, scheduled for Halloween and Christmas Day.

The team working on Evolutionists’ Portal hoped for a nomination, and maybe even an award. Gria hoped for this, as well, but he was too tired to even think with everything on his plate. Their art director quit suddenly, so he was carrying out two big roles, but even when the past art director was there, he was basically doing most of his work.

The team took notice of his exhaustion and invited him to the company Halloween party. Gria didn’t want to, but Martyn had a brilliant idea for making a bet: Gria believed they would get one nomination, and Martyn believed it would be two. If Gria wins, Martyn will get him breakfast every day until Christmas. If Martyn wins, Gria has to wear an outfit to the party of his choosing. Gria thought it was a harmless bet, and he’d actually benefit from it, so he agreed.

Jimmy is his closest friend in the company, but Jimmy was also busy with his work in Empires. There are talks of a big collaboration and he knows he can’t get ahold of Jimmy until it is settled. One morning, a cup of coffee appeared on his desk with a note attached to it that said,

“You might need a little boost in your morning.”

Gria had no idea who it could be from until he noticed a wrapped piece of warm, chocolate cookie beside the cup. He looked up from his desk and met eyes with Big B, who smiled and gave him a little wave before resuming his work.

His crush on Big B was no secret. The man is funny and handsome, and he and Gria started in the company together. Martyn was the first one to catch it, the way he gets giggly and embarrassed around Big B, and he’s been on Gria’s case since. Pearl found out about it through Martyn’s teasing, but she had the grace not to poke fun at Gria (only sometimes.) Jimmy still hasn’t caught on, and Martyn bursts out laughing every time Jimmy unintentionally third wheels or cockblocks Gria. Gria has an inkling that Big B might’ve noticed it, but he acts the same way around him, which Gria is thankful for.

The nominations were out the morning of the party, and they were nominated for “Best Multiplayer” and “Best Audio Design.” As soon as the news broke out, Martyn walked in stride to the art department and pulled Gria to the parking lot where Martyn’s car was parked. He opened the trunk, pulled something out, and gave it to Gria with a devilish grin.

Martyn: I’m so excited to meet such a popular singer tonight.

Gria peeked inside the dress cover, he wanted to die.

One night, the team went out drinking. Gria had a few more drinks than he should’ve. He doesn’t remember what happened, but Pearl recorded the whole thing; basically, he got so drunk that he started singing nothing but Ariana Grande songs. To put the final nail in the coffin, he might’ve sat on Big B’s lap as he sang one song.

Gria wore the outfit after being manhandled by everyone into wearing it. Big B wasn’t going to the party as he’d said days before, and while Gria was relieved not to embarrass himself, he also wished for Big B to be there.

Gria wore a ridiculously pink two-piece top and skirt, with a white furry shoal attached to gloves. Pearl also lent him her white boots, which surprisingly fit him well (and gave him a few inches.) The room cheered when he walked in, and he was too embarrassed to walk that Jimmy had to drag him around the room.

Pearl wore a cute green dress, which looked a lot like a character from Empires. Jimmy wore a Captain America costume, but instead of a star had a huge letter S at the middle of his chest. Martyn wore a pirate costume. 

Martyn: What a shame Big B isn’t here to see this.

Martyn teased, and Gria wanted to strangle him right there. Then, without warning, a finger poked his cheek. Gria turned and there Big B was, holding a bloody axe in a bloody costume. Gria remembered the game Big B told him about, a zombie game called “The Creaking Dead.” It was one of the things that led them to become friends, their love for zombie games.

The night went by, celebrating both Halloween and their nominations. Empires also had their own share of nominations, and Jimmy was so giddy that night.

Pearl pulled them four to the photo booth before they could get more wasted. Jimmy grabbed a weird-looking fish beanie and Martyn put on a Mickey Mouse headband. Pearl put on a sunflower crown that fit the gold accents in her dress. They made sure to put Gria and Big B at the center of the photo, and Gria tried not to explode with how close they were. Big B suggested they take a Polaroid photo after for keepsake, and before Gria could head out of the room and go home, Big B gave him a Polaroid photo with a message written in Sharpie.

"Glad I came by today, G. Happy Halloween. ♡"

II. VALENTINE’S DAY

Gria and Big B have been talking and texting each other non-stop for months now. People assume they’re dating, but when Jimmy asked, he clarified that they had no label. It’s true; they haven’t done much. They hung around a lot, and they might’ve fooled around during cold December nights, but it was an unspoken, casual thing. At least, that’s what it was for Gria.

On Valentine’s day, Big B invited him for dinner, and everyone teased them about being lovebirds. That night, Big B finally asked Gria to be his boyfriend.

Gria was happy. Overjoyed. Someone as kind and thoughtful as Big B, who treats him so well, wanted them to be exclusive. He wanted Gria. But the smile on Gria’s face slowly faded as his happiness turned into dread. Big B is too nice for him. Too perfect for him. Too much for someone like him.

Gria turned him down without explaining further. He saw the hurt in Big B’s eyes, but the man still treated him the same: with adoration and care.

Big B drove him home, and that was the last time they talked outside of work.

III. MARCH

Gria finally took some time off. Aside from the upcoming April Fools update, there wasn’t much to be done. The tension between him and Big B has been too much to bear, and he can’t shake the guilt he feels each time Big B leaves a warm cup of coffee with a cute note on his desk.

He lurks on the internet, bored out of his mind. He met this person, PotatoNutshell, and became friends over Hermitopia 6.

IV. APRIL FOOLS

< Let's play like cats, let's count to three. >

The gang liked the Alpha version of “The Life Game.” The map is good (which makes Gria proud as he designed it,) and the mechanics are simple enough to get used to.

There are several problems, though. The motion blur is making everyone sick, and the one who had it the roughest was Joel. The UI is also unintuitive, as you have to look at your wrist to see the messages and your health status, which you can easily lose track of. Then, the computer AI characters are indistinguishable from each other. It was supposed to be a battle royal game, but with only the players having unique skins, it feels a bit more like player versus enemy than a competition.

It was understandable, though, that it didn't have much character customization. The remaining two working on the game are a writer and a programmer, and they have no 3D modeling experience at all. Gria figured he could help out and tinker with it when he had time, especially with how the gang loved the game despite all its flaws.

V. SUMMER, a year later

Gria’s old friends finally messaged him that they added more things to the game, and it might be enough for a beta test. The only thing they haven’t figured out is the character models. Gria confirmed if they were planning to release this game, and the two said “no, not yet. Not anytime soon.” That gave Gria all the liberty to simply tinker with the game just for their own enjoyment.

He asked the team if they had any characters they’d like to mod into the game, preferably with 3D models so they wouldn’t have to worry about rigging and animation too much. Skizzleman suggested Hermitopia characters, which Gria wouldn’t contest because this gives him a great excuse to add Scar into the game.

They needed one more character, and Gria remembered the Empires plush on Jimmy’s desk. The team gave him a free plushie of the “Starboy, The Rivendell King” because all plushies of the “Codfather” were sold out, the one Jimmy usually played as. Still, Jimmy keeps the Starboy plushie on his desk and sometimes carries it with him to the breakroom when he takes a short nap. Gria found the image of Jimmy carrying this plush to be adorable, although he will never say it aloud, so he decided to add Starboy as their final character. He also had Gemini and Shadow Lady (as per Joel’s request) 3D models ready, but he’ll probably add them next time. Pearl also isn’t joining their session for now, so it would be good to save her favorite character for another time.

On one Friday night in April, they all logged on and waited to connect to The Life Game’s private server. Gria was excited to play until he received a message from one of his old friends.

A slight chill crawls up Grian’s arm. He gripped his VR headset, a bit hesitant after his conversation with his old friends. After a moment, he shook off his nerves and wore his headset. He looked at the server status reading “5/6 Players” and hovered his controller over the button that would let him play with his friends. Grian ignored the warning bells and hit “Join World.”

VI. HELLO, WORLD

Gria spawned into the world, a bit dizzy from the sunlight blasting into his eyes. He got off on the ground and surveyed his surroundings, and it seemed like the map was different from the last time. In front of him looked like a ruined portal, which he doesn’t remember adding to the map years ago. Could this be something his old friends added to the map for the Evolutionists’ Portal developers to see? Gria smiled at the sentiment. He looted the chest near it, and it felt a bit like cheating. He joined the game late, but he already had golden gear in his first minutes of playing.

He did some resource gathering, something which they learned was crucial from their alpha test. He travelled and spotted a village, and saw Martyn’s character completely raiding it. Out of all of them, Martyn might have been the one who became so immersed in the gameplay. Even before playing, he was discussing tactics and plans in their call. If it ever came down to it, he knows Martyn would be a formidable opponent with how into it he is. 

Gria traversed the map more until he hit the border. There’s no way to get through it, even if you force it. It also seemed like the friendly creatures weren't able to get past it. It’s a bit scary to think about how they’re stuck in this little box until only one of them remains. It’s a good thing all of this is just a game.

Being the creator of the maps for this game, Gria remembers where most of the biomes are on the map. He goes back to the village and spots Big B.

Excited and without thinking, he jumped in front of Big B and surprised him, which made Big B’s character jump back. But, when Big B met his eyes, he immediately laughed and smiled. 

Before Big B could strike up a conversation, Joel’s voice could be heard from a distance, he looked just like himself in real life, but he wore a costume that reminded Gria of Shrek. He shot Big B a quick look and saw he was wearing something similar to his costume during one of their old Halloween parties. Martyn’s character seemed different, too.

Gria noticed the little shop icon on his screen. When he clicked on it, it opened a shop of a multitude of items that can be bought with experience points. He checked out the costume section and saw that costume accessories were fairly cheap. He bought himself a red sweater, and now his character feels more like him.

He noticed someone trailing behind Joel, a blazing head of fire and red eyes. It took him a while to realize that this was Tango Tek from Hermitopia. When he spoke, both Gria and Joel cranked their neck at him, surprised he could speak. Hermitopia had no voice lines. Despite this fact, Joel excitedly conversed with Tango, prompting him to speak more. Gria excused himself, confused at how this was possible.

He went off to gather more resources before he headed to the village. He saw Big B yet again, and his cheeks flushed at how many times he had seen him by himself. Gria’s a bit awkward around him, but Big B greets him with a smile each time. 

Big B: Are you sneaking up on me, G? Gria, giggling: Hello there, B. Whatcha up to? Big B: Trying to survive the first night, and maybe even you? Gria: Well, I don’t think a danger. Not to you. Big B: A danger to my heart, maybe?

Gria bit his lip and walked away. Big B laughed behind him, and he couldn’t fight back his smile. He looked at the ground and saw Martyn’s faint green name tag. He grinned and turned to Big B, “Wanna scare Martyn?”

They made their way down Martyn’s mining hole, carefully, and they tried not to giggle like a bunch of kids sneaking out in the middle of the night. Gria heard Martyn, talking to himself, and he approached him behind before shouting, “Hey Martyn!”

The three hang around together in the mining hole, chatting and bickering while hoping to find diamonds. Martyn succeeds and even gives them two diamonds each for a sword. The two were dumbfounded at this generosity, and Gria gave Martyn his golden apple in return.

Martyn: I just gave you guys diamonds because we’re buddies, c’mon. Gria: You know what, you can have my most prized golden apple. Martyn: Ooh, what’s this do? Gria: It gives you extra hearts when you eat it. Martyn: You’re giving me hearts? Way to make Big B a third wheel. Big B: Oh my god.

Gria exploded into laughter at this, and Big B shook his head but smiled at the situation.

After the sun had risen, he parted ways with the two and spent his time around the village and looking for a place to stay. He came across another nametag below the ground, and he thought it might’ve been Jimmy. He went down and surprised the man, only to find that it wasn’t Jimmy. 

When he heard Tango speak a while ago, he couldn’t figure out how it was possible. However, he did know of a game around an AI girlfriend who wouldn’t let you leave the house unless you said the right words. To think █████ could add such a feature, for AI to understand and speak back to you, all in a year is quite impressive and he would like to ask him more as soon as they finish playing. He didn’t listen carefully when Tango spoke earlier, and it might’ve been more robotic than he remembered. But now, as Ren screamed in surprise and spoke how Gria spooked the hell out of him, it sounded too much like a real person’s voice.

After mining a bit, Gria went out to the world and built a base at a lovely ravine area. Unfortunately, his resources weren’t enough to make it look pretty, and he suddenly missed the creative freedom he had while playing Hermitopia.

After being alone for so long. He made his way back to the village. Much to his surprise, so many people were there. At the side of the village, a group of characters in iron gear approached him. They excitedly called out his nametag, Grian, to greet him. Just like Ren and Tango’s voices, they all sounded so real. Too real. 

Martyn, Big B, Jimmy, Skizz, and Joel were nowhere to be seen. He was surrounded by characters from a game he spent countless hours playing. They talk and bicker like they are real people, and they sound like real people would. Gria would never be able to think of better voices for them. 

Among the four of them, one stood out the most. He had disheveled hair and a huge scar on his face that went down his neck. Despite having a cape and scarf covering most of his torso, Gria can’t pry his eyes off his huge, exposed right tit.

Completely distracted, something suddenly fell into his hands. It took him a while to process that this man held his hands and gave him flint and steel. Gria looked up, meeting the man’s eyes, and he had this devilish grin that made Gria’s knees weak. He turned his head higher and looked at the man’s nametag, “Scar Goodtimes”

Scar put his arm around Gria and made him face the village, and one of the houses were burning.

Scar: It was Grian! It was him who did it! 

Gria couldn’t move. He couldn’t process what was happening, and he couldn’t care less about how Tango and Etho were trying their best to put out the fire. The man beside him, probably more than 6 feet tall, is Scar Goodtimes. He’s way different from what he remembered, he had shorter hair and markings instead of actual scars, but when he spoke, Gria might’ve melted into the ground if the man didn’t have his arm around him.

Scar: Geez, Grian, what a rapscallion burning down villages.

Scar grinned at him and gave him a wink. It was as if Gria’s hardware crashed. Cleo, BDubs, and Impulse were all talking to him, even playing their jukebox for him, but his mind was filled with one thing and one thing only.

“His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so—”

Something nudged Gria, and Scar was so close to his face that Gria thought he could be hallucinating. Scar whispered into his ear, asking for the flint and steel back, and he complied without a second thought. He gave him a grin before he ran off to the village. Etho and Tango followed suit in panic.

Gria finally breathed. He doesn’t know how this could be possible. He had organized an unofficial voice cast for Hermitopia before, but the chosen voice actor was so off the mark, and everyone else liked it but Gria. But now, Scar’s whisper loops in his head, and he would go to war just to argue that no actor can replicate the sound his ears had been blessed with.

While talking to Etho and Impulse, he saw the historical tree burn. Scar walked in stride and stood beside Gria, waiting for Etho to take notice. Gria and Scar share a mischievous smile as Etho runs to the burning tree. Scar watched the tree burn down, and Gria watched the fire illuminate his face.

Scar: Grian, want to take over the desert with me? Gria: Me? Scar: Yeah, you. Let’s make all the sand ours.

This marks the End of Prologue

Next > ACT ONE: STUCK IN THE DESERT

ENDING NOTES: Took a while to finish this one! supposedly there's more, but it was getting too long so I had to cut it here. The next update will be a bigger one, so it might take months before that is posted. I also plan to do more character design before moving forward with the actual life series events. If you've read this far, thank you for reading!

[kneworder]

y’all I can’t take this girl dinner girl math girl construction just a silly girl what’s the girl equivalent of the Roman Empire be a girl’s girl so glad Barbie made it okay to be feminine again clean girl star girl girl girl girl. shut up shut up shut up.

[deadsetobsessions]

Danny always knew tax evasion ran in his veins. His parents hadn’t been the most… morally sound of people, and less so as ecto-scientists.

He just didn’t think their lessons would ever result in a criminal empire that spanned the entire city and then some. Danny hadn’t seen it coming. His parents definitely wouldn’t have.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Wayne. Mr. Fox.”

Danny ‘the Phantom’ Fenton sat down across from a rather tense looking (to Danny’s enhanced senses, anyways) Brucie Wayne and his right hand, Lucius Fox. He smiled pleasantly, matching Brucie’s vacant smile with that touch of Midwest suburban mother smile.

With his acquisition of multiple Gotham companies, his rather newly established Fentom Co. became one of the largest holding companies in Gotham, the first being Wayne Enterprises and the second being Drake Industries. After months of constantly working his butt off while fending off assassins, reforming Gotham’s slums and cleaning up some of the streets, and taking care of his nest of street kids, Danny garnered enough power to even stand close to Wayne Enterprises in terms of financial powers.

The topic of this meeting was, of course, the proposed merger of Wayne Enterprises’ Medical R&D division with Fentom Co.’s pharmaceutical department. Usually, Wayne Enterprises wouldn’t even consider such an offer, as their Medical R&D division was the most well funded and least likely to be part of a Rogue’s scheme- and therefore most beloved- department of the same nature in Gotham. However, Danny had something the other offers didn’t.

Blackmail.

His overly polite smile widened as Bruce’s mask twitched. His eyes slid over to Lucius Fox.

“It’s an honor to meet you, sir. I’ve heard much about your genius in… research and development.”

By that, Danny meant that he knew Lucius Fox helped develop Batman’s tech.

He did a lot of stalking that week. It felt rather… invasive, even if he did get a bunch of juicy secrets.

You know what they say: dead men tell no tales… but halfas are generally blabbermouths.

“Is that so? It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Fenton.” The man quickly glanced between the youngsters, accurately predicting that this might have something to do with Bruce’s active nightlife.

“Yes, it is such a pleasure to meet you.”

Wow, Danny didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone sound both so perky and dead inside at the same time, except for Susan at Gotham High’s bake sale.

Bruce wishes he could be a Susan. He’s at best a Becky.

“Will you be staying, Mr. Fox? You’re the head of the R&D department, correct?”

“Ah, yes-”

“Oh, Lucius! I think you had an appointment with the finance department right now! I heard Sally talk about it, you know!”

Lucius Fox sent an unreadable look at Bruce before rallying.

“Oh, it must have slipped my mind. My apologies, Mr. Fenton, it seems as though I can not skip this appointment.”

“That’s alright. I suppose it gives you… plausible deniability… should things go wrong, haha!” Danny allowed his smile to widen a little further than natural. Bruce tensed but Lucius Fox simply politely smiled and left the room.

Ignorance is bliss and all that, Danny amusedly thought.

As the door shut with a click, Bruce dropped the vacant Brucie smile and sighed.

“What do you want,” he gritted out. Danny wasn’t about to let that slide, not after he spent the better part of this month wrangling Bruce’s problem children.

“Ah, it must be because I’m from the Midwest, Brucie, but where I come from, we value these things called manners.”

You uneducated jerk, he doesn’t say.

Danny leaned back in his chair, loosening his smile into something relaxed and sharp.

“…” Oh, boy, Danny could just hear the other man’s blood pressure rising. “What is the purpose of your visit, Mr. Fenton?”

“Relax, Brucie,” Danny sing-songed in a non-relaxing way. “I’m just here to discuss a possible merger that I’m sure you’ll agree to, and give you a couple of updates on your… wayward bird.”

He heard Bruce take a slow, controlled breath. “Very well. Where. Would. You. Like. To. Start.”

Danny ignored the gritted out sentence. He passed a contract to Bruce, who took it like he was handling a live bomb.

“Here’s the proposal, Mr. Wayne. Please, look it over.”

He watched as Bruce looked over the contract with an eagle eye before lowering it, scrutinizing Danny.

“This is… very fair.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. Of course it was fair. Danny wasn’t interested in exploiting the Waynes, despite them being very able to afford it.

He’d brought fifty manufacturing sites for pharmaceuticals, and offered up a building where both companies could send their workers. He provided top notch security- that definitely didn’t have any talons on staff, what were they talking about?- that came from his own security division. Granted, most of them were reformed and trained goons, but hey, creating jobs can only help Gotham’s economy and help break the cycle of poverty, right? Guaranteed by the Wayne name and, most importantly, uncompromised medicine that was accessible to everyone would be a damn good start. He’d also have Penguin’s empire to distribute it to those who couldn’t make it to a clinic or a store, and there were plans in there to work with and establish contracts with Gotham’s welfare department. Well… once Danny finished replacing them with people who wouldn’t try to take a cut of the funds and actually cared about the people. He was thinking… the multitudes of poor grad students and parents that need income. He’s in the process of building childcare centers and…

It’s a good thing he managed to save money from the taxes (thank you, Gotham’s morally ambiguous tax experts that were in desperate need for clients! He could do it himself but having a team of accountants at the ready was seriously so helpful.) because ancients knows the government weren’t about to step into Gotham and help the people here. He needs so much money to pull all of this shit off and a lot of it has to be clean.

Danny inwardly sighed and marked another thing onto his to do list.

Make money laundering fronts.



“Of course, Mr. Wayne. You didn’t think I’d come in here demanding money, did you?”

“I considered it.”

“I am, in fact, trying to help Gotham. You might not agree with my methods, but I’d rather not damage Wayne Enterprises when it’s doing so much to help the people.”

Ugh, he was doing too much work. Danny just wanted to- hah- chill at home and read bed time stories to his kids.

Bruce Wayne, the specific blend between Brucie and Batman, regarded him silently. Danny felt like he went up a few notches in the respect ladder.

Nice.

“You’re a criminal.”

“Says the man in the bat-suit breaking into places and assaulting people.”

Bruce’s hands spasmed around the contract. Danny smiled at him, taking a sip of the coffee they’d prepared. Oo, nice!

“Ah, I heard you’re adopting- pardon, fostering- Tim Drake. Getting empty nest syndrome, Brucie?” He slipped back into using Bruce’s first name. The proposal was formal. This… was very much not.

“What about it?”

“That’s very kind of you. Speaking of which, well, of your birds, I was wondering if you remembered what I asked you to do.” Danny continued, not giving Bruce a chance to reply. “Didn’t I ask for you to keep your birds in line, Brucie?”

The CEO straightened even further, form filling out to be Batman’s imposing figure. “I did.”

“No, you didn’t. Do you know where your charge is, right now? No, not the formerly dead one,” Danny tilted his head, smile shrinking.

“Don’t you dare do anything to Tim. I swear, if you even lay a hand on a strand of his hair, I’ll-”

“Sit your Armani clad ass down, Bruce.” Danny snapped. “Your son’s in your office. I don’t harm children, and your assumptions are deeply insulting. Threaten me again, Bruce, and I’ll make sure you know exactly how much I know about your birds, your cousin, and the commissioner’s daughter.”

Bruce snarled but leashed his anger just enough to sit back down. He itched to go check on Tim, but leaving a threat like Phantom unwatched felt inherently wrong.

“Your other son,” Danny continued. “Is doing quite well. He’s learning that he has hobbies again. He’s actually working under me, you know.”

“He’s what.”

Oh, yeah, that tracks. It figured that Jason wouldn’t tell Bruce about anything. He’s still conflicted about his death. Danny got it.

“Ah, that’s precious information. You’ll have to offer something of equal value if you want to know. There is, on the other hand, a piece of information I’ll give you for free.”

Danny paused for the dramatic effect. It was lost on Bruce, the ultimate drama queen of this world.

“The League of Assassins are hanging around Hotham lately. It’s getting tedious, getting rid of them. I suggest talking to your old flame, you know, with words and what little communication skill you’ve got rattling around in your noggin to get them to pull back. Her interest is… unnaturally focused on Jason.”

Danny read the dark agreement swimming about Bruce’s face and inclined his head. “Should negotiations fail, rest assured that Jason will be protected.”

“…Thank you.”

“You are most welcome. Go ahead and discuss the contract with Mr. Fox, I am sure you’ll find little problems with it. Ah,” Danny stood up, fixing his suit jacket. “And you should probably check up on Timothy. He’s probably having a great time in your office, Mr. Wayne.”

“I’ll see you out.”

“Of course.”

Having Batman escorting him out should probably be more intimidating.

Danny stood in the elevator, waiting for Bruce’s contemplative silence to put itself into words.

Sure enough, “What… what kind of hobbies does Jason have now?”

“I’d tell you to ask him, but you two aren’t on speaking terms, are you? He likes books, of course, but recently, he’s found an interest in glass blowing. He made quite a bit of progress on his attempts at sun catchers.”

“I see.”

Well, Danny’s not about to step on that landmine any more than he has to.

——

“Danny.”

“Oh, hey, Jason. Sit down, we were about to have dinner.”

Jason clambered into the window. Danny sighed. He had a door, but by the way Jason never used it, it was like the door didn’t exist.

“Mind telling me why the old bastard showed up on my rooftops with a bunch of glass and glassblowing tools?”

Danny smiled. “No idea.”

“Uh huh.”

Danny placed a hand on his chest and put on his best woe-is-me expression. The teen’s face twitched in annoyance. “Doubt? At me? Why, I never!”

A bread roll thwacked him in the face.

[wonderjanga]

Marvel’s Lives

As you guys know, there have been previous champions. They’ve all lived different lives and such. Some have been men, some women, and are some genders that don’t exist anymore. Point is, no one life is the same.

Let’s say some female heroes are talking about abortion one day and out of nowhere Cap just chimes in:

Marvel: “Oh yeah, pregnancy is tough, man. Giving birth is not for the weak. I’m speaking from experience here. Anyone who doesn’t want that, shouldn’t do it.”

Female JL members: “What…?”

Black Canary: “Marvel, last I checked, you were a man.”

Marvel: “Actually, a few thousand years ago, I used to be a woman!”

Female JL members: “???”

Marvel: “I’ve been a woman, multiple times actually.”*proceeds to walk away like he didn’t drop that on them*

They’re all thinking he’s trans, but no? His words imply he’s fluid? The thing is though is that Marvel’s never really shown that he’s either. The question was later asked by Hawkwoman when he was making oobleck in the kitchen of the Watchtower

Hawkwoman: “Captain.”

Marvel: “Yes, Ms. Hawkwoman?”

Hawkwoman: “Are you a woman?”

Marvel: *looks up from his oobleck to her, looking confused* “No? Why?”

Hawkwoman: “Some of the other girls were talking about how you were a woman at some point.”

Marvel: “Ooooh that. I was a woman. Yeah.”

Hawkwoman: “So you’re not anymore. What did you look like as a woman, if I may ask? Also what is that?” *points to the oobleck*

Marvel: “Oobleck.” *offers bowl off oobleck to her for her to play with* “Also, sure. Just a sec.” *mutters a spell*

Hawkwoman: *pokes the oobleck*

Marvel: *poofs and is now a female champion from like seven thousand years ago. His suit also changed to the previous champion’s own suit* “Tada!”

Hawkwoman: *does a double take when she sees him* “You… Certainly have a darker complexion.”

Marvel: “Yeah. If I remember correctly, I lived in the Middle Eastern area back then. That’s probably why.”

Hawkwoman: “And why are you white now?”

Marvel: “My appearance changes every few a hundred years or so. That includes my skin color, gender, and other features.”

Hawkwoman: “Oooooh. Okay then.”

They proceeded to play together with the oobleck after that.

Like ten minutes after that initial interaction…

WW: “Shayera. There you are. I was wondering if you wish to spar with me.” *notices Marvel* “Who is this? A new hero?”

Marvel: *turns around, hands covered in oobleck*

Hawkwoman: *also turns around, hands covered in oobleck* “What’d you say? I was distracted.”

WW: “I was wondering if you wanted to spar with m…” *trails off when she sees Shazam’s lighting bolt on fem Marvel* “Brother?”

Marvel: “Hi, Ms. Wonder Woman.” *waves an oobleck covered hand*

WW: “Why’re you a woman?”

Marvel: “Ms. Hawkwoman asked.” *shrugs*

The three then proceeded to play with the oobleck together.

Then, there was the time someone asked Marvel about his religion when they heard he believed in the Greek Gods.

Marvel: *shrugs* “I’ve been multiple different flavors of pagan. Fun fact, a couple thousand years ago, I used to be a ritualistic cannibal. It was apart of the offerings and rituals of a shaman. Or at least the types of shamans of that time in that specific empire.”

JL member: “Do you still eat people now?”

Marvel: “That’s not important, the point is, if there’s a religion, I most likely at some point practiced it. Or at least the super old version of it.”

JL member: “Okay? But do you still eat people now??”

Marvel: “I guess I’m saying I’m kinda in between religions?”

JL member: “Can you please stop ignoring the questioning ?”

He continued to ignore the question.

Of course, the ritual cannibal thing isn’t the only one of the outlandish things Billy’s casually admitted to doing. Eventually though, things can get a little bit too much for some members.

Marvel: *telling them about another thing he did in a past life*

GL: “Okay! That’s enough, dude!”

Marvel: *concerned* “What? Did I say something wrong?”

GL: “No, I’m just confused as to why you’ve done all these things, man. Are these like side quests you under go? Or like…? What’s going on, pal?”

Marvel: “Nothing…? These are just things I’ve happened to do.” *shrugs*

GL: “So you’re willingly telling me you tried to trample someone to death with a horse just for funsies?”

Marvel: “Well, when you put it like that-”

Flash: “Wait, what about the time you told me you were a princess before princesses were a thing?”

Marvel: “I uh-”

Superman: “And the time you told me that you used your lightning powers to become a cult leader?”

Marvel: “Okay, I get it. I’ll stop tell you guys about myself.”

MM: “Captain, it’s not that we don’t want you to tell us about yourself. It’s instead that your stories seem to have no cause for them.”

Flash: “Yeah! Like why did you feel the need to become a cult leader? How were you a princess?? Why would you want to trample someone with a horse???”

Marvel: *shrugs*

Flash: “Wha- Don’t just shrug!”

Marvel: “I was a different person back then.”

Superman: “That’s a little too cryptic, bud.”

[anyarose011]

Agape

Pairing: Lucius x Reader

Summary: After the Roman Empire had fallen, birthing the Republic, you and Lucius had finally found a moment to breathe in each other's presence. Over a few years' journey of healing, you find that is both exhausting, yet all the more fulfilling at the same time.

Part 2 of 2 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Past SA, Depictions of Grief, Violence, Angst, Miscommunication, Historical Inaccuracies [I tried my best to make it kind of accurate], Nudity (sexual and non-sexual), Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex (f receiving), P in V Sex

Paul Mescal's facial hair in All of Us Strangers, if you can hear us, please save us. Nobody ask me how I went from "’Oh, I’m just gonna write some scenes about healing from trauma, and the rest is smut! Easy!" to then making it just a little longer than the first part. I'm a yapper, but holy shit XD. Anyway, this is just shameless pRopAgAnDa at what I personally view a husband to act like (even in modern times). So, without further ado, thousands of words of hurt/comfort and smut.

Word Count: 16.4k

You were a lucky child. When you were twelve and your friend was married off to a man who was forty-two, you asked your father when you would be married.

He tucked you in that night, saying that he wasn’t certain, and that you had nothing to fear; for he wouldn’t promise you to a man who was in a war the same year you were born. He would have to know him personally as well, saying.

“It’s easier to like a man than have to plan his assassination if he dared lay a hand on you.”

You like to think he would have approved of Lucius; he was the once heir to the Roman Empire.

You don’t think he would have approved of your…informal marriage.

“A year.” Lucius stated as the two of you sat together in one of the piazzas. “As long as we are not separated from each other for more than three days, Rome will view us as married if we live in the same household for a year.”

You hummed. “And why should we care what Rome views?”

“Men won’t stop their advances on you if they saw you as my sister.” he explained. “Even as a wife, that doesn’t stir them.”

“It’s a very Christian belief of you to have.”

“But it makes them think thoroughly on if they want to risk tainting you.” Lucius finally looked at you. “Knowing that I would break every finger they touched you with.”

Even with his proclamation, you merely shrugged. “Being the emperor’s favorite whore, I doubt they would care.”

He sighed. “Do you want to know what my mother wrote? Her final words that will forever be with me because they are in ink? ‘Take her as your wife.’”

It had only been one day since Lucilla’s death, since Rome had become a Republic, and no one knew exactly what to do.

Yet…even at the mention of her presence, you felt tears spring to your eyes.

How you hated crying; and crying and crying.

“It is wise.” You finally settled on. “The people here too must see me as a traitor.”

“You would be dead if they did.”

“It’s still early.” You smiled sadly. “I desired to be free of the emperors, but all they must have saw was lust for power.”

Lucius sighed. “If it is a concern, then I believe it is best to leave Rome.”

Suddenly, you were no longer afraid for your life. You scowled. “Leave the city you risked your life to liberate?”

“It is not just my own life I need to think of now, is it?”

“Then think of mine.” you began. “I don’t wish to leave. Where would we even go? I know nothing outside of Rome.”

This would have been solved if you somehow still had the house you grew up in. The moment Geta claimed you, it was gone. Even with the fall of the Empire, and the birth of the Republic, you could not take it back.

Among many other things, you could not take it back.

“We’ll live just outside the walls.” Lucius suggested. “A farm perhaps a few miles from here-.”

“-A farm?” You questioned. “You know how to farm? Because I sure don’t.”

“I’ve lived longer on a farm than I have in a palace.”

It shouldn’t have surprised you, but it did. You also weren’t in the position to bargain. Even though it wasn’t going to be what most would deem an ‘official’ marriage, he still owned you. That was how it always was, whether living outside of the Roman walls or not. Still, you had to try.

“I will learn as much as I need to,” You shook your head. “but I will find a job in the city. You cannot believe I will be shut out-.”

“-Do you want to share a room, or would you like your own?”

You furrowed your brow. “What?”

Lucius restated. “We don’t have any money to buy a farm, so I’ll build us one. Do you want your own room?”

You had only known him for a grand total of a day and a half (if you were to add up all the previous times you had spoken to him before Macrinus’ death), so needless to say, his offer shocked you; more so, it impressed you.

“Isn’t it odd for a man and wife to not share a bed?” You asked.

“So, you want to share a room?”

“No.” was your immediate response. “I just…”

Am not used to compromising with men without them threatening my life.

“Won’t it cost money to build a house?” You asked instead. “None the less, more for another room?”

“I only want you to be happy, if we’re to be married.”

There you were, asking every question and not being satisfied with his answers, yet he was remaining patient.

“Thank you.” You bowed your head in thanks for just a second before questioning. “I am still allowed to have a job in the city? It will help with the cost, of course.”

 “Where exactly do you intend to work?”

He said your name; not ‘Julia’, the name you had whispered to him in his cell. Lucius was the only one who had said it to you, for you did not even tell Lucilla or Marcus. It still felt strange hearing it on your lips, nonetheless, his.

Still, shaking your discomfort away, you hummed humorlessly. “I know two women who run their own businesses; hairdressing and tailoring. I’m better at hair than clothes, but not so much. And you?”

He sighed. “I’ll see if there’s any other farmers needing a hand.”

“You’re going to work for a farmer to build a farm?”

“It sounded more bizarre in your head than when you said it aloud, did it not?”

That was the first thing you found out about Lucius after all the bloodshed and heartbreak of the last week:

He spoke with such a straight tone, you did not know he was joking until he would smile just a hint; you couldn’t really call it a true smile.

You managed to grin. “I suppose it makes sense. You should find one that will let us sleep there.”

And he did. A farm just a few miles outside of Rome took both you and Lucius in. It was substantial, housing five chickens, two cows, three pigs, four horses, and seven human children. Albeit the children helped with the chores, but the eldest was only ten and could not manage any of the heavy lifting whatsoever, which was where Lucius came in.

From sun up to sun down, he’d work on the farm. The farmers, Atticus and Diana, let you sleep in the barn of all places. The hayloft was nice for the both of you; enough space to spread out but not be right next to each other. There was also somewhat of a wall between the two of you, giving the illusion of separate rooms.

It was certainly an adjustment for you; had been sleeping on the softest of beds for months, but even so, you just missed the bed from your old house.

Lucius fell asleep the second he laid on the hay.

Dreams and nightmares were always a peculiar thing. Some days, you would dream of your mother and father, some days, they would be of Lucilla and Marcus.

You had nightmares of what befell you before coming to the farm; Macrinus and his manipulation, Caracalla’s temper, Geta…

Yet, the worst that would happen would be you waking up more tired than the night prior. You knew Lucius was having nightmares too, but every time you approached him, he would lie and say he was fine, or simply not want to speak of it.

You stopped asking.

For the first few days on the farm, you were put to work by watching over the younger children when their mother was busy. Somehow, it was the older ones you didn’t mind, it was the youngest baby who was a handful.

It’s morbid to say, but you always wondered how any of them survived infancy.

Luckily, you managed to get back to Rome after perhaps a week of being stranded on the farm. It was almost an hour walk, and you had gotten up even before Lucius had, but it was worth it.

It wasn’t that you felt dead as you were on the farm per say, but walking through the streets brought a certain kind of life back into your steps.

You spent a good portion of the day trying to find the hairdressers you talk to Lucius about. Just as you were about to give up and try again tomorrow, something caught your ear.

Hebrew.

You turned over your shoulder and saw a man speaking in Latin to another man and a pregnant woman. The father had spoken in broken Latin before turning to his wife, speaking quickly in Hebrew as if to ask her what to say.

The Roman man began to yell, and you rushed over, speaking to the patriarch of the family.

“What’s going on?” You asked quickly.

His eyes grew as if you were the first person in Rome to understand him (you probably were). “I paid for a bag of peaches fairly; two bronze, yet they’re saying it wasn’t enough.”

You turned to the man behind you. “He says he gave you two bronze for the peaches.”

“It was three.” The Roman man gritted his teeth.

Tilting your head, you tried. “Show me your stand so we may see.”

It was perhaps stupid of you to challenge him; yet, he controlled his tempter and led you to his fruit stand. The sign by the peaches indeed said ‘2’, but there was also a good amount of peaches blocking the bottom half of the sign.

When you moved a few, it read ‘3’.

You smiled, looking at the man who spoke Hebrew. “It is three, but it’s not your fault this brute didn’t notice either.”

He nodded, returning your grin before handing the men another copper. With an few mumbled exchanges, the man and his wife were on their way.

“You have Judeans in your family?” The man crudely asked.

Still, you decided to reciprocate his crassness with kindness. “I actually speak five languages.”

He rose his brows. “Is that a fact?”

“Yes, yes it is.”

He hummed, holding his hand out. “Isidorus.”

“Julia.” Was your immediate response as he took your hand and kissed your knuckles. It wasn’t even your own choice to say that name; it was what you lived by. Retracting your hand, you shake your head and said your own name. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-.”

“-All of Rome knows who you are.” He interrupted. “Do not be afraid of your own people. Most of them were there simply a week ago when you tried to slay Macrinus but was there to comfort lady Lucilla in her final moments.”

You only nodded, not wanting to be praised. “I thank you for your kindness.”

“With certain.” He nodded. “You are with child; only a monster would harm a woman carrying.”

The events of the past weeks had made you forgotten about the false babe. Luckily, the fear upon your face could be used to your advantage.

“Are you not well?” Isidorus questioned.

You dropped your gaze, stammering your tone. “The…I lost the child.”

He looked down as well. “Oh…I’m so sorry.”

“No,” you shook your head. “it’s…it feels odd. His father was terrible but…”

“Why are you perusing Rome unchaperoned?” He changed the subject.

 “My betrothed is being put to work,” you immediately answered. “and I am scouring the streets to find my own.”

“What has your luck been?”

“Nothing.”

Isidorus hummed. “I could change that.”

Even at the thought of what he was alluding to, you smiled. “Good sir, I am not in the position to sell my body-.”

“-None of that.” he waved his hand. “My brother works down at the entrance of the city gates. They’re always in need of translators.”

You nodded, considering. “When may I meet with him?”

“Tomorrow?” He asked. “Midday at the gates with many people watching so you do not feel threatened?”

The two of you laughed, and you agreed. “I shall be there. Thank you.”

“Anything to help a woman of the people.”

You walked all the way back to the farm with a skip in your step. Even at dinner, you were more talkative with the rest of the family. Lucius certainly took notice as the two of you were settling down for the night.

“You seemed better today.” He complimented, laying onto his bed of hay.

“So, I’ve been absolutely horrible the rest?” You teased, peeking around the wall of the hayloft.

 “No, just what I think you were like before everything; more yourself.” He explained. “Did the hairdressers go well?”

Leaning against the wall, you crossed your arms. “I’m actually working as a translator down by the city entrance.”

He gave you a look. “How’d this come about?”

“Well,” you began. “I overheard two men arguing, one was speaking Hebrew, and I asked him what was wrong. There was a misunderstanding over peaches of all things, I helped them talk it out, and it was solved with no bloodshed. The vendor said his brother works at the gates and is always in need of translators and offered to meet with him tomorrow. It will be midday and so many people around; do not worry.”

Lucius nodded. “I’ll accompany you.”

“Did you not hear what I just said? I shall be fine.”

“I have no doubt you would.” You knew that was a lie. “One of the scythes broke today, I’ll need to buy another one in the city.”

You didn’t know if that was a lie or not, but it wouldn’t surprise you if Lucius would sneak out in the night and break equipment simply to go with you.

Sighing, you went behind the wall to your side of the hayloft. “Fine.”

To no one but Lucius’ surprise, Isidorus had not lied about his brother, nor the job offer. Of course, the brother had been off put at a woman being the translator (because everyone knows that they are the lesser sex). Still, after some convincing (you talked to a Greek family, a man from Anatolia, and two brothers from Persia), he said you could be put to work.

Lucius stood there the whole hour you had proved yourself.

“You couldn’t have gotten the scythe while I worked?” You questioned him while walking home.

He kept his gaze on the road before him, carrying the farm equipment. “It was engaging to watch.”

You hummed. “I could see how engaged you were while you stood like this.” You crossed your arms and scowled.

“I did not look like that.” He scoffed.

“You did so!” You refuted, lowering your voice. “My name is Lucius Verus Aurelius, the Last Gladiator, son of Lucilla and Maximus, grandson of Marcus Aurelius.”

He looked down, mouth upturning a little. “I do not sound like that.”

“Is that a smile?!” you gasped. “Gods above, I never thought you could unless you were attempting humor!

“Away with you, woman.”

You only laughed as the sun was starting to set.

There was something called a “Fullmoon” period in a marriage. Most now would say it’s “Honeymoon”, but the period in time where a man and woman were in a complete state of euphoria together was called “Fullmoon” because it only lasted for a month.

You and Lucius (even with your strange circumstance) were not immune to this.

A month later, when you had fully settled into a mundane life of working in different areas for hours upon hours, the only times you saw Lucius was when you ate dinner with the farmer’s family, and before going to bed.

It didn’t’ effect you that much for the first three months, as you both were still on good terms and were fine simply cohabitating without affection. This marriage was purely for protection and to honor Lucilla’s wishes.

Then…Lucius came to you one day, saying that together, you both had enough money to build a farm. He already had a patch of land picked out from the help of the famer who employed him. It was five miles away from the farm you stayed at. Five miles more of a journey to the city.

You would move in once the walls were built, which he said would only take a week or two.

It was too fast for you.

Still, you had to go along with it, because you were to be his wife; nothing more. Even so, nothing out of the ordinary besides your hidden, simmering annoyance happened between you two.

The first day construction was to be done was when light was shed upon it.

“Lucius!” You called his name as you approached him and a few other men hauling the wood and stone that would be used. It was mid-twilight when you ran to them.

He furrowed his brow, walking towards you. “Aren’t you meant to be in the city?”

Grinning from ear to ear, you shook your head. “I asked for the day off because of the house. He said I-.”

“-You need to go back and tell him you’ll work.”

Your smile fell from his usual, monotone demeanor. “He doesn’t expect me to come in today-.”

“-Then he’ll be happy to see you.”

“May I just talk for a moment?!” You yelled.

His said nothing.

Sighing, you began. “I will be useful in any capacity. If you need me to help dig for water, measure supports, lift anything-.”

“-Your shoulder cannot carry-.”

You retorted. “-It might be the shoulder you shot, but it’s the shoulder I have to live with, and I will tell you if something is too heavy to carry.”

It hadn’t been the first time you brought up your shoulder after Rome was free. Yet, in the past, it was always out of good fun; something to say to him when you didn’t want to carry as little as an egg from the chicken coop. You told the children the story too why you had to set one of them down after carrying her for so long.

You expected them to cower away from Lucius when he returned for supper, but instead, they all tackled him to the ground to defend your honor.

They didn’t hurt him of course, and you laughed until you couldn’t breathe.

Yet, at that moment, you said it with nothing but disdain; and he heard it in every word. You thought it would have been enough to guilt him into letting you help, you made sure of it.

Lucius titled his head back toward the main road. “Go on, now. The sun will be up soon, it’ll be better to walk without daylight beating down on you.”

The audacity he had. Usually, on the times you’d have disagreements of sorts, you’d try to leave with dignity; perhaps a word of sarcasm or two.

No, you simply turned on your heel and marched away in a huff.

You were harsher that day when translating, and you were still angry by the time the day ended. You ate dinner outside by yourself (until three of the seven children came outside to eat with you), and did not utter a ‘goodnight’ to Lucius before laying down to sleep.

Neither of you spoke to the other for days after that.

It was one morning, not even when the sun was out, as you tried to tiptoe around him, did he ask from his makeshift bed.

“Do you remember where the house is?”

You nearly fell off the ledge of the hayloft. “What is wrong with you?!”

“Do you remember?”

“Yes!” you whispered, afraid to wake the whole farm. “Why?”

“We made the water pump, and the walls and floors are finished. We’ll be able to sleep there now.”

“I don’t see the appeal in sleeping in a house with no roof.”

“I’ll put half of it on today. Tell your foreman too that you won’t be able to work for the next week.”

You furrowed your brow. “Why?”

“I’m teaching you how to tend to a farm.” He wrapped his blankets tighter around him and turned his back to you.

And you continued on your way; making the long trek to the city, which would only be longer when you moved to the house.

When your work was over, you walked and walked. You took a short break at the farmer’s house, making your final goodbyes to the children, and gathering what little belongings you owned.

As you tried to leave, Diana stopped you. She was leading one of the horses, a berber, behind her.

“Take her,” she handed you the reins. “you shouldn’t have to walk so far.”

You shook your head. “I simply cannot-.”

“-I insist.” She smiled. “She’s yours now. Think of it as payment for helping me with the little beasts that are my children.”

Smiling politely, it soon faded. She took notice. “What is it?”

“…I’ve only ever ridden once, and I was a child.”

She sighed yet was still kind. “Come on, my husband’s horse is at your farm. I’ll ride back with him.”

Despite your inexperience, it was actually nice riding a horse. It was perhaps the closest you could ever come to flying in your lifetime; maybe that’s why you enjoyed it. As you were nearing your soon-to-be home, you saw a familiar silhouette along with some others.

Atop the house, against the setting sun, you watched as Lucius continued to add tiles to the unfinished roof. His shirt was off, and even with night beginning to set in with the cold air, he was still breaking a sweat from the rigorous work. You would be a liar if you say that you didn’t catch yourself staring, and it was Diana who had to take the reins.

“What a fine home!” She broke you out of your trance, and when Lucius looked in your direction, you snapped your gaze away.

Lucius nodded. “All that needs to be done is the roof.” He jumped onto the ground just as you were sliding off the horse. He gave you his hand as you were, and you took it.

“Thank you.”

Atticus and the other workers went to a lone tree where their horses were tied. Atticus then approached both you and Lucius.

“Well,” he smiled. “it was lovely hosting the both of you. Please come back as often as you can; I’m sure the children will miss you.”

You all exchanged your final goodbyes, and it when everyone rode off away from you, did you realize something. This was the first time in a while you were alone with Lucius that wasn’t when going to sleep or waking up.

“Do you have a name for the horse?” Lucius asked.

Turning over your shoulder, you led the steed to the tree, petting her as you began to tie her up. “Not at the moment. She’s yours too, do you have any?”

“You’ll be with her more; you should name her.”

Humming you looked at him when you finished securing the horse. “You asked them to give her to me, didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “They asked how they could repay you for taking care of their children, I mentioned how it would be a longer journey to the city once we moved here. That’s all I did.”

…He was better at asking for forgiveness than for permission; that was another thing you learned about him. Still, you nodded your appreciation, inspecting the area around you. It was quite beautiful even with its plainness. The fields stretched on for miles, and there were no tall buildings to cover the night sky. Even the unfinished house brought a sense of happiness to you.

Something that was, at least partially, your own.

“Where will the barn and chicken coop go?” You questioned.

A hint of a smile played on his mouth, but in Lucius fashion, did his best to hide it. “You were complaining about not having a roof, and now you wonder about things for the animals?”

“Perhaps I’m more interested in farming than you are.”

“I’ll teach you.” he led you into the house. “Come on.”

 The front living space was large, and in the corner of it had an oven, so that was where the kitchen would be. Lucius showed you the two rooms as well; each having a single pillow and a blanket.

“We’ll begin planting tomorrow.” he announced. “I don’t think I’ll have to wake you up.”

“You won’t.” You nodded. “Goodnight, Lucius.”

“Goodnight.” He said your name.

You didn’t think you’d ever get over the sound of your own name from his lips.

You named the horse after your mother. Well…not the exact same name, but a similar one. It was quite a scene too when confessing to Lucius you couldn't exactly remember how to ride a horse by yourself.

He didn’t laugh at you, that was what greatly surprised you. He spent an hour teaching you, and you were able to ride her on your own.

Farming was more difficult than you thought it would be, but not so horrible either. Yes, where Lucius was patient with you for the first few days, he made a few snide comments as time passed. Nothing outright mean, but still enough to get under your skin.

Still, you managed to pick it up within the few weeks after that.

He had even let you help him finish the roof of the house; something you didn’t expect him to do. After living in the house for a month, both of you managed to buy actual beds for your rooms, among other luxuries like a few tables and chairs for the main living area, and utensils both for cooking and for eating.

The bathroom was completely bare. Having spent all the money on everything else, it would take time for the both of you to buy a bathtub. Bathing wasn’t a problem back on Atticus and Diana’s farm, but now being away from them, you would be forced to rely on the public baths in the city…

Even with some bathhouses having baths only for women, that did not stop men from forcing their way into them.

You didn’t mind being dirty for weeks on end.

The two of you fell into another pattern of life; you going into the city and spending hours translating foreign dialogue, and Lucius working on the farm for most days, sometimes accompanying you.

There was…something else strange as well.

It was always a coin toss on what weeks Lucius would speak to you or not.

Yes, he was always a man of few words, but this was different. There were some days when you asked him about his day, he would tell you what boring tasks he did. Than, on others, it was just one word: “Good.”

Never “Bad”, never “Just okay”; only “Good”. Even when you knew it wasn’t, that’s all he would say.

And you could endure it.

It had already been a little over half a year since the two of you started living together. In the eyes of Rome (as mere Plebians), you would be married once a year passed.

This was perhaps the best marriage you could ask for as a Roman woman. Still…every day that Lucius would not speak to you only brought more dread upon your shoulders.

When he stopped even looking at you, that was when you went to Diana one day.

“It’s so lovely to see you.” She smiled, setting down two cups of wine and sitting. “It’s felt like ages!”

With her youngest baby on your lap, you chuckled, taking a sip of your drink. “You honestly didn’t need to get the wine out.”

“Nonsense!” She waved her hand. “It’s a celebration just to be in your presence. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you as well.”

“How’s the farm? Lucius?”

“Well,” you took another sip, setting your cup down. “the farm has been alright. I know at least how to properly water crops and know when they’re ready to harvest or not. I help Lucius sometimes, but…he likes things his own way. He was a farmer too, I understand.”

She hummed. “And as a betrothed? I hope having your own home would help; to me, you two treated each other more like acquaintances than anything else.”

All you could do was avoid eye contact and bounce the giggling baby on your knee.

“Ah.” She sighed. “So not much has changed?”

“We both talk more than we had at your farm, but somehow, less at the same time.” You explained.

Diana reached over and held your hand, asking softly. “When was the last time you were intimate?”

As if she were a man, you tore your hand from hers. “What?”

“I do not wish anything to be forced upon you,” she stated first. “especially with what has happened to you. But…it is still important, especially to your future marriage.”

“We…we haven’t done anything in…months.” You were not going to tell her you hadn’t even seen him naked. You were not going to tell her you hadn’t done you “duty” as a woman.

She nodded. “There must be something plaguing his mind terribly.”

“I know that!” You cried. “He just won’t tell me.”

“Men do not like talking,” Diana sighed. “I have been married to Atticus for fifteen years, and even after seven children, there are parts of his past I still do not know of. What Lucius frets over is important though. You must dig your heels into the ground and let him know you are not doing anything until he tells you what he has issue with.”

The baby on your lap cooed as you held her, reaching for parts of your clothing. Diana took her from you once the baby started fussing, and you offered her a grateful smile.

“I’ll try my best with him.”

She squeezed your shoulder. “He will come to his senses. If not, then he truly hit his head too hard in the Colosseum.”

Except, you couldn’t confront him when you got home. Even though the sun was only beginning to set, when you arrived, the house was silent. You peeked into his bedroom and saw that he was already fast asleep.

With a sigh, you finished your nightly activities, and when the sun went down, you were in your own bed.

The nightmare was unlike any you had before.

Hands from all around you reached out to you. Some grabbed clumps of your hair, stuck their fingers into your mouth, caressed the most intimate parts of your body, or even tear your skin off.

You blinked and then you were in the palace, surrounded by cloaked figures. Someone forced you onto your back, and you looked up and saw Geta, raising a knife high above his head before diving it into your stomach. He carved it out before digging his hands into the opening he made and pulled out your womb.

After sitting up in bed, you had thought you awoken. When you opened your bedroom door, you were welcomed to a field of reeds, seeing nothing for miles. All but a silhouette in the distance. You could not make out it to be a man or a woman; all you knew was that you needed to run to them.

Yet, even as you dashed through the fields, calling out a name you do not even remember, your feet sank into the ground with each step.

The earth swallowed you whole before you could even reach them.

You didn’t awake with a scream; you didn’t even awake with a cry. You did awake in a sweat. Sitting up, you slowly pulled the blanket away from your body. Your stomach was unwounded, and nothing had happened.

Without knowing why, you rose from your bed and slipped on your sandals. Not even putting on a robe, you walked out of the house into the cold, night air. Numbly, you treaded through the tall grass away from the house and stopped.

The stars above you watched as you fell to your knees, and the past finally had the last laugh.

You wept for your mother (whose touch you never felt).

You wept for your father (who you had to take care of the same way he took care of you).

You wept for Marcus (the first man outside of your father to ever see you as a person).

You wept for Lucilla (the woman who saved you in more ways than one).

You wept for the innocence you lost to the twin emperors (and how you mercilessly killed them).

You wept and wept, until you felt bile claw its way up your throat and out of your mouth.

The tears did not stop even after you were finished.

Two hands grabbed your shoulders from behind, and you tried to tear yourself away with a sharp cry. You were turned around, and even though your tears blinded you, you could see that it was Lucius.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his eyes grown.

You couldn’t speak clearly, only shaking your head and saying ‘No’ over and over. Lucius led you to the water pump and sat you down by it. Cranking the handle until the water flowed freely, he cupped his hand to catch some of it before gently washing your face.

The cool water grounded you, and your sobs began to slow. Once you were only left with shallow breathing and a stuffed nose, Lucius finally sat beside you.

“What happened?” He asked again, although, returning to his normal, straight-toned self.

“Bad dream.” Was all you said.

He said nothing at first. Then, looking down at the grass beneath him, he said. “Would talking about it help you?”

It was meant to be a helpful question, but it only angered you. “You ask that now? After I run out into the night screaming?”

Lucius squinted his eyes. “Why does that bother you?”

“I know you have nightmares too.” You scoffed. “I have asked you dozens of times if you wish to talk to me about them, and you have always said no. You’ve never once asked me about mine, so how dare you expect me to tell you about it now when you cannot even share yours with me!”

“That’s not fair.” He shook his head.

You stood up, walking back to the house. “You’re right, it isn’t fair.”

He jumped to his feet. “You can’t walk away without telling me why this is troubling you.”

“You first.”

“What?”

You turned to face him. “We are to be married in less than a year, at least ‘In the eyes of Rome’ as you say, yet you do not even look at me anymore!”

His shoulders fell, and he shook his head. “I am looking at you-.”

“-I ask you how you are these days, and you lie to me every time.” You interrupted. “The few instances you allow me to work beside you, you criticize every little thing I do. I understand that I am the farthest thing you wanted for as a wife-.”

 It was that word that struck a chord. Despite saying it every so often those past few months…it was only then it occurred to you that where Lucius was your first husband…you were not his first wife.

He tore his gaze away from yours, as if he knew you had figured it out. You sighed. “Gods above…I’m sorry for what has happened to her, and I will never know the loss of a love like that…but I cannot be viewed as her replacement-.”

“-Who told you that you were?” He sharpened his tone.

You swallowed, knowing that this would all end in tears no matter what you said. “You do not tell me anything. I will never ask you to care for me the way you cared for her, but she is gone-.”

“-I couldn’t do anything after she died but weep and watch her body float into the ocean.” He hissed. “I vowed to kill the man that slaughtered her, and I didn’t. It had been perhaps just a month since her death, did I promise myself to another woman. I have dishonored her memory three times.”

“I do not know how long you need me to apologize for something I could not control, but I will if that means you will stop hating me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“You hate that I will be your wife!” Your voice was growing hoarse. “I don’t understand it at all. I will be whatever it is you wish me to be in few months’ time, because you will own me. Even if you wish me to be dead, it shall be done because what I want will not matter-.”

“-Must you make everything about yourself?!” He finally yelled. “Would it soothe you if I said I despised every part of you? That if Jupiter himself came down and offered me my old life in exchange for you, I would give you up to him?! Would it give you any peace of mind if I told you I would have rather died in the arena than live a thousand years with you?”

You had expected him to at least pause after he made his confession. To at least have the courage to look you in the eye and watch as the words sunk into your being. Yet, as soon as he finished, he stomped back to the house; and you were alone outside again.

The tears upon your face glimmered from the light in the sky above you, for all you could do was stare at the little farmhouse Lucius had built for you.

How strange that something you once saw as a sign of devotion, was now revealed to be one of complicity.

He had admitted his disdain for your future marriage. You knew that it would be loveless (you would never escape that), but you wished at least for respect. Seeing as how you were not even going to have that, you dragged your feet over to the tree where your horse was tied up.  Mounting her with nothing but the clothes on your back, you raced down the pathway.

For the first day, you had stayed at Diana and Atticus’ farm. You said nothing about Lucius, and tried to spend the most time with the children to avoid any questions.

On the second day, you finally went back to the city. Even though the man in charge of you yelled louder than Lucius had at you, it did not phase you. You merely nodded and returned to work. With what money they paid you for the day, you spent it on a room at the safest inn you could find. You had another nightmare that night. Not as horrible as the one two days prior, but awful enough for you to lay awake until the sun rose.

The third day seemed to be ordinary, until you finished your job, and you were promenading along the market. As you eyed the fruit at Isidorus’ stand, a man came to stand beside you.

“Good sir,” you heard Lucius’ voice. “do you have a wife?”

Isidorus nodded. “I do.”

“What from your stand would you give her if she was angry at you?”

He eyed you before smiling at Lucius. “My ears to listen.”

You turned, promptly walking away. Of course, Lucius followed.

“I didn’t know you confided into strangers about our qualms.”

“He’s not a stranger.” you kept trying to lose him. “And gifts will not suffice for an apology this time.”

He got in front of you, uttering your name. You stopped, sighing. “What else have you come to say to me?”

“That I am a fool.”

Although you weren’t necessarily expecting him to admit it, you only nodded. “You very much are.”

He began. “For my entire life, I was not allowed to be entirely truthful with others. Whether it was how I felt in the moment, or even my own name. I’m not used to the freedom of being candid with one another. And I have been mistreating you; I have provided a home, but I haven’t provided your wellbeing. Ari-.” Lucius paused, breathing through his nose. “Arishat and I lived on a farm, that was all I knew while being a husband. I will love her until the end of my days, but that does not give me the right to neglect you. I will…I will try with all my being to share my thoughts with you.”

You stared at him, feeling as if you would blink, and you would awaken from another dream. Yet once you did and saw that he was still in front of you, you said.

“I didn’t mean to insult your memory of her.”

He shook his head. “I believe she would hit me if she were here and saw how I treated you.”

“Thank you.” You nodded. “Truly, for everything. I…it’s not only you, I don’t know if I will ever feel like myself after…everything.”

Lucius already knew. Still, looking around himself, he then said. “Where is your horse?”

“The inn I’ve been staying at has a stable. You walked the whole way here?”

“It’s what I deserved.”

“You smell horrible.” You mustered a shy grin.

He mirrored you, looking away. “I have for a while.”

“I do as well. I was…I was going to brave the baths; would you like to join me?”

Your offer took him by surprise. Usually, a question like that would be an invitation to more salacious activities to take place. Still, what took him aback more was how you were initially so afraid of the public baths, yet there you were.

“I shall.” He agreed.

Thus, the two of you walked beside one another. There were many baths in Rome, yet it would be challenging to find one that had a separate bath for women and one for men. By the time you reached the third bathhouse, you sighed.

“This will do.”

Lucius shook his head. “I’ll ask the workers at this one if they know-.”

“-No.” You stopped him. “It’s fine. I wish to speak more with you.”

He was still hesitant, but gave in. The two of you entered and drifted off to the separate changing rooms. It was strange that the bathhouse had rooms for the different sex to disrobe, but not baths itself.

After locking your clothes away, you ventured out into the main pool. You were welcomed to an array of naked bodies. You weren’t entirely innocent of course, even before everything. You were never to see any of these people again; it was Lucius you would live with.

Quickly, you disappeared half of your body under the surface of the water and clung to the wall of the large bath. Other people around you laughed and socialized, only putting you more in the eyes of men who only came to the baths for one thing.

Yet, before you could take a moment to worry, your eyes fell to Lucius who entered. You soon averted them and felt the water shift beside you as he entered. You turned to look at him, leveling yourself with the side of the pool, essentially shoulder to shoulder with him. The hear radiating off of his body onto yours reminded you too much of that night months ago; the one where you whispered your name into his ear.

“What were you like as a boy?” You questioned in an attempt to hide how flustered you were.

He hummed. “Why do you ask?”

“If you wish to be more honest with me, than I think it should be best to stary with something minor.”

“I understand. I was spoiled growing up in the palace. Still, I wished nothing more than for adventure. All my life, the mere thought of war and battles were taught as a way to bring glory to the empire; pride for one’s family. I had gotten my foolish wish when Maximus died, and my mother sent me away from Rome.” He paused momentarily, before continuing. “I ran all across the land until I was thirteen, where I finally settled in Numidia. I had changed my named too many times to count and settled upon Hanno.”

Your attention did not waver for a moment. When he was finished you asked. “How old were you when you left?”

“Eight…” There was a sad silence between the two of you. A silence held in almost reverence for all the troubles he had been through. “What about you?”

Even with your uneasiness to answer your starkly different childhood, you did so; also have been promising to be honest with him. You spoke of your father, your past friends, the house you grew up in. He never once looked upon you with envy or hatred.

“Your father sounded like a good man.” He said.

“He was.” You nodded, feeling a weight settle in your chest. "I think he would have liked you.”

“I can only hope.”

The conversation halted after that, unknown if you should wait for him to ask a question, or for you to ask another. Both of your eyes drifted around the bath house as people filtered in and out. When your gaze fell back onto Lucius’ you watched his eyes flicker to something behind you. Before you could utter a word, he placed his hand upon your bare back, bringing his lips to the space between your ear and your jaw.

It all happened so fast you had no time to react, and your body shivered upon the feel of him being so close to you.

“There’s a man eyeing you from behind.” He whispered into your skin. “Don’t look at him, just keep looking at me. I’m sorry.”

You pulled away slightly, doing as he told. He traced circles on your back with his thumb, staring intently at you. Even as you shrunk under his eyes, they did not frighten you.

Deciding to play along, you trailed your hand up his bare arm until resting on his shoulder. You felt his skin erupt into goosebumps and he took a sharp intake of breath.

“Okay?” You asked.

He nodded. “Yes, it’s just…it’s been a while.”

Anyone with any sense knew that meant more than one thing. It had been a while since he felt anyone’s touch; nonetheless, a naked woman’s.

From behind him, you saw a small group of girls all looking at you. They all looked a little younger than you, and acted like so, giggling loudly and talking without a care in the world. It was only then that you noticed they were looking at Lucius.

“Is there someone eyeing me now?” He attempted to tease you when he noticed your gaze.

You nodded, no hint of humor behind your voice. “A good few of them.”

“Is that so?”

You removed your hand. “I wouldn’t mind, you know.”

“Wouldn’t mind what?” He pinched his eyebrows together.

“…Getting your release from a woman that isn’t me.” You were puzzled by his seeming ignorance. “You’re a man, I understand-.”

He said your name with somewhat of gasp. You didn’t listen one bit.

“No, I mean it. I will not be more selfish than I already have been, expecting you to remain celibate because I don’t think I will-.”

Lucius said your name again and you stopped. Even when you did, he said it a third time as if to know he had your attention. He continued to run his fingers up and down your back.

“I will not dishonor you-.”

“-I have been dishonored several times before, it does not matter-.”

“-Listen to me.” He said softly yet firmly. “Even if I desired someone carnally, it is not selfish of you to want my loyalty. I’m not a boy who wishes to bed anything that breathes. I don’t think I can do so with someone I do not have any deep feelings for. You are my wife, and I will not treat you less.”

He didn’t call you his ‘betrothed’. As if, the moment you accepted his apology, you were already his other half. To hear him speak with so much certainty after neither of you knowing what any day would bring…it brought an astonishing comfort you never knew you needed.

“Thank you.” You felt like your heart could beat again.

“You don’t-.”

“-No but I do. I don’t…I don’t think I could give you anything of myself if you wanted it. It’s still…I remember a lot of what Geta did to me, and I forgot it at the same time. It doesn’t happen a lot in my nightmares, but it still does. That one night you found me he…he cut out my womb and held it in his hands. I thought I woke up, but I didn’t, and I think I was in Elysian Fields, but I only saw a shadow. I don’t know what any of that means.”

Lucius let you finish all of the anxiety you had thrown onto him. Still, releasing a shallow breath, he said.

“You die in most of my dreams.” He clarified. “The bad ones, I mean. A lot of people do, but you’ve been in them the most. There are times I see both you and Arishat, or my mother, or all three of you and…those are the worst. The night I found you outside, I couldn’t…I had a horrible dream that I couldn’t even see your face, but I knew it was you when I found you hanging in the Colosseum.”

If the both of you weren’t naked and, in the bathhouse, you would have embraced him. Yet, with the most understanding look in your eyes, you brought your hand to the base of his neck, his loose curls between your fingers. You swore you felt him relax into your touch for just a moment.

“I’ve known everyone to have their own beliefs of dreams.” You whispered. “They’re meant to predict the future, they reflect the past, they are punishments, they are blessings, and they mean nothing. I wonder if it’s possible they are all of them.”

He nodded. “I don’t know what I believe in anymore.”

“I do.” Lucius unknowingly leaned into you just ever so slightly. You grinned from ear to ear, pulling your hand away from him. “I believe you need to cut your hair.”

He chortled. “I’m not spending anything on cutting it. It’s fine.”

“I’ll cut it then.”

“I would rather be stabbed.”

“Oh, quit being dramatic.” you playfully swatted him. “There’s a reason I would’ve been a better hairdresser than tailor.”

The two of you teased one another for a minute longer after that. Than, even though the conversation died, it was not in vain. There was a quiet gentleness and protectiveness as you both shared a short distance between each other while bathing. Lucius kept his eye on you more than you did him, knowing that it was always possible a man could try to take advantage of you.

When all was said and done, you got your horse from the stable at the inn, and the two of you rode back to the farm with a newfound understanding of each other.

More than a year and a half have passed since the fall of the Roman Empire and its subsequent birth of the Republic. Your strange marriage with Lucius grew into a friendship of respect and understanding. You both talked more than you had when you were first betrothed, even if your busy schedules remained the same.

The farm had improved after its first harvest, even raising enough money to build a chicken coop and house a few chickens. The house itself was more furnished, and the two of you managed to purchase a bathtub, no longer needing to use the public ones in the city.

Both of you had changed as well. Even with what minimal farm work you did, it built both your strength and stamina. Lucius had begun to grow out his facial hair; not much for it to be an actual beard, but more so just under his nose. You’d joke about it looking like a caterpillar, to which he would lightly shove you away.

After the intimate discussion the two of you shared, it was only then you both realized you still didn’t know much about each other. Most importantly, the little things that made each of you a person.

So, you’d take time to get to know one another.

You were helping Lucius pull weeds around the crops when you found out he had ripped a monkey’s throat out with his teeth during his very first gladiator fight.

You were reading a collection of poetry one night when Lucius told you that you mouth the words of whatever you’re reading if you find it most interesting.

During supper one night, Lucius ate the entirety of the plate only to then eat whatever else you hadn’t. That was when your theory was proven right; he does forget to eat sometimes.

Both of you had tried to keep the housework to an equal amount; if he cooked one night, you’d clean the kitchen and vice versa. Yet, some remained stagnant; you always cut his hair, yet he always changed the horses’ shoes.

Cutting his hair was perhaps your favorite way to speak with him.

“Remember to clean your sandals before coming in next time.” He reminded you as he sat on a tree trunk outside. “You tracked in mud.”

Standing behind him while trimming small hairs, you shook your head. “My apologies, master of the house; it was downpouring and I was freezing.”

“Serves you right, I’d say.”

You placed the tip of the shears against his neck. “What else do you have to say?”

He snickered. “That you’re an astonishing woman who I am blessed to be with."

“Wrong answer, all lies.” You pretended to stab him, only to bring the shears back to his hair.

“I’m not lying!” Lucius laughed.

You only gave him a ‘tsk’ before continuing. “Are you sleeping any better?”

He said nothing at first. Your eyes drifted down to his hands and saw him pull on his tunic; another telltale sign of his nervousness.

“I keep seeing my mother’s face.” He admitted. “Only her face, nothing else.”

“It was the third night last night, right?”

“Yes.”

You sighed. “Would you want to hear a dream I had a few days ago to make you feel better?”

“Better because it was happy, or because you think I’ll feel happy I wasn’t you?”

“The latter.”

“Tell me.”

You turned his head to the side gently, continuing your work. “I stood in front of the entire senate of Rome, and they were all laughing at me. I don’t even know what I said, they only laughed and laughed.”

“Is that not what happened to you in the waking day?”

“No, they listened…I think.” You shook our head. “It more so angers me that, in the waking life, I presented logic to them, and they still chose Macrinus who showed nothing of the sort.”

“Some men like to speak of only desiring logic yet run away with their emotions once it is presented.” Lucius stated. “What had you told them?”

“That all of Rome would continue to riot if they killed Lucilla.” You said grimly. “I still don’t understand; they had their proof of the rage Rome’s children could feel when their general was killed, the only reason the city did not fall was because Macrinus was slain. I’m done.”

You set your shears down and Lucius stood, shaking the fallen hair off his clothes. He turned to you.

“If it matters at all, I think the only reason this house hasn’t fallen is because of you.”

Grinning from ear to ear, you shoved him playfully. “Away with you, you’re just as much of the reason as I am.”

“I do all that I can.”

There were moments like this where you would not speak of childhood memories or events of your day. These moments were reserved for the days where it felt like time slowed down just to give you two the grace to speak about them in more detail.

With only a single candle between the two of you one quiet night, you told him how you have to walk a different path in the city sometimes simply to avoid brothels; hating the sounds you would hear from inside, the stench of cheap perfume and sweating bodies burning your nose, the men who would brag to their friends about the women they had.

At breakfast one day, before the sun had even rose, Lucius told you about a time when he was ten, still on the run. He had gone into a man’s house with the promise of food, only to then be hit the head with something so heavy, he was knocked out. He had awoken in a dark room, but managed to find a curtained window, and escaped. He never knew what would have happened to him if he had woken up just a minute later.

There was tenderness you shared with him that you had never shared with anyone in your life.You sht

That was only more apparent on one fateful day.

The first bad omen for the day that morning was when you had run out of sugar for breakfast. The second was when your horse was extra stubborn as you rode her into the city; it was so out of the ordinary, you wondered if you did something to make her hate you.

Still, everything was fine once you went to work. At least it was for the first half of the day.

There were aggressive people from across the land coming into the city you certainly had to deal with, but the worst was when a man twice your size bluffed you with a slap. Even so, the other men you worked with had yelled and sent him away.

That day though…there was a woman with a look in her eyes.

You thought you had seen pure rage when you had been with Geta. Yet, that day was a lesson to you; wrath had many faces.

She mumbled in Greek, but you did not know what she said at first. Then, she attempted to speak Latin. You politely told her you could speak Greek, and so with exhaustion, she told you that she was going to visit her mother.

When asked for her mother’s name, she didn’t say it. After asking again, she became enraged, yelling at you that she should just be able to be let in. When you resisted, she grabbed your bad arm, yanking it to pull you closer to her.

The pain shot through your shoulder like a bolt of lightning, and you cried out. She tugged on your hair as the men beside you tried to pry her away from you. Luckily, she didn’t manage to yank any of it out once the men forced her away from you. Tears fell freely over your face as you cradled yourself, unable to stop the sobs from leaving your lips.

They let you leave early yet paid you as if you were there the whole day.

The ride back to the farm wasn’t any better, but at least your steed took notice of your heartache and was more merciful to you. When you made it home, you slowed her down when you saw Lucius limping towards the house.

You both stopped where you were, staring at one another as if you weren’t supposed to be seeing the other.

“Why are you back so early?” He asked first.

“Why are you dragging your foot?” You asked second.

Lucius took a deep breath, and you saw tears in his eyes. “I fell.”

The only time you had seen him cry was when burying Lucilla; it wouldn’t be from simply falling. You slowly pulled yourself off your horse but did so quick enough before he could rush to help you. You wished nothing more than to pull him into the warmth of the house, to sit him down and tend to his wound to distract you from your own.

Yet, the moment you took his hand, he began to weep.

“Oh Lucius.” You whispered, bringing your hand up to cradle his face. He wrapped both of his arms around you, bringing you onto the ground with him. You yelped a little when he squeezed your bad shoulder too tight, and he pulled away.

“What happened?” He asked.

You shook your head. “You need-.”

“-What happened?!”

Knowing he wouldn’t stop asking, you told him. “Someone at the gate attacked me. Pulled on my bad arm, my hair…it wasn’t as bad as you’d think-.”

“-Where is he?” He lowered his tone and his demeanor.

Your jaw dropped into a surprised huff. “She is long gone by now, and even if she wasn’t then as my husband, you should stay with me instead of wandering the streets of Rome hoping to find someone to be your anger’s victim!”

Though he still wore that rage upon his face, it soon fell once he saw your own tears fall from your eyes like dewdrops on flowers. Lucius laid himself flat on the dirt, and you sat above him.

“I have been married to you longer than I had been to Arishat.” He confessed. “I knew her for longer, but-but not as deeply; no, I-I knew her more than…I don’t…It’s been long since her death, yet there are moments I think of her, and I cannot stop crying.”

You never knew this was in his heart. You knew to never speak of Arishat, only listen whenever he would bring her up (even so, it was once in a blue moon).

“I’m sorry.” He sniffled, trying to pull himself together. “I know she is gone, and I shouldn’t be-.”

“-You shouldn’t what?” You interrupted. “Remember her? You think I wish for you to forget the woman you so loved?”

He shook his head. “No, but it’s selfish of me to-.”

You were the one to make him lose his words this time. With both hesitation certainty, you placed his head into your lap. It was too late for you to stop once you did, and you felt your own body tense. Then, upon taking a look at his body battered from rigorous work, and another at his face, which relaxed with his eyes fully shut, you ran your fingers through his hair.

“Lucius,” you sighed. “never will I think you are a horrible man for mourning her. You missing her shows just how much you adored her, and how she was a treasure to you. In another life, above all, I wish I could have met her. You are not in the wrong for wanting to see her again. I know you do not love me-.”

“-I do love you.” He opened his eyes upon saying it.

Your heart felt as if it was going to beat itself out of your chest and run away when he said those four words. To preserve your sanity, you took it a different way and smiled sadly.

“Not in the way you loved her.” You said softly. “But what else more can I ask for in a husband than one who treats me with a gentleness I did not know was possible? One who has been there to protect me even before we were married?”

Lucius took a deep breath, rubbing his face to clear away his tears. “You’re too good to me.”

“Gods above,” you groaned tiredly. “we can go back and forth on who deserves each other. Let us just go back into the house, have supper, and sleep.”

“I would like that.” He hissed as he went to stand.

Helping him, once he was on his best foot, you said. “You never told me what you did to your leg.”

He looked behind him at the field. “There was a snake and a rock.”

You gave him a look. “And what happened with them?”

“I don’t wish to speak of it.” He said grimly.

In any other instance, you would have laughed. Yet, as his eyes were still heavy from crying, you just nodded. The both of you helped each other into the house, and you sat him down on one of the several cushions in the living area.

“Your arm,” he asked. “how bad is it?”

You shook your head. “Just really sore. I think she might have left a nasty bruise or two somewhere, but I won’t know yet.”

“Put one of the cloths in the pot with water and put it over the fire.” He told. “Take it out after a few minutes, let it rest for another, then put it on your shoulder. It should help.”

“Thank you.” You stood, doing so, saying. “I swore we had bandages somewhere. I’ll make something for you to drink too; I bought some herbs just last week.”

He nodded, not taking his eyes off of you as you worked. If it were any other man, you would have felt unsafe; yet, it was only Lucius.

Little by little that night, both of you helped heal one another.

Half a year passed since that night, and you and Lucius had only grown closer. Perhaps as close as you could be with a man who was not your husband by choice.

Not much on the farm had changed; you two were living comfortably, and happily, almost making all the turmoil from the first year worth it. The both of you decided to make more visits to Atticus and Diana’s home, realizing just how much you both missed having someone to talk to outside of each other; but that did not mean you had to keep things hidden of course.

If anything, you shared everything with each other.

So much so, that when Lucius asked you why you held onto him longer when he embraced you on your birthday, you told him the truth.

“I don’t want every time we touch to be when it is in turmoil.” You explained, growing meeker. “And I…I’ve missed the feeling of it when it has not been forced upon me.”

Lucius stared at you with a look you had never seen from him. He had been gentle with you many a times, but they way his eyes fell into yours…

He took a step closer to you, and when you showed no sign of discomfort, he took your face into his hands. Your eyes shut at the feeling of him, and he pressed his head against yours. Never in your life had someone’s breath upon your skin feel so immaculate.

From there on out, it always seemed like you had to have a hand on each other one way or another.

It started with holding hands whenever walking through the city together. He used to ‘lead’ you through the crowds in the past, but more so with a hand hovering over your back. No, him holding your hand meant he would have to go where you would go if anything were to happen.

Alongside this, he’d reach over and hold it at Atticus and Diana’s house; whether it was during dinner, or simply just talking. The eldest child had said what the rest of the household had been thinking.

“They’re finally acting like they’re married!”

Because even when there were no other eyes besides yours, he would still hold your hand. You wonder if it ever became a way for Lucius to ground himself; because it certainly did for you.

You hugged him more often as well. Those used to be for ‘substantial’ occasions; those being celebrations or heartbreaks. Now, they were incorporated into greetings and goodbyes. Of course, it only took a few weeks before they were than made into simple desires.

He would be cooking dinner, and you would come beside him to embrace him. You would be gathering eggs from the chickens, and he would wait for you to set the basket down before tossing his arms around you.

At night, it was normal for you both to trade spots as one of you would read a story, and the other would have their head in the other’s lap.

This happened on so many occasions, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise for what Lucius proposed next, but it did.

“If you don’t favor the question I’m about to ask you, then you are allowed to never speak to me again.” He said, his feet hanging off the arm of the lecti couch you both bought that year.

“Well,” you scoffed, sitting on the end of it. “I will have to speak to you again because we live together.”

“Would you want to sleep in my room tonight?” Never in your life had you thought that would have been his question. When you didn’t speak right away, he backtracked. “I don’t expect you to. I understand if-.”

“-The nights are growing colder.” You stated, no visible uneasiness. “I’ve noticed it, and I don’t think any number of blankets could warm me.”

He swallowed thickly, and this was perhaps one of the first times you’d ever seen him like this. “Yes…it’s cold.”

You nodded, and another beat of silence fell between you two. Standing up, you tugged at the seams of your dress. “I-I’ll go change.”

“Yes,” he sat up. “I shall as well.”

Disappearing into your room, you tossed your day clothes off then slipped on a nightdress. After pacing around the floor for a few moments, you gathered the courage to go out into the hall and knock on Lucius’ door.

It was opened as if he was standing right behind it.

He wore just a plain, tattered tunic, and said nothing; yet, you caught his eyes run down you before immediately bringing them back to your face. You were not even in his room yet, and already your body grew warmer.

“May I come in?” You asked.

“Yes, of course.” He stepped aside and you entered.

Somehow, you were no longer man and wife; you were two people who had just discovered a strange, yet burning, feeling that you both held for one another. A feeling that you were both afraid to say aloud…because then it would be real.

The only light in his room was from the moon just peeking through the curtain of his one window. Looking around, you saw that it was still just the bare minimum; a bed, a small table beside it with a lamp, and a dresser. The only others things of note were his sword leaning against the wall, and just a few dirty clothes on the floor.

“I-I tried to clean before you came.” He mentioned.

“Is the rest under the bed?” You asked.

He chuckled. “Yes.”

Before you could change your mind, you pulled the covers off one side of the bed and slid under them. Glancing behind at Lucius, you saw him wear a look where you knew he wanted to say something.

“What is it?” You asked.

“That’s usually the side I sleep on but-.”

You rolled over to the other side. “Are you content now?”

He wheezed, moving to his designated side, slipping under the covers. “Very.”

“Good.” You smiled up at him.

His own mouth lowered as you could see him thinking. He then said. “I don’t expect us to do anything.”

You watched as his eyes dropped from you, as if it was too invasive just to merely look. Thinking from only your heart, you scooted closer, resting your hand on his arm. You ran your fingers up and down his muscles, but then guided his arm to wrap around your waist.

“Okay?”

He hummed, pulling you just a little closer. “Yes.”

“And we’ll just lay together?” You whispered. “Nothing else?”

“Nothing else.”

And that’s what you did. The compete truth was that you would caress him only to remind yourself that it was Lucius and not Geta. His arms, his back, his face…he was nothing like him.

After a few more nights, you told him that as you both lay awake, unable to sleep. He had pulled you on top of him that night, saying that you could see his face better in the moonlight. You only giggled, hiding your face in his chest; even that was too much for you.

It was easier to tell each other things in the darkness. You always knew that, but with being in the same bed (you had not gone back to your room for a week), the words flowed out of both your mouths.

“After my father died,” you said one night as you laid on your side facing him. “I would stroke my own hair or even my arms and pretend they were someone else’s. Even when I was with Geta.”

Lucius stared at you, then immediately began to caress your cheek. You shut your eyes, sighing at the feeling.

“I never thought I’d be able to sleep next to another woman again.” He whispered.

“And now?” You looked into his eyes.

He stopped his movements, but did not remove his hand. You watched every part of him. How his chest heaved shallowly, his arms tensing ever so slightly, but his eyes…gods his eyes. They were heavy as they looked at you; a look that made your heart flutter and not shutter.

Swallowing your fear, you sat up and inched closer to him. Your face hovered above his, and your breath heated his skin. His hand continued to trace shapes about your cheek, and shutting your eyes, you placed your lips upon his.

It was the gentlest kiss you ever shared with a man.

You had pulled away, dreading to see how he felt. When your eyes befell his gentle smile, and his other hand came up to cup your face, you kissed him again.

And again, and again, and again.

You climbed upon his lap without pulling your lips away from him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He sat up, his own arm encircling your waist and drawing you impossibly closer.

Lucius parted from you, and as you whined at the loss of his lips, they soon settled upon your cheek, and then your jaw, and then your chin. Your heavy pants turned to soft grunts as he kissed down your neck, his mustache scratching your skin in just the right way.

Your hands settled into his hair the lower he traveled, moving your night gown off your shoulder to kiss your collarbone. You felt yourself becoming intoxicated from him, and only then noticed you had been for a while.

Oh, how you wished you could bottle up his laugh, his strength, his stubbornness, and get drunk every night. His kisses only added fuel to the fire that was your desire for him.

He sunk his teeth into your skin, and your body, once enflamed, ran cold.

“No!” You tore yourself from his lap, nearly falling off the bed.

Lucius said your name, leaning forward on instinct but soon stopped once he saw you crawl away. “I’m sorry.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. All you knew was that you needed to go, so you did. Cradling yourself in your arms, you got up from his bed, rushing out of his room and into yours.

You half expected him to knock on the door, then, when you wouldn’t answer, him yell and curse you before breaking it down. Yet nothing of the sort happened. You heard his own door open, and you saw his shadow on the other side, but he did not touch your door. He left after a moment of waiting.

When his own door shut, did you finally cry.

You told yourself that night, you would wake up far earlier than Lucius would so you simply wouldn’t have to see him.

When you awoke, you did the exact opposite. You laid in your bed, trying to return to sleep, only to be forced to lie in the dark. The sun rose into your room, and you heard Lucius’ door open. Still, you did not get up.

It was quite comedic, actually. With your door still shut, he knew you were still home. How he tried his best to keep quiet for you, yet his footsteps had always been heavy, the front door had always creaked, and you could always hear him cursing under his breath every time.

When you knew he had left the house, that was when you stood from your bed, slipping on your sandals. You didn’t bother changing out of your nightdress, leaving your room, and then the house.

Lucius was amongst the chickens when he saw you. He didn’t bother hiding the surprise upon his face at the sight of you. You walked to him until there was little space between you.

“Last night-.”

You took his hand from his side, placing it upon your face. He rubbed your cheek with his thumb as if it was natural. Kissing the palm of his hand, you trailed it down to your clothed breast. He breathed your name with hesitance, but you shushed him. You held his hand there, not taking your eyes off him.

“I will show you, one day.” You told him. “I will show you the mark Geta had made. The one where I myself can scarcely see it, yet I know that it haunts me. But now…” You brought your other hand up to his face, tracing your thumb over his lip. “I just want you to understand.”

He kissed the pad of your thumb, nodding. You embraced him, and he held you with both gentleness and ferocity. The rest of the day carried on as normal, yet you aided him with the chores on the farm.

You went to bed with him that night, but it was the first time he did not entrap you in his arms. You knew he was still afraid of hurting you, but you would be a liar if you said you weren’t thankful for the space.

Still, he would feel your touch every day; whether it was something as small as brushing his hand, or as substantial as kissing his cheek.

As the both of you lay awake one night, you played with the sleeve of his tunic.

“Could I lie on top of you?” You asked.

Lucius looked over at you, nodding. “You never need to ask.”

“I want to.” You climbed on top of him, straddling his lap. “I never want to force you to do anything.”

His eyes fell to your hips before returning them to your face. “I’ll tell you if I wish to not do something. I hope you know you can as well.”

“I do. Would you like to touch me?”

“Where do you want me to touch you?”

You moved his hands to your hips, which he held firmly, yet not enough to hurt you. You leaned down so your lips touched his.

“No teeth.” You said.

“No teeth.” He repeated.

Lucius sighed into your mouth as you kissed. Despite how you were on top of him, the kiss was sweet, shy even. When you pulled away, you trailed your lips from his cheek to his ear.

“Do you dream about me?” You rasped.

He said nothing, and you continued to kiss every part of his face besides his lips.

“It’s okay.” You kissed his Adam’s Apple. “I want you too.”

“Yes.” His breath hitched.

“What was I doing in your favorite one?” You kissed his pulse point.

“You,” he breathed sharply through his nose. “you’re touching yourself.”

“Would that please you?” You sat up in somewhat surprise, resting your hands on his chest. “To watch me do so?”

He shook his head. “I want to do what pleases you.”

It felt foreign to hear someone say they want you to feel good. Instead of cowering from it, you faced it head on. You kneeled for a moment, hiking your gown up to your hips before sitting back on your ankles,  exposing yourself to him. Lucius’ jaw clenched at the sight of your naked center, and he drew his hands away from your hips, falling them into fists upon the mattress.

“I wish to watch you as you watch me.”

Without looking away from you, he drew his hand down to his cock, pulling it out from under his tunic. Your eyes grew just a hint. There was no doubt upon him being more well-endowed than others, but it was still different from how you imagined.

Shutting your eyes, you trailed your fingers over your cunt, your thumb playing with your clit. The sounds of Lucius’ smothered grunts, and the skin of his cock on his fingers only added to your pleasure. Digging deeper and moving faster, you felt a coil within your stomach tighten when you opened your eyes and saw as Lucius’ gaze bore into yours.

Light moans escaped your lips as your hips moved with a mind of their own, watching the man beneath you take pleasure from his own hand. It was him chanting your name like a prayer that sent you over the edge. With your eyes shut, the coil within you snapped, and pleasure filled your veins.

Not long after, you felt a warmth coat your nightdress. Opening your eyes, you looked down and saw the white-hot residue of Lucius’ release. Your gaze drew to his cock, still clutched in his hand, yet red with droplets of white running over his knuckles.

You don’t know what possessed you to, but you lowered your mouth down to clean him with your tongue.

“Gods be good!” He huffed, laughing your name.

“What?” You wiped your mouth.

 “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Grinning like the devil, you slid off the bed, walking towards the door. “I hope it’s a pleasant one then.”

He sat up. “Where are you going?”

“To change. You dirtied me as well.” You teased.

“Take one of my tunics from the dresser.”

It almost made you laugh that he didn’t want you to leave for even a second. You opened the top drawer, grabbing the longest tunic you could find before facing him. “Close your eyes.”

He laid on his side, putting a pillow over his head. Many would find it strange how the both of you would see the most intimate parts of yourself while doing one of the most intimate acts together, yet you didn’t want him to see you naked.

But Lucius never thought of it as strange. He knew what you had been through, and never once judged you.

When you were clothed, you slid into bed, wrapping your arms around his body and pressing a quick kiss to the back of his neck.

“You’re a good man, Lucius Verus Aurelius.” You whispered. “I will tell you that until the day you die, or when you finally believe me.”

He squeezed your hand, relaxing into your touch. You never slept so peacefully until that night.

You always had to see him whenever he would touch you so intimately. There would be nights where there was only a single candle in the room either while he caressed the swell of your breasts, or the inside of your thigh as you sat on his lap.

His fingers were too much for you at first, but he never ridiculed you. When you whimpered at the feeling, he retracted them, kissing your eyes. You asked him again to try, and he whispered praises into your hair as the pain from a dry spell soon turned into pleasure.

It was usually at night did these moments of exploration occurred. In the day, the most you would ever do was kiss. That is, until the first time you cut his hair since the discovery of feelings.

“I don’t want to get hair on your floor.” Lucius said as he sat on the floor, leaning his back against the foot of your bed. It was hotter than sin that day. He wore nothing but a loincloth, but that barely did anything to help him from the heat. You wore essentially a thin shift that would usually be under your dress; yet again, because of the heat, that was all you wore.

You sat on the bed, legs draped over his shoulders as you cut his hair. “It’s your floor too. You built the house.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I haven’t slept here for a while now. Besides, I will clean up.”

“I had no idea you favored doing domestic work now.” He turned and pressed a kiss to your knee.

You slapped the back of his head. “Don’t move! I’ll give you a bald spot if you do so again.”

“Yes, my mistress of the house.” He joked.

“You’re horrible.”

“You just told me I was a good man not so long ago.”

“And I can just as easily revoke that title.”

He stayed silent the rest of the time, but not from any underlining anger. Simply from his at ease posture, you knew he was smiling.

He smiled more those days.

When you were finished, you tossed your scissors aside, but Lucius’ hands settled upon your thighs, not allowing you to get up. You scoffed.

“What is it?”

He turned to face you, kneeling up to meet you. “I wish to try something, but only if you wish it as well.”

You rose your brow, but smiled, kissing his nose. “It will be difficult if I do not know what it is.”

Without drawing his eyes away from yours, he slid his hands up your thighs, bringing the bottom of your shift with it. It seemed normal at first, but once he lowered his mouth, your chest tightened.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“I want to kiss you there.” His breath caressed your cunt and you mewled at the feeling. “I think you’ll enjoy it, but we don’t have to.”

Your heart changed from beating in fear, to then in anticipation. You loved how he kissed your lips, and every inch of your skin that was not covered, what would it feel like to have his lips there?

Kissing the top of his head, you laid on your elbows, nodding.

“Let me hear you say it.” He nosed the inside of your thigh.

“Yes.” You sighed. “Please.”

He lowered his mouth back down, pressing the lightest of kissed onto your center. You groaned through shut lips, only for them to part open as the hairs of his mustache tickled you whilst he began to lap at your wetness.

Tossing your head back, you sat up, running your hands through his hair, unconsciously rolling your hips to meet his mouth. His groan reverberated through your body, only adding to the pleasure you were feeling.

“Lucius, Lucius,” you babbled his name until it didn’t sound like a word.

His nose bumped against your aching clit the same time his tongue penetrated your cunt. You yelped as that familiar, tightening feeling swept over you. His half-lidded eyes would stare up at you every once in a while, as he would continue to drink from you as if he had been stranded in the desert. Just as you were on the brink of release, you drew him away from you.

“What-what is it?” He huffed. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, pressing your lips to his before scooting further up the bed. With one last breath, you pulled your shift over your head, revealing your bare body to him. His gaze ran over your figure unashamedly.

“Come here.” You beckoned.

He crawled onto the bed and over your body, yet still looked at your face. You took his hand and laid it over your breast. His body ran cold at what was on the side of it. A bite mark.

“He branded me all those years ago.” You confessed. “And it has not left since.”

Geta…

You ran your hand up his chest. “I love you, and I trust you with every part of my body. I need you to know that.”

“I love you.” He echoed, pressing the tenderest of kisses to the mark and you gasped lightly. “I have for so long now; I…I need you.”

“Then have me.”

He sat back on his knees, unwrapping his loin cloth and tossing it to the floor. Precum leaked from his sweltering cock as it stood upright like a pillar. You crawled over, kissing every inch of his face and climbing into his lap. He drew his arms around your waist, his finger tracing circles into the small of your back.

“I don’t know how long I will last.” He puffed heavily. “It’s been so long.”

“I just want you inside of me.” You kissed his jaw, taking his cock into your hand and sinking down onto it. It had been a while for you too, and while you were soaked, it was not enough to completely subside the tightness. “Just…wait.”

“I could die happy if all you wanted was for me to remain still as you’re above me.” He said into your ear.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, sinking your nails into his skin because that was the only way to remind you that he was still there. The further you sunk down on him, the easier and more pleasureful you felt.

“I’m going to move now.” You said into his shoulder, and you did.

Slowly, at first you relished in the quiet slapping of skin and the breath moans leaving both you and Lucius’ lips. He trailed a syrupy line of kisses down your throat until he bowed his head to place them upon your chest.

“Your name,” Lucius said into your skin. “tell me your name.”

You gave him a look as you rolled your hips into his, yet sighed your name.

“Again.” He breathed, latching his lips around the tip of your breast.

You did.

“Again.” He kissed the hollow of your throat.

You leaned into his touch, saying your name a third time.

He repeated your given name, than following it with ‘Aurelias’. Your movements stilled, yet he did not care.

“You are the most cunning woman I have met, and you are my wife.” He stated, never looking away from you. Tears sprang to your eyes when you saw the same for him, and you gave him a messy kiss before resuming faster this time.

After months of being called a name that did not belong to you, especially whenever in the bedroom, Lucius was doing everything to remind you that you were yourself again as you felt pleasure.

It felt as if, after two years, ‘Julia’ was finally gone.

You chanted his name as if it was your favorite prayer, burying your hands in his hair and kissing his lips.

“Lucius, Lucius, Lucius…”

Because, just like you, how long had it been since his true name was uttered whilst in the throes of pleasure?

He moaned into your mouth, holding onto you tighter. You squealed when he rose up onto his knees, latching your legs around his waist and only crying out sharply when your throbbing clit ran across his pubic hair.

“Come on, come on,” he urged into your ear. “I know you can give it to me.”

“Lu-Lu-!” You moaned, running your nails over the thick field of muscles that was his back.

He said your name over and over again, until it was one word that was the end of you.

“Please.”

You came with your vision blinded from the state of euphoria you had reached. Lucius still held you above him even as his legs began to quake, bouncing you on his cock. You felt as though you were suspended in air when his groans stammered, and you felt strings of his cum paint the walls of your cunt.

Slowly, he lowered the two of you onto the mattress, laying you on your back like you were the most precious treasure in the world. You kept your legs around his waist, breathing with him with your chests glued together from your sweat.

“Lucius-.” You began, trying to shift under him.

“-Just,” he grunted. “just another moment. Please.”

How could you deny him? Every kiss he gave was loving as he laid upon you. His cock had grown soft, and even you were aware that you could’ve fallen asleep if you weren’t careful.

When he pulled away from you, you let out an involuntary whine.

“I thought you wanted me to get off you?” He kissed your stomach when he stood up.

You shoved him playfully. “Just clean me up and come back.”

“So controlling.”

Still, he did what you asked, bringing a soaked washcloth from the bathroom and cleaning you. You groaned out of both the cold water hitting your hot skin, and the heat from the air itself.

“We should’ve waited until night.” You whined.

“Why?”

“I’m suffocating from the air outside!”

Lucius hummed, tossing the washcloth aside and looming over you. “Then that forces us to wear nothing today, so that we might cool down.”

You nodded. “Perhaps you aren’t as feeble minded as I thought.”

He settled behind you, tossing an arm over your waist and pulling your back to his chest. Even though his cock pressed against you, the two of you were completely exhausted from the heat of the day’s work, and the heat of what took place only moments before.

The only sound was that of the cicadas singing in the summertime. Sometimes, a breeze or two of wind would bounce the curtain off the window, but for the most part, just the even breathing you shared with Lucius was all you could hear.

Lucius’ mustache rubbed your skin when he placed a kiss to your neck. “What’s going on inside of your mind right now?”

You grinned. “A proper wife would say that I was thinking of you.”

“But that’s not what it is.”

“It’s something that has nothing to do with anything of note.”

He squeezed you. “Spit it out, woman.”

Sighing, you felt a sense of dread in your heart; both for your thoughts, and also how your husband would react. So, you tried your best to explain it.

“Do you even wonder how you will be remembered?” You began. “Spoken from mouths? Written in books? Painted on walls? They’ll remember Lucius, the Lost Son, the Last Gladiator…What will they remember of me, if anything? Rome’s Cleopatra? Her Delight? A whore to the twin emperors? I like to fantasize that they will name me the first woman who sat upon the emperor’s throne, even if it was as the last of its consul. Yet, even if they name me…I will be Julia. The name of a slave, the name I only accepted when he would press me into the bed so roughly. I only survived because I would need to tell myself that he was doing all of it to Julia, not to me.”

It felt quieter in that room, even though the sounds outside did not cease. Lucius gently turned your body towards him, and he stroked your face with the back of his hand.

“You’re crying,” he uttered your name, frowning.

You wiped your eyes, wanting to hide from him. Yet, he did not allow it, pulling your hands away from you and wrapping them around his shoulders.

“Would you wish I remain silent, or share with you what is in my head?” He asked.

“Talk to me.” You answered.

“I never cared of what history would see of me.” He stated. “Even as a boy. I know that we are different in most aspects of life, but I believe it serves no one to wonder away how we will be viewed long after we are dead. I do not care if or what a stranger thinks of me in a lifetime later. I care how Atticus and Diana see me. I care what their children think. Above all, I care of what you see me to be.”

You pressed your head against his. “You’re pigheaded and quite foolish sometimes.”

“And it matters you say that.” He pulled you closer. “Because that is what you will tell others when I pass on.”

“You know I don’t think that is all you are.” You remined him.

“I do.” He nodded. “I will know you for your wit, and your protective nature, and your kindness.”

“I never truly thought of myself as kind.” You gave a pained smile.

“That is how I see you.” He kissed your brow. “And what I will say with my last dying breath.”

You wondered how such a man as himself could exist at the same time you did. A man who hated you prior to everything yet laid with you in bed. A man who treated you with a tenderness you never thought possible.

A man who could be the last person on earth with you, and you would only feel at peace.

You did not need to say anything to him. Simply by the innocent smile that spread across your lips, did he know. You fell into the most comfortable of silences together as you laid naked in the summer heat.

The both of you were lost to time as we all shall be one day.

Perhaps you lived on that farm for the rest of your days, or perhaps you moved to a different land.

Perhaps you had ten children, perhaps you had only one, or perhaps you had none and were content with each other’s company.

Perhaps you died before him, perhaps he died before you, or perhaps you both passed onto the Elysian fields together.

All that truly matters, at the end of all things, is the life the two of you led together, and what you and loved ones remembered the most of it.