#raped amor

[doubtspirit]

Amore Rapito by artist Daniele Accossato, 2015

[uwu707q]

💌 Link?

—Be silent. —There was a brief pause in the conversation as he searched for the right words. —I bought you because I want you to be free.

He took a moment to observe him. He had a mysterious look, with jet-black hair and pale skin. Her attention was drawn to his piercing blue eyes, devoid of any emotion. Since they had gotten into the car, he hadn't looked her in the eye again and seemed preoccupied with making calls on his cellphone.

Was he her savior? Why her, a 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘷𝘦?

Synopsis:

Miss Bennett, a young woman with a troubled past, experiences a twist in her life when she is rescued by the young T. Woods, a man who introduces her to a mysterious project, hoping to achieve success. As time goes on, she finds the rules of the game confusing, surrounded by secrets and a variety of lies. Are his intentions really good? Will she be trapped again by the shadows surrounding her life? What dark dangers lurk in her new life?

*It’s a fanfic. But even so, you don’t need to be familiar with the franchise to understand the plot.

*In Spanish

[makethatelevenrings]

Ubi Amor Ibi Fides (Where there's love, there's faith) // Lucius Verus x f!reader

summary: When he saw you that day, surrounded by a gaggle of children who begged you to tell them a story, he had no idea that the Fates had their own epic tale in mind of everlasting devotion. OR, contrasting vignettes of the past and the present through the eyes of Hanno and his wife.

word count: 13.2k

warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE MOVIE!! 18+, war, blood, death, allusions to rape and what happens to female prisoners of war, allusion to desecration of a corpse, historical inaccuracy (if Ridley Scott can do it, so can I!), smut, Lucius being Down Bad for this wife, mythology and religion (with inaccuracies), discussion of suicide, suicide attempt, grief, throwing up, Roman culture???, period-typical misogyny but like, make it feminist

“Tell me a story.”

Exhaustion clouded his voice and you turned away from your weaving to find him leaning against the roughshod mudbrick door frame. It was days like today that you cursed his stubborn nature. While he had been willing to let you help in breaking in the ground for the coming harvest, your husband sent you inside by midday when the sun was at its highest. Now, you were rested and chilled by the wind that eased its way through the small house, and he was completely depleted.

“Come.” You beckoned him with an outstretched hand. “Rest beside me and then I will tell you.”

He didn’t argue, for once, and took your hand in his. You drew him down to sit beside you, his head settling in your lap. Your fingers curled into the soft, downy hair at his temples and he relaxed with a sigh. While you wished you could continue stroking his hair, the weaving in front of you wouldn’t be completed without two hands. As you went back to your work, you began to speak.

“There were once two lovers by the name of Pyramus and Thisbe…” He huffed out a quiet laugh. You smiled at him, delighted that it made him relax even further. Most of your stories were the ones he had told you about from his childhood and you weren’t really in the right mind to come up with a fresh story.

“The parents of our two lovers refused to let them marry, but their love reigned strong through the thin crack in the stone wall that divided their property.” As you spoke, you embellished the story with extraneous details and dramatic gasps, eliciting quiet chuckles from your husband. He looked weary these days and not just from the labor in the fields. The Romans were creeping closer, and it would only be a matter of time before they came to your city. You woke up last night to a cold bed and found him standing at the doorway, staring out towards the sea. He knew what was coming. You both did.

“The gods looked favorably upon their sacrifice and changed the tree to its dark appearance to signify the devotion between them.” You ended the tale and stopped your weaving for a moment to gently trace your fingers along the edge of his features. You loved the sharp crest of his nose, the curve of his lips, and the bright blue of his eyes. His lashes were so long that they left shadows across his cheeks when he shut his eyes.

“I understand why he did it,” he said softly.

“Hmm?” Your hand stroked over his curls once more as you thought through everything you needed to get done tomorrow. You paused, however, when you felt his face turn to see you better and his lips brushed against your palm.

“I understand why Pyramus ended his life.” His calloused palm covered your own and he turned your hand over, his fingers sliding along yours and intertwining. “One can only imagine the pain he must have felt.”

A painful squeeze built in your throat and you felt an awful burning sensation behind your eyes. He sat up and gently cupped your face in one of his large hands, drawing your gaze up to meet his.

“Hanno,” you breathed. He smiled softly and leaned in to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. He was never one for words, always more inclined to act. Breaking apart, you pressed your forehead against his and breathed in the masculine scent of him tinged with soil, sweat, and something purely him.

“When death claims us, we go as one,” he vowed. “I cannot exist in this world without you.”

“As the gods see fit,” you assured him. “I will follow you wherever you lead.”

You wished this was a story.

It had been an easy day in the fields. You were sprinkling seeds in the ditches that Hanno dug earlier. The chickens clucked at you from their pen, begging for a bit more food as if they hadn’t been fed a hearty amount of grain earlier. After you planted these, Hanno would place the earth back over it while you worked on your herb garden.

You were capable of doing the hard, manual labor. Growing up, you would always help your parents through the entire process of planting, but Hanno was insistent on keeping his precious wife away from the heavy work. Rather, he encouraged your herb collecting and training with some of the city healers. You were grateful for him, truly. Most men would sequester their wives in their homes and work them to their deaths from labor, both of earth and child. 

But Hanno was different. 

He taught you to read, speak, and write in Latin. He would easily switch between Numidian, Phoenician, and Latin until you could respond perfectly. When he took breaks from tilling, plowing, and managing the harder tasks with the animals, he sat next to you at your garden and asked about the different plants. He was never cruel, never struck you or screamed at you the way you had heard other wives whisper to one another. In fact, Hanno was exceedingly kind to you and to anyone he didn’t view as a threat.

Which is why you thought this was a nightmare at first.

The horns of war sounded and you stood up straight to watch as the beacons erupted with fire at the top of the wall. Fear seized your heart and you stood frozen, transfixed, by the flames that licked the sky. Smoke curled off the top of them and the smell burned at your nose. You might have stood there all day if it hadn’t been for Hanno rushing out of the small house to your side.

“Come,” your husband instructed you. “We must get ready.”

He grasped your arm gently and it snapped you out of your reverie. Swallowing down your panic, you followed him into the house and to the small trunk he had made to hold your armor. The two of you silently donned your gear and were nearly finished when Jugurtha came to your door.

“My lord,” you greeted him with a slight bow. The chieftain’s face betrayed nothing, but you could see the worry in his eyes. Hanno and Jugurtha would be in the heat of the battle, directly in the path of the oncoming Roman fury. Would the gods listen if you sent them a prayer now? It felt as though they had decided to abandon you.

“The healers are gathering at Taklit’s house.” Jugurtha looked at the two of you, a hidden regret in his gaze. “We will come retrieve you once we have claimed victory.”

“Yes, my lord.” Your voice had softened as you realized how quickly this was all happening.

“I will join you soon,” Hanno replied. Jugurtha nodded and left, his imposing figure leaving an empty space in the doorway and in your heart. Needing a distraction, you turned and focused your attention on securing Hanno’s armor. As your trembling fingers finished tightening his armor, his hand enfolded around yours and he drew your fingers up to his lips. Hanno placed a delicate kiss on the tips of each finger. You searched his face to memorize every last detail, from the crinkles beside his eyes to the slight curve of his lip. Only the gods knew how this battle would end and the anxiety felt like it was going to swallow you alive.

“We go as one,” he reminded you. “I will not lose you.”

“Nor I, you.” His lips ghosted over yours and you leaned up, capturing him in a searing kiss. You poured every ounce of your devotion, fear, and worry into the kiss and he took it all onto his broad shoulders, shielding you from this world. His hand fisted in your hair and he pulled you impossibly closer so he could sink the weight of his devotion into every fiber of your being.

The gods had granted you this man as your husband. Perhaps they had not abandoned you yet.

“Be brave, my Hanno,” you whispered once you broke apart. He pressed his brow to yours and you breathed him in. “Be strong and be brave. And come back to me.”

The warm metal of his betrothal ring pressed into the skin of your cheek as he cradled your face between his hands. He kissed your forehead, his lips warm against your clammy skin. You savored the ring, this physical reminder of his tie to you, and touched the one that rested on your hand as a reminder of your tie to him.

“I will see you soon, my love.”

How bittersweet endings are, you thought to yourself as the walls of the city were seized by Romans. Men and women fell left and right from the parapets and you knew there was no help you could give them once their bodies hit the ground. Instead, you watched in horror as Roman soldiers grew closer and closer to where you were stationed and awaiting the wounded. You could see Hanno at the top of the wall fighting for his very life and your heart beat wildly in your chest at the sight of so many men around him falling in battle. Would he be next?

A cry of pain nearby alerted you to someone needing help. One of your people had been caught within the crosshairs of an archer and you rushed out of the house to grab them and drag them to safety. The child, only a mere babe, shrieked in agony as you dove to cover his little body when another arrow went sailing over your head. Even over the din of war, you heard Hanno scream your name. 

A Roman soldier grabbed you by your hair and yanked you up off the ground, forcing your back to bend sharply and a shout to emerge from your lips. He drew his sword, placing it to your throat with the intention of drawing your blood, your life, out of you with one swift pull. Despite knowing it wouldn’t help, you shouted your status in Latin.

“Healer! I’m a healer!” Perhaps he would be merciful. Perhaps he would let you go. Your eyes sought out the top of the wall and you saw Hanno desperately fighting to get to you, but he was too far away. The blade knicked the soft skin of your throat.

Two things happened simultaneously. One, a general pointed at you from the crowd and yelled at his man to stop. Two, Hanno was shoved off the wall and into the sea, right where huge rocks clashed with the waves.

A scream escaped you. A wail. War makes widows, your mother had said. And here you were, one of them. 

The soldier removed his blade and forced you up to your feet, shoving you back in the direction of the house. You scrambled to scoop up the child in your arms. If you could not save your love, maybe you could at least save a mother from grief.

The child died in your arms by the time you stepped into the healer house.

Numidia fell. Rome claimed victory and dominion over the land. Hanno was dead.

You busied yourself with tending to the wounded in hopes that you wouldn’t think about the fact that you were now under Rome’s control, a widow, and possibly homeless. What would happen next? Would they let you retrieve his body? Or would they throw him into a pile and burn it all along with the city itself?

A shadow fell over you as you tended to one of your own. You looked up to find the general gazing down at you. All at once, you were filled with hot rage and the deepest sorrow. You stood quickly, your hand reaching for a stray knife on the ground but he merely raised a brow. Right. What skill do you have against a Roman general?

“You’re a healer,” he said, not as a question. “And you speak Latin. How?”

“How do I heal or how do I speak Latin?” you spat. He remained stoic and you narrowed your eyes in suspicion. You would never reveal Hanno’s secrets. Not even under the threat of death.

“My husband is-” You stopped yourself and swallowed hard. “Was a merchant. He taught me so I could help him sell.”

“But you are a healer.”

You shrugged. “We do what we must.”

He studied you carefully and then nodded at one of his soldiers. A sudden bolt of terror struck you. Was this your future? To be a general’s plaything? A concubine? Some kind of bed warmer until he got back to Rome and disposed of you into the nearest brothel?

No. You were the wife of Hanno, a kind man and a good soldier.

“If you expect me to lay with you, I ask that you let me slit my wrists first so that I can die knowing I never let you take more from me than you already have,” you hissed. The soldier went to unsheathe his sword, but the general raised a hand to stop him. He took in your figure and the way you trembled with rage and grief.

“I need a healer,” he explained. “For my men. I will not touch you, for I am a married man, and you are a widow.”

He turned to the soldier once again. “Place her in chains and then put her in my room. Do not lay a finger on her, nor let anyone else.”

What choice did you have? If you defied them, you would be dead. If you went with them, you would have a chance to avenge Hanno before you died. Either way, you would join your husband in the afterlife. Going meant you had a chance to drag another life with you on the journey.

You dropped the blade and let the soldier lead you to the ships, not daring to look at the mass of bodies being piled up on the sand. Tears blurred your vision as you were hauled onto the ship. The keening wails of mourners raised above the fractured walls and you watched as smoke started to envelope the city. Just this morning, you had been thinking about spring planting and now you were a Roman slave.

What fresh hell was this?

The soldier clamped the heavy irons onto your wrists, connecting them together, and then attached two to your feet as well, forcing you into a shuffle as he then moved further below deck to a room. He tossed a thin blanket onto the wooden floor and pointed at it. You needed no words to explain that it would be your new bed.

When the door shut behind him, you fell to your knees over the chamber pot and promptly threw up everything in your stomach. An agonized sob tore from your lungs and you grit your teeth to silence the wail that threatened to emerge. You beat your fists on the hard, unforgiving wooden floor and wept silent tears, rocking back and forth in time to the crests and waves of the wailing mourners outside. Your people were subjugated. Your home was destroyed.

Your Hanno was dead.

Oh Thisbe, you thought as hot tears coursed down your cheeks. I understand. I understand. I understand. If I cannot shoulder this burden, then let the gods strike me down so that I may join him in peace.

“Tell us a story!”

The voices of children bubbled up over the crowd and Hanno looked up from sharpening his sword to find a woman surrounded. The kids eagerly mobbed her, their little heads bobbing up and down as they pleaded for her to tell them a tale. A basket balanced precariously on her head, but she seemed as though there was no worry about it falling.

But the thing that Hanno noticed the most was that she was completely and utterly beautiful.

“Who is that?” Jugurtha smiled at the young soldier’s question. He saw the way the woman captured his gaze. He knew that look in his eyes.

Jugurtha said your name quietly and explained how your family used to live on the outskirts of the city so they could accommodate a larger farm, but recent skirmishes in the area had wounded your father and drew you behind the walls of the city. Hanno had met your father before and made a mental note to visit the man and see how he was healing. Perhaps he would bring some fresh fruits from the merchants.

Jugurtha must have caught onto his train of thought because he called you over. The gaggle of children followed closely behind and you laughed, a sound that Hanno delighted in hearing.

“Are you interested in a story too, my lord?” You said in greeting. Jugurtha grinned and gestured for you to sit.

“You’ve been hard at work. Take a moment to rest and tell the children a story.”

With careful hands, you reached up and lowered the basket to the ground. Hanno could see it was full of various types of plants and fabrics. He had a million questions swirling around in his head. What did you do to pass the time? Where were you staying? Did you like it here? He stayed silent, however, as you slowly lowered yourself onto the ground. Your dress pooled around your legs and the coins on your shawl clinked against each other. What would you look like bare? He banished the thought as soon as it appeared.

“Come.” You beckoned the children to sit around you and gathered one of the youngest into your lap. The child reached up and played with the ends of your veil and you smiled down at her before beginning your story.

“Long ago, there was a queen of Numidia by the name of Kahina. When invaders came to Numidia to conquer us, she stood strong and fought them off with all of her might. Kahina was brave and smart, using both her strength and her mind to push the invaders back.” You launched into a tale filled with drama, some comedy, and even a bit of romance that had the kids shouting and cheering with glee. Hanno even stopped cleaning his weapons to sit and listen. He was enraptured by the way you kept the kids engaged as you weave your tale. The child in your lap started to drift off and you didn’t even hesitate before drawing her closer into your arms and cradling her.

“Queen Kahina is a reminder to all of us,” you declared. “That each of us has the power to stand up for ourselves, to do what’s right, and to be proud of who we are.” You gazed out onto the sea of little heads bobbing their agreement and then looked up to lock gazes with Hanno. For a brief moment, it felt like everything in the world went still. He scarcely knew he was breathing until Jugurtha nudged him. You tore your gaze away and offered a brilliant smile to the children. Clapping your hands together, you shooed them back towards the gathering of homes.

“Your mothers are probably wondering where you’ve gone off to. Now, go home and do some chores to help her out.”

“Oh, but we want another story!” One boy cried out. You huffed out a laugh and shook your head, your veils moving like buttery silk across your skin.

“Only if you finish your chores for the day. I will ask your mother and you know I will. Now, off with you!”

The children dashed off, leaving you with the sleeping babe in your arms. You slowly started to rise, intent on not waking her, when Hanno spoke.

“Here, let me carry your basket.” He stood and took the wicker basket from the ground so you wouldn’t have to worry about carrying both child and items. You regarded him warily at first and Jugurtha had to hide his smile behind his hands.

Truth be told, you were one of the most desired women in the city. You were also one of the least trusting. Your mother desperately tried to set you up with suitor after suitor, but none met your standards. Your father laughed off your mother’s attempts and said that the gods would lead the right man to you. You were older than most women to be unmarried, but you remained steadfast in your belief that the right man would come someday.

And perhaps today was that day.

Jugurtha offered you a short nod to express his approval of Hanno and your suspicious expression melted somewhat. You turned and started to walk towards the village. When you realized that the handsome man with blue eyes wasn’t following, you glanced back at him.

“Are you coming or not?”

Hanno scrambled to catch up and quickly joined your steps, a smile cresting on his face as he asked you about how you were settling into the city.

Hanno cried when his mother sent him away. He sobbed when he fled his hiding place, cried on the boat crossing, and sniffled away into his sleep the first few days of living in Numidia. But he had never wept like he did when they tossed him into the hold of the ship with a Roman brand on his shoulder and a ring that felt infinitely heavy on his finger.

The last thing he saw before plunging into the sea was the blade sliding across your neck. Stuck between the two worlds of consciousness, he saw flickers of a wheatfield stretched before him and, for a moment, saw the outline of your body amongst the stalks. He reached out, his hand passing through where you stood, and then you disappeared from his grasp.

Coming to, he rushed from the sea and towards the city, but two Romans stopped him. He needed to find your body. He needed to see that you were buried properly. He was never as devoted to the gods as you were. You kept idols on the hearth and prayed regularly, but he only found himself turning to the gods at a time like this. But, right now, he found himself praying to Viduus, Libitina, and Proserpina.

Let her soul cross, Mercury. Bring her to the Fields of Elysium. Please. Tell her I will meet her on the other side.

He was forced to kneel next to Jugurtha, stripped of his armor and weapons, and watched as they loaded body after body into a pit. Jugurtha’s gaze never left the growing pile, even as he asked the question that Hanno dreaded.

“She’s gone,” he said, his throat raw from screaming your name across the battlefield. Did it hurt? He wondered. Was it instant? Did you feel pain? His sweet wife who dedicated her life to healing and helping died in such a brutal manner. His hands curled into fists as rage filled his veins. You were supposed to die at an old age, tucked in his arms and surrounded by your children. That’s what he planned that day so long ago when he walked you home, basket in his arms and a babe in yours. You dropped the child off with her mother and he refused to let you take your basket back, instead carrying it to your small house where he checked in on your father, met your mother, and charmed your whole family.

He craned his neck to see the dead lying a few feet away in hopes of catching a glimpse of any sign of you but there were too many dead. Too many lost. He saw the man he had bought silk from two days earlier. The midwife in the village. So many of the soldiers he had helped train.

Hanno glanced beside him and saw a fellow healer who was weeping openly. He leaned closer and asked if she knew anything about what happened to you.

“They took her,” she wailed. “They took her.”

Any grief that remained calcified into pure, hot rage. They took your body? For what sick purpose? To desecrate your corpse? To taint you with their hatred and their delusions of power, even when you were already dead? He started to rise, intent on seeking out your corpse and draping himself over it so that he would still be holding you when they killed him. Jugurtha stopped him with a shaking hand around his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” the leader lamented. “But not like this. This is not how you will die.”

Hanno’s eyes fixed on the man standing in front of the soldiers, in front of the keening mothers and children, in front of the men he had defeated and stripped of their armor to expose their humiliation. Hanno remembered the way he pointed directly at you, encouraging the soldier to keep the bloodshed continuing, and knew what Jugurtha meant.

He was going to kill him, and then he would reunite with you in the afterlife.

“Tell me a story,” Lulit encouraged as the two of you picked herbs from outside the city. The two of you rode out early this morning to gather herbs not grown in the village gardens. Lulit was with child and Jugurtha insisted on a guard coming with you and you glanced over at the man asleep at the base of the tree that the horses were tied to.

You paused for a moment to consider which tale you should tell. Recently, the only stories that came to mind were romances. Your face burned at the thought, but you knew why they were the only things that floated to your memory. A certain blue-eyed man had consumed every waking thought of yours and it was driving you mad.

He was a consummate gentleman and always found ways to visit your family. He started helping your father get his new trading business up and running in the city. He brought your mother fresh wheat to bake bread. He carved toys from wood and willow reeds for your siblings.

Hanno was the man of your dreams. He was exceedingly kind, handsome, and funny. He was sincere and wasn’t putting on some kind of face to impress you. He was just truly nice to everyone he met. You saw him once helping one of the elders bundle their wheat harvest and carry it into their house. Jugurtha had already come by and assured your parents of Hanno’s good nature.

He had started to teach you Latin and how to read and write Phoenician and Numidian. He told you stories from other empires and listened intently when you told him tales your grandmother had told you. The gods had indeed brought the right man, the perfect man. 

“Psyche was one of three daughters of a king and a queen of a far away land. She was renowned for her beauty and praised among the land as the second coming of the goddess of beauty. Her admirers would bring offerings and gifts to her, angering the goddess, who decided that Psyche must be punished.”

A thorn caught on your finger and you let out a hiss of pain as you brought your finger to your lips, sucking the blood away. You began to continue your work and your story when a horn trumpeted across the sky.

The sounds of war.

Your heart leapt into your throat and you immediately looked to Lulit. Her face had drained of color and she traded a worried glance with you. In the time you had lived here, the horns had never sounded.

“We need to move.” Despite being asleep moments earlier, Hanno was already leading the horses to the two of you.

“Who is it?” You knew better than to stall, especially when he wore such a serious expression. He helped you climb onto the back of your horse and paused for only a moment, one of his warm palms resting on your skirt-covered thigh.

“A small war party, by the looks of it. Nothing the defense can’t handle. But we need to get out of the way before they attack. There’s a forest just a few paces away, but we need to get moving.” He ensured that you and Lulit were secured before he climbed onto his own horse. Dust grew in the east and you felt your worry build with it. Hanno tugged at the reins of your horse, urging you to follow. You urged your horse into a gallop and kept close to him, but you still looked over your shoulder to gauge how close the marauders were.

“Hanno.” Your voice carried a warning and he looked back to see a rider closing in on them. He let out an expletive and pointed to the trees that were nearing with every step.

“Go! I’ll find you.” He slowed his horse and fell in line with you, his bright eyes meeting yours. “I swear to you.”

You swallowed against your rising panic and he sent you a reassuring smile before he turned his horse around and rode off in the direction of your pursuer. You looked back to watch as he drew his sword with expert ease.

Focus, you chastised yourself. You need to focus.

Lulit silently followed you as you led the way to the forest. Once the trees began to cloud your vision, you looked back and saw nothing but dirt and sky. He would be okay. He had to be.

Dismounting, you grabbed the reins of your horse and led her further into the forest until you came to a clearing with a good underbrush. You tied the horses and instructed Lulit to dig out some of the underbrush so she could lay down and rest while you brushed out the horses.

“Are we in danger?” she asked. Were you? You had no clue. But you set your shoulders and covered her with the blanket she kept on her saddle.

“Hanno would never let anything happen to us,” you told her. You settled down onto the soft grass next to her. “Let me continue my story. While Psyche’s sisters married, she found herself still unmarried and that worried her father who consulted a seer. The seer predicted an awful outcome for the beautiful daughter, one of a brutish husband in the form of a dragon who came to claim her and whom the gods feared. But truthfully, the goddess of beauty had been so enraged by the people’s devotion to Psyche that she sent her son to enchant her with a hideous creature, but instead found himself falling in love with her.”

Lulit curled up onto her side, cradling her growing belly with her hands as she listened raptly to your story. You spoke of the trials the lovers endured in their pursuit of one another, but as you began to wrap up the story, you found that she had drifted off to sleep.

A branch cracked nearby and you flinched. There was a small knife in your saddlebags that you used for foraging and silently, you crept over to your horse and retrieved it. The leaves rustled and you spun to face whatever beast dared to come close. You held your knife aloft and pointed it in the direction of where the noise was coming from. Oh, you were not brave. You were a farmer’s daughter and a healer. The most you knew with a knife was how to butcher an animal.

“You need to adjust your thumb to the other side,” Hanno said in greeting as he stepped through the forest and into the clearing. “It will give you better control.”

With a ragged sigh of relief, your shoulders fell from their tensed position and you dropped the knife onto the grass below. He stooped to catch it and studied the small blade with a hint of a smile. Droplets of blood stained his face and you carefully examined him for any sign of injuries.

“I am unharmed, my little warrior,” he teased. He rose and handed you the knife once more. “And I will make sure to teach you how to use that.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He could easily be lying. Father always brushed off your mother’s worries so as to not incite her own anxieties. Hanno raised his arms from his sides and slowly turned so you could see that he was indeed unharmed. His sword hung from its scabbard and you could see that blood still lingered on its surface.

“Are we safe?”

His eyes darkened and he stepped closer, his hands hovering over your waist. He searched your face for something, you weren’t sure, but dipped his head into a nod. “Aye. I would never let anything happen to you. To you or Lulit.”

“Then rest, soldier. Let me clean your sword.”

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but determination furrowed your brows and Hanno reluctantly unstrapped his sword from his side and handed it to you. This was a task you had witnessed your mother perform before when your father took on anyone trying to attack the farm. Blood was not a foreign thing to you, even if Hanno appeared to want to protect you from it.

You took a rag from your saddle pack and sat down by a tree. Hanno joined you, his back against the bark and his eyes studying the treeline for any disturbance. Slowly and methodically, you ran the rag over his blade and ensured that every last drop of blood and gore was cleaned from it. He searched your face for any sign of fear. Fear of what? Of him? A man who so willingly charged into danger to protect you engendered no fear from you.

“There,” you declared. “Good as new.”

He gratefully accepted the blade from you and placed it back in his scabbard. The sun was starting to set and the glow between the trees created a halo of light around you. He reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair out of your face before curling his knuckles against your jaw and stroking his thumb over your cheek. You let your eyes flutter shut and leaned into his palm, savoring the rough drag of his calloused fingers against your soft skin.

You loved him. Oh, the thought made your heart race and you surged forward. He caught your waist in his calloused hands and let his lips meet yours in a breathless kiss. Hanno groaned against your touch and you pulled away, thinking he was hurt with some injury you hadn’t seen, but he merely cupped your face and pulled you back in so he could nip at your lips and soothe the slight sting with his tongue. You whimpered at his touch and kissed him once again, moving your hands down to trace along the hard lines of his chest. Your hand moved lower and Hanno quickly pulled away from you, one of his hands catching yours and tangling your fingers with his.

“Not yet,” he panted against your cheek. “Not yet.”

Dawn was breaking when you awoke. Your head rested on a blanket that you recognized as Hanno’s while your own draped over you, protecting you from the bitterly cold nights of Numidia. Your soldier sat wide awake and alert beside you and you could tell, from the fatigue weighing down his eyes, that he hadn’t slept a wink through the night. A silent sentry, guarding you and Lulit from any unseen danger.

The blanket fell from your shoulder as you began to sit up and he instinctively reached over to drag it back up your shoulder, bathing you in warmth from both the outside and surging through your insides at his tenderness.

You woke Lulit and the three of you rode back to the city, barely making it in time before a search party headed by Lulit’s husband went out. He wept when he saw his wife and swept her into his arms. Two men offered to take your horses to the stables to care for them and you graciously accepted. Hanno refused to leave your side until he deposited you at your doorstep.

It was still early but you knew your parents would be awake, both from their anxiety and their history as farmers. Your mother let out a shriek when she saw you approach and ran from the doorway to hug you. Hanno squeezed your hand once and made to step away, but you kept your fingers tightly entwined with his.

“I believe you have something to ask of my father,” you explained. His brows raised in surprise and you offered him a shy smile. As your mother ran back to the house to exclaim of your return, you raised your clasped hands so you could press a kiss to his dirt-stained skin.

“Are you sure?” His hesitation had nothing to do with you, but rather in his belief that he was not good enough for you. You laughed and started to drag him in the direction of the house.

“You foolish man.” A boyish grin lit up his face and he followed you inside.

“What happens to me once we reach Rome?”

General Acacius looked up from the letter he was writing and turned to face you. The floor barely made a comfortable place to lay your head, but he had at least given you blankets and removed the chains from your legs. They only went back on when you were on the deck, thanks in part to your failed attempt to jump overboard and sink into the sea.

“My wife will find a place for you in her house,” he explained. You scoffed and picked at the dried blood under your fingernails. You spent your days stitching up and tending to the wounds of Roman soldiers and spent your nights curled up on the floor of this room, dreaming of bright blue eyes and a crooked smile.

“Why? Couldn’t you just drop me off at the nearest brothel and let them rip me apart?” His compassion, minimal at best but still present, confused you. To him, you were barbarian scum. A conquered people. Prisoner of war, spoils, an artifact of his military prowess. He winced at your accusation, knowing that it was true for many military campaigns that the women were subjugated into the slave trade and forced into prostitution. The general refused to meet your eyes and you savored what little bit of power you held over him.

You could picture it now. You would demure yourself and behave in his wife’s house until you found a chance to slit her throat and leave him with the same raw, empty feeling that consumed you.

“You have skills that would be useful,” he muttered. “Your husban-”

“Don’t you dare speak of him,” you hissed. “My husband was a good and kind man. You do not deserve to speak of him.”

“He taught you well,” he continued on. “Lucilla could use someone with your skill set.”

The name made you pause and you tilted your head to the side, brows furrowing as you mentally ran through your memories. “Lucilla, daughter of Aurelius?”

He regarded you with suspicion. “Aye. How do you know of her?”

“Everyone knows of Marcus Aurelius,” you retorted. “I’d be a fool not to.”

A sudden knock on the door drew his attention away from you and he rose to answer it. General Acacius left the room to sort out some sort of issue and left you alone with your thoughts. You drew your knees up to your chest and rested your cheek against your folded arms. If you shut your eyes, you could see his face. If you thought hard enough, you could feel him in your dreams. The rough stubble of his beard. The high plains of his cheekbones. The crooked smile he gave you when he made you laugh.

Lucilla, daughter of Aurelius, you ran the words over and over in your head. Aurelius. Aurelius.

You could only hope that Hanno would forgive you if you delayed your joining with him in the afterlife for a little bit longer.

He slept fitfully on the ship and in the cages. He dreams of your eyes, your laugh, your smile, and wakes with your name on his lips in a strangled cry that he buries into his bicep and lets only a few tears leak out onto his battered skin. 

He has nightmares most nights and the lack of sleep fuels his rage. Dark circles take hold under his eyes and weariness leaves red rims around his blue pupils, making him appear as the wild barbarian they purport him to be. His muscles ache and scream and bruises litter his torso. He bites a monkey back and savors the burning anger that courses through his veins. The crowds cheer and shout and applaud his fury, but he pays them no mind. All he focuses on is going back to his cell and dreaming of you once more.

Killing men has never been an issue for him. He was raised a fighter, even in Numidia where he helped Jugurtha lead their forces. He fought in skirmishes and battles. When he met you, it brought another reason to keep the fight going. He refused to let a single person pass into the gates of the city when you were seeking protection inside. He had failed you, and every new scar on his body was merely penance.

Ravi chastises him for the way that he seeks out injury, but the man doesn’t refuse to help him. In an opium-fueled haze, Hanno tells him quietly that his wife was a healer. She was exceedingly kind and gentle. Too gentle for him. He was scared he would break her with his brutish nature, but she was also enduringly strong. A stray tear slips down his cheek and he tosses the opium aside in favor of feeling the pain and knowing that it pales in comparison to the ache in his chest. His grief builds and compounds into this sickening version of him that he cannot recognize. The blood of other men stains his skin, no matter how hard he scrubs in the baths. Even when the iron-thick substance is gone, he can still see it.

Macrinus brought the finest courtesans by his cell, but he refused them everytime. Once, the girl shared a similar hair color as you and he invited her into his cell, but merely let her rest on his cot while he sat at his desk and sketched what he could remember of your face on thin papyrus.

When he looked into the stands and saw your murderer seated with his mother, his rage calcified into his heart. With every kill, he pictured your pale face crying out for him. With every breath, he reminded himself of his failure to protect you. His mother had the audacity to reason with him.

“Do you have a family?” Lucilla asked.

He says your name with the reverence afforded to the gods and then hisses out that you were dead and taken from him by her husband. How dare she try to call her son home when she shares a bed with that monster? Ferality consumed him and his thirst for revenge. He meant what he said to Macrinus. Only Acacius’ head will quench this fire in his blood. For a sickening moment, he wants his mother to feel the way he does.

There are times when the night is darkest that his mind descends into the throes of the deepest depression and he wonders about how you would feel if you saw him like this. There is one nightmare that plays over and over again in his mind. He is in the Colosseum and the crowd is cheering in their bloodlust. The gates open and he steps out to face his next opponent, only to find you standing in the sand with your hands outstretched towards him. In this dream, he can’t stop himself from raising his blade an-

He woke up screaming.

Hanno doesn’t trust Macrinus within an inch of his life, but he trusts that he’ll bring him Acacius and that…that will be enough.

“Can I tell you a story?” Hanno whispered into your hair.

The wedding was an all-day event. You looked resplendent with flowers woven in your hair and layers of colorful fabric adorning your body. It felt as though the whole city came out to celebrate your union and the dancing, food, and music flowed for hours. Jugurtha clapped his hands on Hanno’s shoulders and congratulated him. A knowing glint flashed in the older man’s eyes and Hanno was eternally grateful for the man’s meddling.

Your father had tears in his eyes when he took your hand from his and placed it into Hanno’s, but they were tears of joy. When discussing the marriage negotiations and dowry, your father declared that there was no one greater for his daughter. In his vows, Hanno promised to protect and provide for you until his very last breath, one that he would take with you in his arms at an old age, with your children around you.

As the night grew longer, the crowds began to thin out. Parents took sleeping children home and the elders slipped away so they could rise early and start their daily chores. The fires began to burn low and Hanno looked over to you, only to have his breath catch in his throat at the realization.

His wife. His wife. Your lovely face was now his to wake up to every morning and your sweet laughter was his to elicit. Izim was telling some tall tale about his adventures as a sentry, but Hanno didn’t hear a single word. He ignored the hoots and hollers of his fellow soldiers and friends as he left their group and strode towards you.

The women around you tittered and giggled as he approached and it drew your attention away from whatever Seble was telling you. You barely had time to react when he suddenly scooped you into his arms. Hanno easily cradled you to him, your long veils swirling around the two of you, and he made his way towards the new house he had built with the help of your father and a few friends. The party cheered and you hid your laughter into the crook of his neck.

Hanno stopped in the doorway and set you gently onto your feet so you could examine your new home. Someone, your mother, you presumed, had already set some lanterns alight in the house and a clay jar of flowers sat on the small wooden table in the center of the room. It was a small house with the bed on one side and a small kitchen on the other. You traced your hand along the furniture that you knew he constructed himself. Your dowry chest laid at the foot of the bed already and a loom was on the wall. Your husband had done all of this.

The word made your throat squeeze with a level of affection you had never experienced before. He watched you carefully from the doorway, but you could see tension in the line of his shoulders and how his hands fidgeted until he clasped them behind his back. The flames from the lanterns made his eyes glow and heightened the smooth planes of his face. You reached up and unclasped your veils, letting them pool at your feet before you took a step forward.

He met you halfway, his hands going to settle on your waist as you nestled into his strong arms. Your hands came up to rest on the rough fabric of his tunic and you could feel his heart beat wildly under the tips of your fingers.

“My husband,” you breathed to the heavens. You wanted the gods to know that this man was yours. He had placed an iron ring on your finger and you savored the weight of it, the press of it against your skin. Hanno’s lips lifted in the barest hint of a grin, but his eyes took on almost burning intensity.

With nimble fingers, you released the clasps of his tunic yet kept your gaze locked on his as the fabric pooled to the ground. Hanno’s breaths grew ragged as you settled your hands back onto the chiseled muscle of his chest. For a moment, nothing happened. You just stared at one another as the air electrified with palpable energy. You had no idea where this boldness emerged from, but you slid your hand down his bicep, along his arm, and then to his wrist where you clasped it and raised his hand to rest on your breast. He swallowed so hard you could see his throat bob and just the simple evidence of his arousal made your skin burn.

“My wife,” he said hoarsely and untied your dress.

Hanno sucked in a shuddering breath as the fabric fell away from your body and joined his on the floor. He stroked his hands over your quivering flesh and stepped forward so that his body pressed against the length of yours. You felt him harden against your thigh as he leaned down to capture your lips in his. The two of you had kissed plenty of times, from small chaste pecks to that heated moment in the forest, but this felt entirely new and you welcomed it. He nibbled at your lips and explored your mouth with the desperation of a dying man searching for water. You moaned your approval which encouraged him and he let one of his hands drift down to cup your breast.

Hanno’s touch made your skin light on fire with every simple brush. How were you supposed to act when the man strutted around shirtless most of the time and built your house? Some of the older women in the city gossiped about their husbands. They told you about how it hurt, about the way he took without giving, and how they hated it.

From the delicate way Hanno touched you and the tender press of his lips against your pulse point, you knew that this would be different. He bent down and hauled you up against him, your legs wrapping around his waist for security, but you knew he would never drop you. You slid your arms around his neck, pulling your chest flush with his and he let his head fall back with a sinful groan, exposing the column of his throat. Eagerly, you licked a stripe up against his sweat-tinged skin and savored the taste of salt, musk, and man.

“By the gods, you will be the end of me, my little wife.” His teeth enclosed around the hinge of your jaw and you let your head fall to the side with a little sigh. Hanno nipped at the skin of your neck and you jolted against him, causing his throbbing cock to brush against you. Hanno squeezed his eyes shut at the sensation that wracked his body and you turned your head so he was facing you. Running your thumb along his jaw, you pulled your husband into another kiss and then pulled his bottom lip between your teeth. He sucked in a sharp breath and his hold tightened on you, sending a zing of pain mixed with pleasure down your spine.

“Take me to bed, husband,” you panted against his mouth. “Claim me as yours.”

Furs and silk lined the bed and softened your fall. You marveled at the way he prepared everything for you, even bringing over the blankets you wove for your marriage chest and setting them on the bed. He planted himself over you, his chest rising and falling with every heavy breath he took and you stole a glance down his broad chest to the heavy manhood that stood proud between his thighs. Your body pulsed with want even as your mind protested the idea of taking his length. He sensed your apprehension and leaned down to place a gentle kiss against your temple, your brow, both eyelids, and then your lips once more.

“I cannot promise it to be painless,” he said. “But I will do everything in my power to make sure you find bliss too.”

One of his hands snaked down to your most intimate place and your eyes widened with shock as he brushed the pad of his finger along the seam of your cunt. Your legs spread further apart instinctively and he kissed you in thanks for your invitation. A gasp escaped you as one of his fingers slid past your entrance and he kissed away your shock, even as you felt the rough and calloused pad of his finger slide up and press against some part of you that had you seeing stars. A little whimper from you had him pausing and he immediately pulled his hand away, eliciting a low whine from his wife. Hanno couldn’t stop his cocky smile that spread across his face before he touched that part of you again. His finger drew a circle over your flesh and your hips canted up, a mewl spilling past your lips and your breath catching. He stole a kiss, then another as he sent electricity up your spine and shocks scattered through your bones.

“You are magnificent,” he murmured just as he slipped another finger into your aching cunt. For a moment, you felt a hint of discomfort and bit your lip to refrain from making a sound. Hanno frowned and pulled your lip out from between your teeth. Some small part of you whispered ugly words and lies into your mind in an attempt to push his affection away. He only wanted you because other men did. You were merely a token to conquer. He needed a wife before he could get a concubine.

“Let me hear those pretty sounds.” He kissed the corner of your lips and you turned your head to see him properly once more. His eyes burned with a hunger you had seen before like in the forest or when he saw you carry one of the village babes on your hip. Hanno cheek pressed against your own and he whispered into your ear as he sank one finger into you and then two. He told you how proud he was of you, how good you were for him, how precious you were, as he pulled little cries of pleasure from you. You tightened around his fingers and he leaned back and watched your face as your body twitched and seized with the electric shocks of pleasure. A proud smile captured his face and he craned his head down to kiss you again and again and again. You climbed higher, higher, higher but then he abruptly pulled his hand from you, leaving you empty and aching. 

“I know, I know,” he groaned in that deep timbre bass that wracked through your body. Hanno rubbed a gentle circle into your outer thigh and shifted himself until he was kneeling between your spread legs. He grasped his cock in one hand and pressed his other hand to your hip, holding you in place under his heavy gaze. You squirmed as his eyes raked down your naked body and the little thoughts began to creep in once more, but he silenced them with one word.

“Divine.” Hanno leaned down and laid the flat of his tongue along your cunt. Your back arched off the bed with a choked out gasp and for a moment, you thought you died and entered the afterlife. He chuckled against your inner thigh and pressed a kiss to your pussy before sitting back on his heels. He stroked his thick length twice before moving closer to you. He nestled his face against your hair and inhaled the sweet scent of rose petals. His cheek rested on your temple, and he shocked you with his question.

“Can I tell you a story?”

You choked back a laugh and kissed the shell of his ear. “I suppose.” While you were the typical storyteller, you would always accept whatever he gave you.

“There was a king of the island of Ithaca by the name of Ulysses*. He was sent to fight in the Trojan War and on the way home, was blown off course. The journey home took over ten years and was filled with countless obstacles and dangers.” You gasped as the blunt head of his cock slid past your entrance and Hanno inhaled deeply. “Odysseus had a wife, the queen of Ithaca, named Penelope. A hundred suitors from the various lands and tribes came in an attempt to woo her and take her hand in marriage. Everyone thought Odysseus to be dead.”

He rocked his hips and his thick length began to split you open and your lips parted in a silent moan. Any air that was in your lungs seemed to evaporate as he filled you fully. Hanno swallowed your shaky whimper with a sweet kiss. You clawed for purchase against his chest, your limbs liquifying when he pulled out. Hanno caught your hand in his and flipped your hand over so he could pepper kisses along the inside of your wrist.

“Penelope was a devoted wife and ever faithful. She never doubted that Odysseus was alive and would come back to her. She lied to the suitors and told them that she would marry them when she finished weaving a funeral shroud. But she undid her work each night.” This time, his intrusion didn’t have the burn like the last thrust. Instead, his cock dragged against your walls in such a way that had your eyes rolling back into your head.

Hanno groaned as he started a steady thrust of his hips. He moved your hands above your head and entangled his fingers with yours, squeezing them in assurance as he fucked you. The pleasure burned so hot in your stomach and consumed your entire being. Everytime he thrust in, it felt like he was carving you out and branding you with his claim and oh, how you wanted this. He built this house for you and your future and even though he put a roof over your head, you saw stars with every touch against your skin.

“Ha-Hann…” You whined as he hit a certain spot that made your head spin. “Hanno.”

He frowned and slowed his thrusts and he touched your cheek, his thumb rubbing away the tear that you didn’t realize slipped down. “Does it hurt?”

You yanked him closer until his nose was touching yours. Your legs wrapped around his hips and he bottomed out in surprise.

 “Don’t you dare stop.” He grinned that reckless, crooked smile of his and swept your lips into a bruising kiss as he fucked every last thought out of your head. His name became a prayer that you chanted to the skies as he took you higher and higher until that coil that wrapped in your stomach snapped. You clenched around his cock and your body seized up as your orgasm washed over you. Hanno let out a guttural, animalistic groan and he spilled his seed into you, flooding you with warmth.

Silence enveloped the two of you, only the heavy exhales from exertion permeating the bubble that surrounded you. Hanno’s body relaxed and he caught himself before he put all of his weight on you. Rolling to the side, his arm came up to curl around your front, and he pulled you to his chest. Nose to nose, you met his gaze and let your breath mingle with his.

“Penelope didn’t falter in her devotion,” you said hoarsely. “Did she?”

His hand drifted up and down the raised gooseflesh on your arm and he reached over to draw one of the furs over you. “Aye, she didn’t.”

You tossed the edge of the fur over him and kissed him once again. “I will always remain steadfast.”

His lips met your temple and he tucked your head under his chin. “And I shall always come for you. No matter what it takes.”

Acacius lead you into the villa, the shackles and a new plate around your neck indicating your designation as slave. Lucilla immediately greeted him with an embrace and you looked away, your heart shattering at the sight. Quiet words were exchanged between the two before Acacius paused and stepped back to display you.

“She is from Numidia,” he explained. “She has skills in healing and I felt she would be a good addition to the household.”

Lucilla approached you and took in your sorry state. You felt bile rise in your throat as you bowed your head to the woman, but she stopped you with a raised hand.

“What is your name?” she asked you in Phoenician. You paused before answering her in your second tongue. That’s when you saw her eyes and realized, with a jolt, that she was indeed the woman you had heard of.

“Leta,” Lucilla called for another slave. “Come. Show her to the baths and give her a fresh chiton. Acacius, unchain her.”

He obeyed his wife’s command, but the slate remained. Perhaps you would wear it for the rest of your, hopefully short, life. Leta, an older woman, silently beckoned you to follow her deeper into the villa where a few slave women were gathered together over a pool of warm water.

“Who is this?” one of them asked in Latin.

“A Barbarian whore for the general, I presume,” Leta replied. “He brought her from Numidia. Thing hasn’t had a bath in her whole life.”

You remained silent, hands clasped before you, even as Leta pointed towards the bath. “You. Wash.” You pretended not to understand and she huffed out an annoyed breath and marched off, leaving you to strip out of your ruined and bloody dress from home and step into the water. You didn’t want to wash the gore off of your skin. Not when it was your last reminder of home. Of him.

Taking a moment to look around, you tried to picture what it was like living here in all its splendor. Leta returned and tossed a dress for you onto the edge of the tile and you stared at it blankly. She turned her back to you and started to gossip with the other girls. Your hands scrubbed at your skin, but your ears picked up all that they were saying. Gladiator games, senators, the emperors, it was all banal and boring.

But you found it all invaluable.

When night fell, you slipped out from the tiny cot you had been given in the slave quarters and silently made your way through the halls. Mosaics lined the walls and depicted everything from myths to actual battles. You stopped at the bust of Marcus Aurelius and stared at it for a moment. Shaking your head, you moved on to the hall that everyone had pointedly walked past and Leta explained was off-limits. Or as she said, “no touch”, because she thought that your supposed inability to speak Latin was also an indication of your idiocy.

You pushed open the doors and entered the chambers. Dust covered every inch of the place, as if no one had been in here for years. You carefully made your way over a broken tile and into the bedchamber where the sheets were still unmade and a book lay open on the desk. Turning slowly, you took in the whole of the room with an unsteady inhale.

“The gates of hell are open night and day,” you whispered under your breath. The words were etched onto the top of the wall. “Smooth the descent, and easy is the way: But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labor lies.” As you spoke, you could almost feel the presence of him at your back, his rough and low voice breathing the words into your ear.

You fled from the room, unable to bear it.

You almost made it back across the atrium when Lucilla emerged from seemingly out of nowhere. The two of you paused and you quickly lowered your head in deference.

“I hope you weren’t trying to escape,” she said gently. “Acacius told me that you were recently made a widow.”

The wince on your face was visible even in the moonlight and she stepped forward, her hands clasping over yours in comfort. She spoke her next words in Latin. “I am sorry. These meaningless deaths are foolish emperors playing war without considering the human cost of it.” The older woman patted your hand and made to leave, but your voice stopped her.

“Your slaves do not respect you,” you spoke in Latin. “Leta spreads vicious rumors about you and she said she has ties with some of the senators. Your allies are playing you and your plan is shaky at best.”

She whirled around to face you and you jutted your chin out in defiance, your eyes flashing with something dangerous. “In Numidia, my husband was the soldier, Domina. But I was the politician.”

Macrinus delivered on his promise. Acacius faced off with four soldiers in the Colosseum before Hanno was given a taste of vengeance and oh, did he savor it. Acacius ordered your death. Now, Hanno had the chance to ensure you were honored properly.

But Acacius stood across from him, sword on the ground, and accepted his death with a stoicism that Hanno only dreamed of possessing. The crowd roared and swelled with indignation after Hanno demanded to know their morals, but he was ushered away before he joined his father in dying in this ring.

He was granted the chance to see his mother one last time before her execution for treason and his slaughter in the arena. Lucilla told him of his father and he remembered meeting Maximus and how kind he was, even in the jaws of death. When his mother meets him for the last time, his only thought is how much Lucilla would like you.

She gave him two gifts in parting.

One, his grandfather’s ring.

Two, a lock of hair. And not just any…

Lucilla smiled sadly. “Acacius took her from Numidia to be a healer and didn’t realize she was your wife. She is safe, Lucius, and under the care of my household. I’m afraid I put it together too late, and she isn’t aware that you are here.”

For a moment, the rage subsided and he heard only a shrill ringing in his ears, as though he took a heavy blow to the head. Lucius turned the hair over in his hand and raised it to his nose, smelling a faint hint of rose petals.

I shall always come for you. No matter what it takes.

His mother was taken back to his cell and he took a moment to curl his palm around this fragment of you and press it to his chest to guard it from the world.

And then he called for Ravi.

Your hands remained steady when you slit Leta’s throat. You did so quietly, in the darkness of an alleyway. Blood never fazed you before, and the taking of a life was no different now. As far as you were concerned, this woman was one of the reasons why your Hanno was dead. Was it a rational thought? Perhaps not. But rationality would come another day.

The Colosseum roared with fury and you tried not to flinch at the deafening sound as you slipped in through the gates below, into the pens with the animals and gladiators. Chaos reigned above and below the world’s largest stadium so it was easy to blend in with others. The cloak you stole from Leta made you appear to be a fellow slave working amongst the masses. It never failed to amaze you how they called you a barbarian when they fought men to the death for their entertainment.

Your fingers skated over the smooth wood that curved over your spine and you felt a little better knowing that it was on you. The games were already underway with a few prisoners being devoured by Barbary lions as the crowd screamed for their blood to spill. You slipped around a few courtesans that lingered in the hall and passed the raised dais where three maidens were chained. Pushing on, you found a small corridor that was unoccupied and slipped in between the stones to hide from any roaming eyes.

The noise increased and you knew what was coming. Lucilla would be executed and Macrinus was to blame. The lanista was the mastermind of all of this, and you knew firsthand what war could do to people. You refused to let Lucilla die and, as much as you hated the Romans for what they took from you, the innocent children in the streets would die.

After this, you promised yourself, you would join Hanno.

Footsteps rushed past your hiding spot and when it quieted down in the hallway, you took that as a chance to peek out and see if you had an opening. You slipped out into the hall and darted towards one of the gates that was partly open. A bloodbath was the only word to describe what was happening in the Colosseum. You blanched at the sight of Lucilla tied to the dais, but it seemed as though the gladiators had it well in hand.

Removing the bow from your back, you notched an arrow onto the string and inhaled deeply. Macrinus was not hard to stop, thanks to his place behind Emperor Caracalla, but you didn’t have a clear shot. The crowd was turning on the Praetors and more soldiers entered the Colosseum on horseback. One Praetor nearly took the head off of a gladiator and you turned your bow in that direction.

Breathe in, aim, fire as you breathe out, Jugurtha had instructed. Keep your arm steady, your aim true, and your mind clear. There is no time to panic, just shoot.

The arrow sailed through the air and straight through the Praetor’s shoulder, knocking him off his horse and to the ground. You drew another arrow and started to aim towards Macrinus once more, but this time he was standing up. Caracalla was slumped over dead in front of him and Macrinus had his own bow in his hand.

Numidians were excellent horsemen and archers. Before you ever met Hanno, before you even bled for the first time, you were trained in the art of horsemanship and archery. Indeed your husband vowed his protection, but you were not one to go down without a fight. He taught you how to manipulate a knife, where to aim on the body, but Hanno never came close to your familiarity with a bow.

Your next arrow arched through the air and collided with Macrinus’ shot. The wood splintered midair and you loaded a third, but the lanista fled the stands before you could take another shot. It gave a gladiator the chance to free Lucilla and pass her to another gladiator, a hulking beast of a man. The gladiator gave chase to Macrinus and you focused your attention on your subject at hand.

There had to have been a reason the gods kept you alive and took Hanno. Clearly, it was to protect your husband’s mother.

“Are you ever going to tell me what you’re hiding from me?”

His hand stilled from where it had been absentmindedly stroking your thigh. Hanno came home from the field and immediately drew you into his lap, inhaling your sweet smell and letting his hands roam all over your body. You savored his touch, but marriage had sharpened your mind regarding his mannerisms. Something was bothering him.

Hanno sighed and he nuzzled his nose against your shoulder. You let him have this moment, but you would weasel the truth out of him, someway or another.

“Is it another woman? A concubine?” you asked, your voice hushed and wounded. He laid a kiss against your skin and shook his head.

“Rome is moving closer,” he finally said. You turned so you could see his face and cupped his chin, drawing his head up to meet your gaze. He blinked up at you with those sky blue eyes of his and nestled into your palm until he could lay a gentle kiss there.

“My name, my real name,” he whispered, “is Lucius Verus Aurelius and I am the prince of Rome.”

The first thing he did after ascending his rightful place as Emperor of Rome was go to his mother’s villa.

Lucilla was fine, a small gash on her bicep and shaken up, but fine. He tried to be a good son, but she could tell his focus was on anywhere but her. Lucilla directed him to the gardens and that is where he found you.

The Roman dress was different from what he was used to seeing, but you still covered your head with a veil when praying to your gods. Head tilted towards the heavens, hands outstretched, you made a beautiful image of devotion.

Your feet inched closer to the edge of the cliff.

“Forgive me, my love, for being so weak that I could not do this sooner,” you said. Tears coursed down your cheeks and stained the fabric of your chiton with damp tracks. You muttered a mixture of prayer and apology and he strained to hear it.

“Give me the strength to commit this final act, oh gods, grant me this. I have protected his mother and granted her the life he was not spared. Please, oh Hanno, let me see you in the afterlife. I am tired, so tired of only seeing you in my dreams.”

“Step back from the edge, my heart.” His voice came out in a tremble.

“Hanno,” you whispered. “Forgive me for being so weak. Forgive me for failing you. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve been nothing but strong.” A ferocity claims his words. “Step back from the edge.”

“We made a promise,” you pleaded. “We go as one. Let me join you, please.”

You raise one foot over the rocky cliff and he lashed out before he could think. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you back so hard that the both of you tumbled to the ground. Quickly, Lucius kneeled by your side to search for any injury.

“Open your eyes,” he ordered. This was the afterlife. It must be. You obeyed his command to find those bright blue eyes that haunted your dreams.

“Am I finally dead?”

“Not for a long, long time.”

No, this wasn’t the afterlife. Blood caked his skin and scars littered his bare arms. He had been muscular before but now he appeared to be only thick, corded muscle. Your hands came up to rest on his neck and you examined his face. The same freckles. Same lines by his eyes. Same long eyelashes.

Trailing your hands down along his arms, you skirted around the obvious injuries he had until your fingers brushed something new, something entirely foreign to you that resided on his shoulder.

A brand.

And with that, the dam within you shattered. The wails of a widow finally escaped your chest and you let out an agonized scream as you curled in on yourself. Hanno gathered you into his arms and buried his face into the crook of your neck. Hot tears slid down his cheeks and onto your skin. Your hands scrambled to find purchase on the armor that still adorned his body and you eventually settled on cradling the back of his head with one hand and grasping his forearm with the other.

“I am so sorry,” he wept. “If I had known you were alive, I would have come for you sooner.” He wrenched the slave plate from your neck and kissed the places where the chain had rubbed your skin raw.

All the agony of grief and rage and terror from the last month spilled out of him in broken, gasping sobs. His precious wife was alive and in his arms. Numidia had fallen, but now he had the chance to protect her with all the power and might of Rome. He could now have armies at his beck and call, coffers of coins brought to him, and enemies assassinated but the true power laid in his arms.

His little wife was right. He was the soldier, the muscle, the physical strength. But the reason he fought and killed, the reason he kept going even when every part of his body screamed to give up, was because of her. As far as he was concerned, she had the power to raze cities and command armies. All she had to do was ask him.

“Is this real?” you breathed once your sobs and trembling ceased. He pulled you into his lap and almost began crying once again at the feel of your supple body against his.

“It’s real,” he assured you before he bent down and kissed you. Despite the blood that coated his skin, you savored the taste of him. You never thought you would get this again. Maybe the gods did bless you.

He kept you pressed against his side as you made your way back into the villa. One of the slaves nearly dropped her tray at the sight before her and ran to grab Lucilla. The stately woman swept into the courtyard and met you both there.

“Lucius,” she exclaimed. “I take it that this is your wife.”

“Yes.” His gaze never strayed from your face. “This is her.”

You instinctively went to bow to Lucilla but she stopped you with a gentle hand on your arm.

“You are not my slave any longer,” she assured you. “Not only did you save my life, but you are now my daughter and also Augusta.”

Hanno, Lucius, you reminded yourself, stood in all his resplendent glory, covered in dirt and blood with his gladius hanging from his sheath. How different the two of you were now, yet still fit like the gods made you for each other. Your small house was gone. Your home was subjugated. Your family and friends in the afterlife. But Lucius was still here and still breathing. That made it all worth it.

He might be the Emperor of Rome now and you, the Empress, but he was still your charming soldier, your devoted husband. This, you decided, would make an excellent story someday.

[dosesofcommonsense]

If you’re still watching the Corporate Media Machine, turn it off and find some independent sources. I’ve mentioned quite a few on this blog.

Can we all agree that pedophiles are mentally ill, highly intelligent people who’re delusional and losing a spiritual war?

They are using the mentally ill, spiritually bankrupt sheep to fuel the trans movement. The LGB community was hijacked, just like the original feminist movement. The pedos are using the trans narrative to take the fight to parents and the remaining Christian bulwark of Western Civilization.

As broken as the cultural moral compass is, it’s still better than an amoral culture where you can openly sacrifice kids (abortion), encourage rape culture, mutilate our bodies (change the avatar not the dna), and exploit the mentally ill to further a spiritual war between the rulers of this world and the one and only God of the universe.

If we lose our moral compass, which is crumbling, then we are spiritually bankrupt…and that’s a YUGE problem.

We are fighting a spiritual war in real time. It’s high time people realized that, and - no - the demonic propaganda team of the Corporate Media Machine isn’t going to tell you about that otherwise they’d expose themselves. And while they have no problem exposing themselves for pleasure, they have no desire to pull the wool back and let you see just how dark and evil they are.

[hedwig221b]

EROS MANIA AMOR

sterek | M | 23,8k | ao3

tags: Historical, Established sterek, Mystery, POV Outsider on Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski,Angst, Alpha Derek Hale, Possessive Derek Hale, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Everybody Wants Stiles Stilinski, One-Sided Jordan Parrish/Stiles Stilinski, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, no actual abuse or rape happens remember this tag

Summary: “I am just reminding you that Stiles is married. To me. All you can do is imagine, and I get to do all of those things you’re dreaming of to him. Yes, I know. I know everything you and others think,” Hale opened his eyes and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. His smile was despicable in its selfishness. “I know what you dream of when you look at his lips—”

“Stop it.” Jordan shook his head.

“— because I am the same as you,” the wolf ignored him. “I imagined everything you did, it’s just happened that my dream became the life that I get to live. He is here,” he tapped his own temple, “and here,” he tapped his chest. “And you would have to kill me to get us separated.”

[obsessedwithtoomanythings]

Anchor Up to Me, Love

Pairing: Alpha!Leon Kennedy x Omega!Reader

Warning: College AU, Knotting, Claiming Bites, Breeding Kink, Penis In Vagina Sex, Oral Sex, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, But Leon saves the day, cause we love him, Possessive Leon S. Kennedy, Protective Leon S. Kennedy, Violence, just a lil, Leon S. Kennedy Being a Little Shit, Leon S. Kennedy is a tease. Leon S. Kennedy is a Sweetheart, I slept for 2 hours last night cause of this, bon appétit, bone apple teeth, Leon Kennedy loves eating pussy change my mind, Loss of Virginity, Unprotected Sex, POV First Person

Words: 3.3K

A/N: I wrote this in one afternoon, it was not beta'd at all. I pulled this STRAIGHT out of my ass. THIS IS NSFW. IF YOU ARE A MINOR, PLEASE GO AWAY. Title from Anchor by Novo Amor.

The campus was buzzing with hyper energy, the students littering the quad as the weather finally warmed up enough for them to comfortably rest on the green grass. My sneakers slap against the concrete as I take a deep breath in, the fresh air mingling with the student’s scents and I can’t help but feel a twinge of loneliness at the sight of the couples sprawled across the area.

I have spent half my life terrified of everyone - especially alphas - since my father’s warning when I presented. “You need to be careful, pup. Alpha’s only want one thing. You don’t want to end up like your mother - God rest her soul.” The fear it caused has definitely contributed to my self induced isolation. The scent blockers stir in my stomach, and I place a hand over my gut softly as I continue to head toward the library. I couldn’t afford the textbook, and thankfully the library had a cheap copy, but it can only be used in the library. I huff in annoyance as I mount the stairs. I step into the air conditioned building, skin prickling beneath my tee shirt. Should have worn a sweater.

The library is huge, 3 floors of walls lined with books, and the loner in me cries out in joy at seeing how deserted the stacks are. Having memorized the way already, I walk toward where they keep the textbooks and I run my fingers across the bindings until I come across where my textbook should be. I glance around to see if it was maybe misplaced before I head to the front desk.

“Hi, I’m looking for the Understanding Earth textbook for Professor Fieldman’s class?” I ask, and the woman behind the counter looks up with a small smile.

“Oh, that’s a popular one today. There’s a young man in blue who asked for it maybe 10 minutes ago. He should be in one of the study rooms, I think Room C.” The one with the windows. I nod, glancing down at my phone for the time. That paper is due in 12 hours. I’ll have to suck it up and ask if he’s willing to share. I head up the stairs, the hushed whispers of students giggling on the second floor catches my attention as I rub my fingers over my arms to warm them. The straps of my backpack are becoming more and more noticeable the longer the bag rests on my shoulders, and the girls’ voices become audible. “Wasn’t he adorable? He’s in my criminology class. His scent is intoxicating.” I scoff at their words. I walk toward the closed oak door before lightly rapping my knuckles on the varnished surface, and I crack it open as I hear a voice speak. Please be a beta. Please be a beta. Please be a beta.

“Yeah?” The door opens a bit more and that’s when I see him, strong hands hovering over the keys of his laptop, bright blue eyes trained on me as I stand in the doorway, my cheeks probably red from embarrassment.

“Hi,” I say before introducing myself with my name. “I know this is probably weird, but Professor Fieldman assigned a paper due tonight and I need some sources. Would you mind if I shared the textbook with you?” I ask, definitely speaking too fast as the anxiety crawls up my throat, tasting an awful lot like bile. He chuckles and that’s when his scent hits my nose. Those girls weren’t lying. He smells like pine and citrus, which you wouldn’t normally assume would mix, but something about the way it mingles as it enters my nose, my whole body flushes,, and I wonder if it’s because of him being an alpha or just him in general.

“I’m Leon. Leon Kennedy. And no, I don’t mind at all,” he says kindly, scooting his chair over a bit and pushing the textbook closer to the chair next to him. I should not sit next to him. His scent is already almost overwhelming and I’ve been in here for all of 1 minute. I find myself walking forward as I hear the door close behind me and I sit down in the black mesh swivel chair next to Leon. He gives me a small smile before I realize he probably thinks I’m a beta. My scent blockers should be enough. When is my heat due again? I vaguely wonder as I slip my backpack onto the floor next to me and pull out my laptop, opening the document to this stupid paper. “The paper on your favorite mineral and its multitude of uses?” He asks, glancing at my screen and I nervously huff out a laugh.

“Yup. I went with obsidian.” I say as I look back at him. His eyes are like two pools of blue, oceans in their entirety and threatening to drag me under and drown me.

“Good choice. Quartz,” he points his thumb at himself with a small smile as he runs his fingers through his hair before training his eyes on his paper. We sit in comfortable silence for about 10 minutes before the first cramp shoots through my gut. I press a hand to the muscle, hoping pressure will relieve the ache before it increases. I tense up as I groan, dropping my head to the cool desk as my skin feels like it’s on fire. “Are you okay?” He asks, placing a hand on my back, and the warmth of his hand makes me release a very different kind of groan, which I try to muffle by clamping my teeth down on my bottom lip, so hard I may be drawing blood. Heat washes over me and I vaguely register that I am absolutely going into heat right here, next to this alpha I just met. I reach down for my phone to check, and that’s when I realize that I am a week early for my heat.

“I’m fine, I just need to go, I’m sorry,” I whisper, and I stand quickly, slamming my laptop closed much harder than I should before practically throwing it into my backpack, slinging the fabric over my shoulders before I feel a hand lightly wrap around my wrist, not restraining me, just… catching my attention.

“I’m sorry, I can go if you need the-” Leon trails off, his voice fading into silence as his eyes widen. “You’re an omega?” He asks, and I know my scent blockers aren’t very effective anymore. Not against a sudden onset of heat in the middle of the day. I nod smally, feeling tiny compared to this alpha, despite him still sitting down in his own chair. The place where his skin meets mine on my wrist tingles, sending sparks up and down my arm as I am suddenly extremely grateful that I didn’t wrap myself in a sweatshirt. I’d be sweating through it by now.

He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, taking a deep breath while facing away from me, as if he’s trying to compose himself before he speaks again. “Sorry, you’re just… You smell amazing…” He practically rasps, voice dropping to a painfully attractive octave. “I thought you were a beta when you walked in. You shouldn’t be out this close to your heat,” he mumbles, still unable to meet my eyes.

“I’m not due for a week. Trust me, I intend to go home,” I explain, and he nods as he lets go of my wrist. Without another word, I walk briskly to the door. I don’t breathe until I’m out in the fresh air, trying to wash Leon’s scent from my nose before I begin to practically sprint toward the parking lot where my car is. I’m almost there when I hear whistles behind me. Oh no.

“Where you going, pretty ‘mega?” My hands shake violently, slick pouring into the center of my panties due to the incoming heat, and I hear several sets of footsteps behind me. There are at least 3 of them. A cold hand lands on my shoulder and I yelp, dropping my keys to the tarmac as tears brim in my eyes. The alpha spins me around as his friends snigger behind him and his hard body presses me against the nearest vehicle, hands roaming over my jean covered thighs as the hot tears pour down my cheeks. His scent is vile, aggression and sweat wafting off of him in waves, and his nose runs along the column of my throat. “You smell so good, baby. How about you let me take care of your little problem?” His voice is gravely and harsh, tongue licking up my neck to taste my sweat. “God, I’m gonna knot you so-”

“Get the fuck off of her.” A voice says, and it takes my mind only moments to realize it’s Leon.

“Fuck off, finder’s keepers.” I squeeze my eyes closed so tightly that harsh colors flash across my darkened vision, and my hands push against his cotton tee shirt pointlessly.

“Then how about this?” The weight is gone, ripped from my body and I open my eyes to see that Leon has physically ripped the guy off of me and I watch as his body collides with the vehicle next to us, the white metal slightly dented from where his head hit before Leon’s fists tighten in his shirt, pressing him into the truck. “Touch my omega again, and you won’t be leaving unless it’s in a body bag.” Leon lets him go and we both watch as the alpha runs away, followed by his lackeys. If he had a tail, it’d be between his legs.

I sink to the ground, knees pressed to my chest and my hands press into the dark concrete. “Holy…”

“Are you okay?” Leon is there, crouching at my level. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?” I shake my head, hands twitching, begging me to reach out and touch him and I can’t stop them as one lands on his shoulder.

“I just want to feel safe... Can you hold me?” I whisper, and it’s only seconds before his palms skim along my bare arms. Feeling like I’ve been shocked with straight electricity, my gasp escapes as I shift to press my nose into his shirt, the blue cotton/spandex mix beneath my lips driving me up a wall and rushing more slick into the gusset of my panties.

“Of course.” His words are soft, fingers carding through my hair in soothing motions. His lips are soft as they press to my temple and I clutch his shirt tightly in my fists. “What do you need?” He asks, making sure to address me by my name.

“You, alpha…” I whisper, desperation in my tone. “Please…”

“Fuck…” Leon mumbles, nodding and accidentally brushing his nose through my hair, and he groans. “Okay, come on.”

The kisses are all tongues and teeth, lips connected as teeth nibble at the already plump flesh as the door opens. Thank god he has an apartment, cause Dad would never let me bring home an alpha for him to fuck me through my heat. The room smells overwhelmingly like him, air fresheners be damned. Palms on hips, slipping into the waistband of denim, untucking shirts, fingers dancing across skin and I tug on the hem of his light blue shirt, silently pleading for it to come off.

“Need something, sweet girl?” He chuckles, a teasing edge to his voice. A whine slips from my lips into his mouth and he pulls back to press our noses together, foreheads in contact as he looks into my eyes. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Off, please, Leon.” Well, he said words. I managed that. He peels the fabric from his chest, my eyes raking over the exposed muscles and soft flesh.

“Eyes up here, ‘mega.” His finger slides under my chin, bringing my eyes to his as our lips collide again before parting to remove my own tee shirt, dropping the cotton onto a pile on top of his. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he whispers under his breath. Before I can process the movements, my feet are off the ground before I feel the weight of the couch beneath me as he tugs on my waistband. “Can I taste you, ‘mega? Please?”

“Mhm,” I hum through my bitten lip, teeth pressing into the tender flesh as I help him remove my tight jeans, my panties flying somewhere in his apartment as he buries his mouth against my cunt without further question.

His name leaves my lips in a squeak as my fingers thread through his dark blonde locks, tugging the strands lightly as his tongue laps at my sex. Growls rumble from his chest as he sucks gently on my clit, the suction forcing gasps and moans from my mouth; I look down and find those intoxicating blue eyes locked on me, the wet sounds coming from my center absolutely lewd. How do people live without this?

“Do you want my knot?” The question should require more thought. More attention.

“Yes. Please alpha, need it.” Leon stands, lips and chin coated with my shiny slick, and I watch as he licks the fluid off his lips before using his fingers to wipe off the remainder before sucking them into his mouth. Oh fuck, that’s hot. Nimble fingers undo the buttons of his jeans, tugging the zipper down tauntingly. “Leon.” His name comes out as a frustrated groan, and I’m gifted by the sweet sound of his light chuckle.

“Patience is a virtue, sweet girl.” I groan, a small laugh of my own filling the air as he comes up to kneel between my thighs, the skin of my ass pressing against his thighs as he leans forward to rub his cock along the length of my core. “Fucking shit, got the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, ‘mega. Have you ever had a knot before?” He asks, rolling his hips so his tip bumps against my clit and I shake my head no. “Have you ever had sex with anyone?”

“No…” I admit, hands coming up to press against my hot cheeks.

“That’s okay, ‘mega. Do you want to keep going?” I peek between my fingers to see his soft smile. He is willing to stop for my comfort. “I can make you come in other ways if you don’t want-”

“I want your knot, please Leon.” My hips cant on their own accord, rubbing against him and his groan quickly dissolves into a huff of laughter, the sound filled with affection and gentleness.

“Okay, baby. We’ll take this slow, okay?” His head nudges at my opening, pressing the head in. The slight burn doesn’t last as my body adjusts to him, his arms caging me in on both sides of my head filling each of my senses with nothing but Leon, Leon, Leon. It continues like this, him pressing his length pressing in an inch or two before he pauses, huffy breaths puffing against my face as his peppers my face in soft kisses, my hands cupping his jaw and nape of his neck to feel some semblance of balance as he splits me open. I have nothing to compare it to, but he feels pretty big to me. Finally after a painstakingly long time, his hips press forward, flush with mine, and we both release shaky pants at the sensations.

“Please move,” I whimper as my hands shift to dig into the firm muscle of his shoulders, dull nails leaving crescents in his flesh.

“Anything for you, my sweet little omega.” The sweet words are quickly drowned out as he begins a leisurely pace, and I can feel the drag of his cock against my walls at every movement he makes. Kissing is futile by this point; We’re practically just breathing into each other’s mouths. His pace begins to steadily climb, faster and harder as his deft fingers rub soft circles over my bud, my head thrown back in response to the new sensation. “Does that feel good, sweet girl?” I nod before his earlier command rings through my ears.

“Yeah, Leon… Feels so good.”

“Such a perfect little omega, my omega.” The possessive tone sends a wave of heat straight down my spine as he continues. “That alpha touching you earlier… God I wanted to rip his throat out…” Hips slapping harder against mine as my moans grow in pitch, his name practically the only coherent sound that can be heard from my lips.

“Yours, alpha. All yours.” The blonde nuzzles into my neck, teeth grazing across my sweat slicked skin. He speaks, and it takes a nip to my ear to realize he’s speaking, my focus being tugged between the wet sounds of us meeting, his teeth on my neck, his scent in my nose, and his dirty words in my ears.

I want to claim you.

Fill you til it spills from that tight little pussy.

Want my babies, sweetheart?

Knock you up, god you’d look so pretty carrying my babies, ‘mega.

I nod blindly, barely unable to form words anymore as I’m so fucked out, so cockdrunk.

“Yes, please, fill me. Want it. Want you.” I groan in protest as he pulls out, emptiness bringing tears to my eyes before his gentle caress causes me to peel my eyes open to meet his. I’m greeted with a new sight. This isn’t just Leon.

This is my alpha.

“Present for me, ‘mega.” I nod, flipping over so my knees press into the scratchy fabric of the couch, arms resting on the arm rest as my body arches for him practically unconsciously. This is how it feels to find your mate. Callused hands trace the skin of my back, rubbing softly over the skin of my ass before his tip presses against my opening again, sliding in much easier than before, the wet slick aiding in creating a smooth glide and I practically feel him in my throat as he resumes a fast pace. Mumbles of curses fall into the air, sweaty skin pressing to my back, giving him access to whisper in my ear.

“I want you to come for me. I’ll give you my knot if you do.” The rough tips of his fingers return to my clit, rubbing much faster circles as the band in my gut pulls tight. “Come for me, omega.” That’s all it takes. I come with a yelp of his name, followed by a chorus of ‘alpha’s mixing with ‘Leon’. He growls, leaning forward to press the expanding ring of muscle into my pussy as his teeth sink into the flesh of my neck, locking us together in every sense of the words.

Gentle hands maneuver us to our sides, his warm body spooning as he grabs the blanket from the back of his couch to drape it over us as the sweat on our skin rapidly cools in the now chilly air of his living room.

“Are you okay?” He whispers, lips pressing soft kisses across my exposed flesh, and he sounds almost guilty. I nod sleepily, reaching back to run fingers through his hair with a chuckle. “Something funny, cutie?”

“I don’t think sharing the textbook is gonna be an issue anymore.” At my words, we both burst into a fit of giggles, panting breaths as I turn my head to press our lips together before I gasp, hands coming up to my mouth.

“What?”

“My dad is gonna kill us.” I admit with a nervous laugh.

“Nah. I meet parents like a champ.” His face practically drips with confidence and I chuckle.

“Oh really?”

“Oh yeah. Look at my face. This is the face of ‘I’m absolutely not sleeping with your daughter’.” The laughter is uncontainable now.

Oh yeah. Definitely.

Tags:

Leon: @house-of-kolchek @bonnibuckets @athanasia-day @muffimtv Everything: @chaosandbubbles @kassiekolchek22 @akiramoon8088

[psycheetamore]

His, or how Feyd-Rautha will protect those loyal to him

Summary: you are a concubine of the youngest uncle of the na-Baron, but those days are count as you catch the eye of the young lord. Although you are visited several times by a man, you are initially oblivious by which man exactly (just imagine the emotions when finding out…). His uncles will not accept this change of ownership without a fight with their nephew. Or: how you become a pawn in the rise of Feyd-Rautha to Baron, with loyalty (which you though secretly) pledged by exchanging bodily fluids.

A little play on the story of Psyche, who initially also does not know she is visited by Amore.

Tags: the works – MDNI, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen Is His Own Warning, dead dove dont eat, explicit smut, Feyd-Rautha is physically imposing, oral (FR giving and receiving, bc he deserves it), public (but not in a good way), humiliation, punishment (also not in a good way), angst, dubious consent, violence, deaths (revenge), non con/rape - the author regrets nothing, no beta we die like duke leto

Word count: 6k

+++

He saw you, fulfilling your duties as one of the many concubines of his youngest uncle. The brother of the Baron. Not as powerful but equally physically appalling and cruel. Usually you resided in Lankiveil, but Giedi Prime would be your new home for the coming months.

Feyd-Rautha saw you, as you participated in the many parties Igor, the name of this hideous man, hosted. Parties that would inevitably end up in orgies, with you standing by, seeing your owner feast on the willing or less willing bodies presented to him. Never would he allow you to participate, not that you wanted, but he did require all his women to look as he soothed his urges yet again.

The na-Baron saw you, as you tried to spend the hours between your obligations as useful as possible. Training the limited fighting skills you were allowed to: bow & arrow and other commands Igor deemed useless pastimes for weak women. Reading everything you could get your hands on. Observing the people surrounding you. Learning in all forms available to you. Being on this planet, however inhospitable, presented potentially life-changing opportunities to you. Options to make something out of yourself, somehow regain some agency over yourself, knowing that concubines often ended up gifted to allies to fortify relationships. Rumour had it that a few women managed to organise their own way out, sometimes even through a man of their choosing. It surprised you that the other girls kept by the Baron’s brother did not try to explore similar escapes. They seemed to be happy just entertaining themselves through lavish baths and gossiping.

Despite all of that, you somehow never noticed that you were being seen.

Not, until a soldier approached you one day in a library. He was standing in another aisle, whispering through the openings left between the books to you to come closer by. “Your presence has caught the eye of my master.” You responded after a moment of contemplation: “your master” you spat “will know that I am already bound to a man.” A reply came quickly: “he knows. He will visit you this evening.” Leaning in, deeper into the cupboards: “if I may give you advice, milady: entertain my master, entice my master, and he will reward you handsomely. He may even save you, as he saved me from the dark bellows of this society.” Thoughts ran through your head. It could all be a test. It could be an opportunity. It could be a risk that may cause your death. You needed to consider all options.

Just as you wanted to ask who his master was, you heard the doors to the library close. The soldier had left as quietly as he came in.

That night you had locked the door to your room as you did every night. Guards patrolling the wing of the palace you resided in, only accessible to them, to your master and to women. Although the words of this soldier had ran a marathon through your head, you still expected it to be nothing more than a test from Igor.

Once the adrenaline in your body had faded, you – somehow reluctantly – accepted that this was all a test. It still made you somewhat content with your response; the right response given that this was nothing more than that.

That night, you dreamt of lemon, orange blossom and musk. Never had you imagined a scent so vividly. You dreamt of an all-encompassing feeling of external and internal warmth. As if you were wrapped in warm clouds.

You woke up to find the pillow next to yours turned and used. The bed coverings having been dragged from under the matrass, where you would otherwise leave them tucked in. Your night garment left open, while you would typically carefully close the buttons.

Not knowing what to think about it, the only logical explanation was that you must have absolutely thrashed your bed and perhaps even woken up at night to sleepwalk. You clearly needed to get your head in order; the soldier had disturbed you mentally, without a doubt.

After having splashed ice-cold water in your face to wake up, you looked at yourself in the mirror. You kept punishing yourself for having these silly thoughts. A silly little girl. You continued to batter yourself, until you noticed spots in your neck. On closer inspection it was a round spot of a couple of centimetres in diameter. It did not hurt. You were not wounded.

Your heart sunk to your feet as it started to dawn that this could not have been anything else than the result of someone creating a vacuum on your neck with their lips.

The rest of the day went on in a blur.

+++

You found yourself in the spa at the edge of the evening, trying to set your mind to something else than whatever had happened last night. Sitting in the middle of the steamy hammam, seeking to empty your head. You needed to accept that you would not be able to make sense of all of this. Not without any other clues. You could not recognize the soldier that had approached you, not even if your life depended on it. You could not imagine he would have done this to you; this castle was too safe for kept concubines. You just hoped nobody would think too much of the mark that was left on you.

As your mind wandered off, your eyes closed, only to be shaken up by a sudden shift in the air you felt, barely but still. As if someone moved past you. But you did not hear the door open or close. You had also been careful enough to check the log upfront to ensure nobody was in. Franticly looking around you, you could not see anyone in the white fog.

Your mind must have continued to play games with you.

But still. You were so certain that you felt someone. Something. You knew someone or something was here. Nearby. As you wrapped your legs tightly against your chest while sitting on the elevated platform in the middle of the room, foreign fingers brushed over the mark on your neck.

You froze, only allowing your eyes to move. It has nearly always been your reaction in fearful situations. Freeze and let everything go past you. Ignore you. Leave you.

But you would not be ignored this night.

Lips touched your ear, as if to allow you to capture sound. But no sound came to you. Softly these lips mapped your ear, moving to your neck. The tip of a tongue found its way as well. Gently grazing over your sensitive skin, as if to bring you in a trance. Somehow, the tenderness of the touches, the warmth of the room, the deprivation of sight and sound as senses; it felt like you were in a different world. Instinctively you started to hold your chin up as high as possible, to allow the grazing to continue across your neck. You did not register the small moan that left your mouth, ever so slightly breaking the monotonous sound of running water from the corners of the room.

No further invitation was needed, as a hand was placed on your cheek, moving to close your eyes. With sight being deprived from you, obedient as you were, your face and your lips met theirs. A callused hand, warm and with long fingers. It could not be of anyone else than a man who had kneeled in front of you, a hard chest pressing against your legs. While lips pressed themselves on yours, teasing you, seeking to find your tongue, you felt a quiver transferring from him to you. His strong hand had moved steadily to the back of your neck, and guided you securely to lay flat on the middle of the platform.

Your chest rising quicker and quicker, the tongue soon left your mouth to find other pastures more south. With slow yet steady movements the towel protecting your modesty was laid open, with only the steam limiting sights to your regions that should have been monopolized by Igor.

The tongue and lips smoothly and confidently graced your chest, your breasts, your nipples, your ribs, your belly button, until they reached your core. You did your best not to shiver under the touch. Somehow you felt that if you were only receptive, obedient, fearful, you would not be punished for this unacceptable altercation. But at the same time, you had never felt more alive. You grew desperate for the teasing touch; you burned for more. But you had no way of showing it.

Or so you thought.

Two hands parted your legs in ease. It would become a difficult story to argue that you were overcome. Yet, you also knew Igor would not care less whether you were forced or not. You would always be the one punished. Still, you somehow felt that if this would merely be done upon you, you were less to blame. As if you had then acted less shameful.

Those thoughts were soon abandoned, by a guttural moan no less, as two fingers had found its way into you. Easier than ever before. A sloppy sound came from your core, indicating so much wetness and welcomeness that humiliation filled you.

Shame was apparently enough to get you out of your state of freeze, as you closed your legs with force. No man should experience you in this state. But your legs did not come far, as they were stopped in their path. His head must have collected the painful sounding blow, considering the grunt that left his body. You lifted your torso to get a better view, but to no avail as the fog kept blocking your view. You could hardly see as far as your own breasts.

Your hand would need to act as eyes for you. Finding his head between your legs, your touch replaced your sight. Hairless. That was the first thing you noticed. Round and bold. A sharp jawline. Lucious lips, that drew your fingers in the moment you had found them. A deep sigh escaped from you. With your eyes still trying to pierce through the mist, his other hand found its way up to your chest and pushed you back to your previous position. He came just close enough to allow you to see the paleness of the skin, perhaps as pale as the clouds within this room. A ring on his little finger, a ring that looked like it bore significance; another clue.

But you had no time to think about that, no room left in your brain, as his hand quickly found its way back down, leaving a painful trace with his nails to where his tongue had started to explore this other orifice. Skilfully beyond anything that you had ever expected. You had learned that being intimate with a man required you to always be focused on his pleasure, and that an increase of your enjoyment meant inevitably a decrease of his. You were taught that you should not gain any physical gratification out of any interaction with a man. Yet, here was a man, presumably young and strong, doing nothing else than serving you joy.

As his tongue found every pleasure point around and within your pussy, you decided with a clouded mind that this was worth dying for. For the first time in a long while you felt alive. You felt a woman. A person. You felt seen. Coveted. Desired.

The blur of the evening continued, as he brought you unprecedented heights. In the protection of the fog, you lost all inhibitions. Soon you moaned and growled as response to his touches, hoping these sounds would die in the fog.

After he had taken the last of the sweet juice you had to share, he wrapped you in your towel again and laid a small warm piece of cloth over your eyes and ears.

It took several minutes before your brain had recouped and noticed he had left. It took more minutes for you to start moving, and get ready to get back to the seclusion of your room with wobbly legs and a foggy head. There, you dropped your clothes to look at your body. Nobody could know about what had happened. It should be your secret and your secret only, as your life depended on it.

Yet, more tokens of new ownership were left, another bump next at the top of the inside of your leg, and three even scratch marks from between your breasts until your hilt. Fear started to compete for your attention.

+++

Another morning went by in a blur. You started to consider that you might be going crazy, were it not for the blemishes on your skin. Everywhere where you looked around you, you tried to spot men and assess whether they may have been the one that had visited you.

In the afternoon, you accompanied Igor and his brother, the Baron, during games in the arena. It did not interest you too much. The outcome was already known, as his heir would always end up victorious.

Obligatory you glanced through the binoculars every now and then, to vein interest.

That was, until a hard reflection hit your eye. And hit your eye again. And a third time.

Suddenly more awake, you grabbed the binoculars to search through the stadium. Maybe you would uncover your mystery. There were thousands of bold men cheering. Nothing set any of them apart. You zoomed in on their hands, but there were so many hands. There was no place to begin.

You sighed and wanted to lower your binoculars, thinking it was just a coincidence. But right at that moment a fourth burst of reflection hit you. You suddenly realized it never came from the crowd, as it came from within the grounds of the arena itself. Focussing on the hands of the na-Baron, you saw a sigil ring on his pinky.

The shock caused you to drop your precious optical instrument, clashing on the floor, inviting everybody’s attention. With a red face you fell to the floor to collect it, making yourself as small as possible, scared for reprimands. But there was no need, as the young lord had slaughtered his last opponent at exactly that moment.

You had brought the binoculars to your eyes just on time to see that he was staring at you. His gaze directly piercing through your body. Any doubt left.

After a lengthy applause, the Baron and his brother moved to participate at their party, followed by you, the other concubines, servants and slaves.

+++

Over the course of days thereafter you would see Feyd-Rautha several times. A glimpse of him while passing as entourage of his uncle. Gazing at him for longer stretches of time while standing lined up against a wall with the other concubines as the Harkonnen family consumed their diners.

You now knew he had been observing you all this time, and was yet to stop.

Every time you locked eyes on him, you saw him staring back within seconds, if he wasn’t already. There was no escape.

Every time your glares locked, your heart jumped. Your breathing stopped. Your face turned ever so slightly more red.

On a few occasions he grazed himself so closely to you that you could smell the delirious making scent that came from him. The smell that still lingered in your head. Even in your bed. Every time he walked past you, you inhaled as deeply as you could muster without making a sound. How you desired for him to grab you, hold you, kiss you, make you his. He must have seen that you closed your eyes to reside in fantasy every time he strolled past you. He must have been aware of the impact he was having on you. Surely, he would be having this impact on every woman that dared to think about him. He was dangerous, yes, but also so appealing and covet-worthy.

You needed to get out of his hold, but you couldn’t. It was torture. Ever so sweet torture. You could not endure it any longer, yet you desired for it to never stop. Never had you felt this alive and deprived at the same time.

+++

During an afternoon of training your skills with bow and arrow, now focussing on long range distances, a soldier approached you from the shadows of the exercise area, whispering: “the na-Baron requests your attention upstairs. Please follow me.”

Scared you looked at him. “Don’t worry. You have served my master well. You have pleased him.” With a face starting to bloom red, you froze again, knowing that more than two people knew about what had happened. He sounded like the man that you first met, in the library. As he grabbed your wrist to drag you into the darkness, he stated: “my name is Ivan, and I serve the na-Baron loyally.”

It was Feyd-Rautha himself who had visited you. More than once. A brutal man, who had drawn the lives of enemies below your feet just days ago. An imposing man, coveted by women throughout the universe. Giedi Prime’s prime playboy. Its most coveted bachelor. Why would you ever catch his attention, if duchesses and princesses were laying themselves at his feet?

Ivan must have felt how you were dragging yourself along, as he comforted: “don’t fear. I would never touch anything that is his.”

‘His’ you thought. You are not his. You are his uncle’s. With your mind clouded with these thoughts, you did not register that you had landed in the throne room. A heavy door closing tightly behind you was needed to pull you in present times again.

Looking around you, nobody seemed to be there in the scarcely lit room.

“Up here” a dark voice said from within the darkness.

You glanced up and a reflection from high up the stairs to the throne. It took a few seconds for you to realise where you were and with whom. “Apologies my lord. Please forgive me for not addressing you correctly immediately” as the front of your head tapped the ground while nearly laying on the ground.

“Come here” the na-Baron instructed.

Reluctantly you stepped up the stairs. Somehow it had felt safe not being in direct contact with him, despite everything that had happened. A sense of security and distance had protected you. As if it was all but an elaborate fantasy. But now, now you being all alone and him having chosen to reveal who he was: it was so direct, so unfiltered. So real.

The space between the end of the platform where the throne stood, and where he was sitting was not even half a meter, so you waited on the last step. To keep your distance. To further increase the distance between you, you had averted your eyes to your feet.

“Is this how you approach your lord?” he grunted.

Your eyes glanced up for just a fraction of a second, to see his beautiful lips curled in anticipation, his head tilted as if he was looking at prey, his eyes locked on you. You had been caught in his net. There was no escaping.

He caught your eyes, smirked and looked at your feet, while sitting relaxed on the throne with his legs hanging wide. You immediately knew what he was referring to, and fell to your knees again.

“Closer” he instructed you, causing you to crawl up to the platform.

His left hand was found your cheek, with his thumb running over your jaw.

You were dying of nervousness. You tried to control your breathing, which only caused you to run out of breath quicker.

“I feel you are tense. Why? There is no need” he purred, either oblivious of his reputation or perfectly aware of it.

“My lord…. I… I…” you hesitated.

“Speak up girl” he growled, as he pushed your chin forwards.

“I should not be here my lord. I am terribly sorry. I have made many mistakes, and I do not want to draw you into them as well” you said, as you tried to salvage yourself.

He laughed: “woman, who do you think I am?” He pinched you, causing you to gasp: “never doubt me again.”

“Yes, my lord” you replied while keeping your gaze down.

“And stop being so coy. We both know you are not. I want to see your true colours. Who am I dealing with? Show me you are worthy of my time” he said, nearly threateningly.

“My lord… I do not understand” you replied, frightened to make a wrong comment.

“I am disappointed. Mere days ago, you were much quicker to understand what I needed. You knew exactly what I wanted and you gave it, after a bit of convincing though. You appear demure, but you hardly are. There are not a lot of women on this planet who are so warm, so wet, so inviting” as he used his thumb to play with your lower lip. “Don’t be ashamed. Be proud. Not often that my playmates survive if they are not my pets. Not often that I come back.”

The eyes from your face, that turned red full of shame, briefly leaped from the floor to how high you could see without moving your head. He was sitting on the throne with leisurely clothing. Not prepared for fights this time, or war councils; he was settled. Through the softness of his clothing you could see that what lay below that was less soft and pliable. You saw how he did not make any effort to prevent you from seeing the arousal that was running through his veins.

“Show me where your loyalty lays. Who your master is” he stated, nearly declared, pushing his thumb towards your teeth as he pulled your chin down.

You looked up at his, ever so briefly, wanting to say that it was his uncle Igor. But you couldn’t. This young lord was mesmerizing. He was known for his brutality, but also his protection over who are his. Nobody spoke with joy or compassion about Igor; not even with fear, only with disdain. You created an opening between your teeth to draw him in, tasing the saltiness from his finger through your softly lapsing tongue.

With his digit hooked on your teeth he drew you closer.

His hand evicted your mouth, to reach the side of your head, which he started to caress. He knew what he was doing. He knew what impact he had. You hardly registered that he had placed his hand around the front of your neck, tilted your head and asked: “tell me,” with a smoky voice, “tell me who commands you”.

Your breathing got irregular as you opened your mouth to whisper without thinking what could be your own death sentence: “you, my Lord.”

His hand moved to the back of your head, as he started to fumble your hair: “prove it” with a husky low voice, tilting his face to look down on you as he spread his legs just a bit wider.

He left no doubt to his intentions.

As you sat kneeled in front of the-Baron, you placed your hands his upper legs. It must have been clear to him that there was still internal turmoil, battling between excitement and fear. Your tender fingers scouted the fabric, as if to find out how to untie it, how to unwrap him, almost as if he had concealed a present.

You had seen male excitement before, but it seemed different now. Everything seemed different. Larger, grander, more imposing. Not covered by layers of fat, but surrounded by chiseled muscles. With this cock no longer hidden after your unpacking you gulped.

Your fingers glanced over his nakedness, followed by allowing his tip to enter the warm and wet environment he had been so keen to explore. Every step you took was still deeply contemplated. There was no ease, not yet. Your animalistic instincts were still to kick in. To your surprise he allowed you to dictate your own pace. His uncle would have already held your head and shoved himself in your throat. If the young lord would have done the same, the impact would been considerably more painful, looking at his size.

He was big. Long, girthy, veiny yet smooth, pale, throbbing, the tip already shining of anticipation. Physically impressive, as every part of him. As he allowed for small groans to escape him, the same as you had heard in the hammam, you started to feel euphoric, victorious, capable. You would undertake this pursuit, and you would succeed. That is what you had always done, and now would not be any different.

You still needed to see how he would respond. There was no rush. So, you started mapping the area, before making any further decisions. He felt how you allowed your hands to roam, see how he would respond to your touches, trailing him, moving him, increasingly with rhythm to match his moans.

Your tongue slid up and down his shaft, the same motion repeated with your lips, followed by a combination. Feeling more confident with every sound he allowed to escape, you allowed your tongue to glance through and around his tip, seeing how far he could go in. You pulled away the coverings repeatedly to expose the protected top.

His naked tip was smooth and round, dripping, almost like ripe fleshy fruit. A bacchanal it offered to be. It begged to be licked, sucked, eaten, have its juices captured and spilled all around her mouth. It had the fatal cry of the siren, drawing its victims in to never let go. You was lured in, just as your cunt had lured him in a few days ago. Perhaps you were made for each other.

He felt so good inside you, warm, tongue lapsing, being sucked into you. It was equal to a worship. He belonged in your mouth.

You had kissed more life in him than he had ever known, but he could not endure this any longer. You felt how he longed to just reach out to grab you and hold you. Thrust himself in you, take you head and push you down on him. Your warmth, the heat in the back of your throat, the wetness that would only be secreted from a treatment like that. Feeling you gagging around him.

You placed your hands on his hips again, looked up and softly shut and opened your eyes again. You gave him permission to do exactly that.

Within seconds he filled your throat with black cum, as he moaned. Animalistic. Rough. Pure. You had pledged yourself to him through this ritual. And he had done the same.

You both had signed a death sentence, committing you to each other.

+++

You still did not know why you of all people caught the eye of the heir to the Harkonnen throne and all their fiefs. Perhaps it was due to your background; contrary to the other mistresses you have known a life beyond Lankiveil and Giedi Prime, being a recent spoil of war from the sacking of Caladan? Perhaps it was due to your appearance? Not pail, but with an olive-coloured skin. Not bold, but with long luscious hair. Not moulded into staying small and frail, physically enacted on this planet through years of being deprived of food and mentally through deprivation of education. You knew you stood out. And however much you tried to blend in with the never-ending walls you were standing against, you could not help but observe your surroundings, process, and learn.

Despite all of these considerations, you still did not truly know why you of all women who crossed the path of the infamous Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen were lucky enough to gather his attention.

+++

Within a matter of days, you found yourself thrown on your hands and knees in the same throne room. Kicked to the ground, below the steps were Igor sat, together with his brother, their nephew standing behind them. A treatment he could not give the na-Baron, causing you to take the penalty for both.

You knew what this was all about. It became difficult to breath. Your mind started running to find a way out. To salvage yourself.

Ivan was called in: “do you confess that you have stolen this concubine from me, and allowed her to desecrate the sacredness of the Baron’s throne?” You glanced to your side, seeing how Ivan was battered, barely alive. Dried up blood surrounding his face and neck, bruises covering his arms, his clothing stripped to pieces on his back as result of countless whips. “Yes, my lord. I confess” he screeched.

Fear instilled in your bones. The treatment he had undergone set the benchmark for what you were awaiting, his crime being less than yours.

“You whore. You unfaithful whore!” Igor shouted. “I have saved you from those savages, and this is how you repay my benevolence. I should flay you alive and hang you for the birds to feed on” he growled, anger seeping through every pore of his body.

“But my nephew has begged me not to do that. So, what I will do, is to take from him what he has taken from me.” Your heart raced through your body. You had no clue what would happen to you, or whether you would even survive. You tried to glance to Feyd-Rautha, who was standing obediently between the Baron and his brother. No life seemed to be present on his face.

“Soldier. Strip the whore” Igor demanded with an ice cold voice and fire shooting from his eyes.

Your heart stopped. Trying to look at Ivan, you saw him look at the na-Baron for salvation. But he did not receive that. He only received a nod from his master. A nod. A nod to continue. A seal of approval.

Ivan grunted, forcing his legs to stand up, allowing him to walk to you. He tried his best to avert your gaze, but he could not avert your whispers: “why? Stop. Please stop.” Soon your whispers became observable by others, as he tried to remove your clothes while you kept walking back, keeping your garments securely to your body. “Soldier, make haste, or it will be the last thing you do” Igor instructed. “You master does not have the power to save both of you.”

Your words turned into cries, as he backed you against a wall and started ripping you bare. You did hear him say ever so softly: “I am sorry”, while you fell to your knees, trying to protect your modesty with your arms.

Leaving you whimpering against the wall, Ivan distanced himself from you. It brought him no pleasure. You hoped the ordeal would be over with this, but you feared the worst. Igor’s wrath had not yet been soothed. His anger was palatable. Everybody in the room felt he was not done with enacting his vengeance.

“Soldier” Igor shouted. “Fuck her” spoken very slowly. As if saying it was enacting it himself.  

Both your and Ivan’s eyes glanced to Feyd’s. Suddenly life had returned to him. He tried to turn towards his younger uncle, but he was stopped by the Baron. His mouth opened to protest, but Vladimir grabbed his balls and pressed them so hard together that Feyd-Rautha fell to his knees in pain.

“Now!” Igor screamed, “or I will beat you to death myself!” He gasped for breath: “fuck the whore, the useless whore. Fuck her. Fuck her till she bleeds. Break her. Break yourself. Or I will break both of you.”

Ivan looked down on you. As you tried to stand up, he had already fallen to his knees and did as he was ordered.

During the ordeal, Feyd-Rautha was forced to watch, not being allowed to avert or close his eyes. As you were humiliated, you saw rage developing within him. You tried to leave your body, but you couldn’t. Although you were not in control anymore, you were still bound to it. You would have given everything not to be subjected to this treatment. This horror. This humiliation.  

Before long Igor laughingly declared, after Ivan had finished himself in you with small tears flowing from his eyes: “this is what happens if you take what is mine, my dear nephew” as he waved his hand to have you and Ivan removed.

You were too distressed to register the treatment that followed for the young lord.

+++

The days after the ordeal were spent locked in the quarters of the lowest servants. You were fed through a small opening in the door, and got some worn clothes, but no-one came to see you. Deep inside of you, you had hoped Feyd would have visited you, but he did not. Nor did any of the other concubines, or even Ivan. You were left to your own devices, fearful of what may come. The lonely days started to eat at you. You started to succumb to distress, in absence of any information or even human attention. You felt abandoned.

You started to lose track of time.

You stopped taking care of yourself.

+++

Long after you had stopped trying to count the days, you heard the lock open from outside your door. The moment had come for the continuation of the torture. You scooted back behind the bed, trying to hide, knowing any fate was inevitable.

It was Ivan.

“Come with me, quickly, milady” he said, as he reached out to you. Recognising he had meant no harm while forcing himself upon you, you grabbed his hand and followed him through a hallway littered with dead bodies. Looking back at Ivan you saw he had committed the bloodshed, being drenched in Harkonnen blood. His bruises had started to heal, but wounds were still visible.

Within minutes you were standing outside, in the courtyard, where you were being led into an ornithopter. Ivan jumped in the back, once he had helped you grab the front seat. There you were buckled in by the na-Baron. As a response to your questioning look, he placed a hand on your knee, speaking menacingly: “nobody treats what is mine like that” and you were airborne.

High up in the sky, hovering above the palace in Barony, he continued to speak. “My uncles are in the pleasure wing this evening. You will bring them salvation for what they did to those who serve me. You will bring me what I deserve.”

“What do you mean?” you questioned. Fearful of what may happen.

“Ivan, give her the bow” he grunted.

Ivan handed a bow and arrow to you. You looked at it, and saw they actually brought you your own bow. They were planning something.

“I have seen you practice. Your shot is good enough to reach the wing. I need you to shoot an arrow in that direction. Can you do that?” he phrased like a question, while he knew the answer already.

“Of course, but why? Why does it make sense?” you challenged.

“Because your arrow will carry fire” as he turned his face to stare you deep into your eyes.

“Fire?” you asked, as you still did not catch on to what he was saying.

“Yes. The entire wing in laced with kerosine” he smirked, his luscious lips curling into delightful little bows.

“Light my arrow” you coldly replied as you placed it on your bow and presented the point to Ivan.

“I chose the right person” he chuckled as he placed his hand on your knee again, squeezing it to remind you that you who your master was.

That night you received your revenge, as you looked upon the heat rising up from the place so many horrors ensued from. You decided that the flames carried the screams of the men who had enslaved and raped you. Whether you were a means to an end, a means to Feyd-Rautha’s end – just an excuse to gain rulership, or whether you were more; it did not matter, now you were truly his.

+++

Post note: sorry, I could not help myself with the three striped mark. He was just so delicious in his Adidas trousers… and I have been listening to Kerosine of Crystal Castles on repeat for the last few days

[lairofdeer]

Somebody posted about caribou cock, which caused me to remember some thinking I had done on the subject of being "raped" by a wild cervine. It's not impossible. Probably pretty easy, actually. I've seen plenty of videos of amorous bucks in rut trying to rape just regular clothed, bipedal people, and many others of them attempting to mate with decoys and even bronze statues that resemble deer. I don't think it would take much. A cheapo tannish fursuit, like the ones they sell at Halloween. Maybe some scent killer, to minimize our human stink, and a very liberal dose of estrus doe urine, a secluded place in deer-infested woods during the rut, maybe a doe-call gizmo. Lube and some inside prep may be a good idea, because you've seen how they mate. At best it will hurt, and at worst be the end for you. Shame deer aren't more considerate lovers. A little probing and then all they have, in one thrust. Not much fun, really- other than how cool it would be to just have had a wild animal fuck the daylights out of you. Feeling all the cum sluice out of his cock in one heave must be awesome though, that's what gets the does to cum. I'd probably cum too. I'd like to try to blow him. Right down the throat like a sword-swallower. He'd cum directly into my esophagus; pity I didn't get the opportunity to taste and swirl his seed around in my mouth though. Semi-domesticated reindeer/caribou would be easy, it's probably possible to teach some young bucks to just be a little more gentle, best done out of rut. But, once they know you can get them off it might not be possible for you to interact with them in a "normal" way until you've got them off again. Animals don't forget you when you allowed them to cum in you, and they're not going to let you forget either.

this is like a BOOK! a GUIDE!

well, can't say i'd exactly want to do all that irl given the risk, but damn it's fun to imagine 🥴

if only i could get a stag to lovingly breed me and care for me though 😔

[louddydisturb]

what's the matter harry? you look like you've seen a ghost

Depois do estouro da franquia de panico londres se tornou um alvo dos ataques do ghostface, harry, seu namorado e melhor amiga estavam na procura de só mais uma festinha com drogas e bebidas mas tudo tomou um outro rumo

Louis, 28

Harry, 23

Tw: h!fem, cnc, agressão, sequestro, manipulação, rape play, knife play, traição, morte, sangue, fear play

Viu deixar aqui minha recomendação se quiserem ouvir com change (in the house of flies) e cherry waves dos deftones

Boa leitura e espero que gostem :))

Sol.

“Essa festa vai ser incrível! Juro passamos horas tentando fazer essa maquiagem parecer real” Madison tagarelava no banco de trás do carro exibindo o “machucado perfeito” que ela e harry demoraram pelo menos 2 horas e refizeram pelo menos umas 3 vezes, ela estava fantasiada Lara croft com um extra de uma facada na barriga

“Vocês realmente levaram isso a serio” Tyson, namorado de harry, estava fantasiado de jack skellington fazendo par com harry que estava vestida de sally

“Essa é a maior festa do ano, literalmente todo mundo estava esperando” Madison continua

“Não sei não, não fazem nem 48 horas que acharam mais um corpo e é obvio que tem um serial Killer a solta” harry fala apreensiva enquanto arruma a peruca vermelha

“Relaxa, amor. Seja lá quem esteja fazendo isso não iria ter a cara de pau de matar em uma festa cheia de gente” Tyson estaciona na frente da casa de festa “e caso aconteça você sabe que eu vou estar aqui pra te proteger” o cacheado passa o braço pelos os ombros de harry que suspira desconfortável

“Se eu fosse não falaria isso, o filme favorito dela é pânico e os namorados não são muito uteis” Madison zoa antes de sair do carro

“As amigas são as primeiras a morrer” Tyson rebate antes de sair seguido de harry

🔪 🩸

‘I was made for loving you baby’ tocava alto pelo salão, harry cantava junto com Madison enquanto Tyson buscava mais bebidas

“Te falei que iria valer a pena!” Madison falava alto

“Tirando o fato que parece que alguém tá observando a gente o tempo todo”

“É uma festa harry, tem pelo menos 200 pessoas aqui”

“Certo” os olhos verdes caem em Tyson que voltava com dois copos de bebida, ou melhor, na figura escura atrás dele

Um arrepio correu por toda a espinha da cacheada

“Tinha uma fila imensa no bar” o garoto entrega os copos com bebida e abraça a cintura de harry que estava estática sem ao menos piscar “amor? Tudo bem?”

“S-sim” ela toma um pouco da bebida focando no mais alto em seu lado

O celular de harry vibrou, uma notificação de uma mensagem de um numero desconhecido.

Harry aproveitou a distração dos outros para abrir as três fotos enviadas

Ela obviamente reconheceu o local, era a balada que eles estavam porem em uma área mais afastada perto do bar onde tinha vários sofás e mesas. Oque fez o sangue de harry ferver foi ver o “casal” se beijando no canto da foto, era a porra de seu namorado e uma loira desconhecida

“Que porra…” harry xinga baixo

“Oque aconteceu?” Os olhos castanhos de Tyson a encaram em curiosidade

Seu celular vibra novamente

Era outra foto mas agora no centro da foto estava harry

A cacheada olha em volta mas não parecia ter ninguém olhando ou com o celular

“Vou no banheiro” ela se afasta caminhando rápido até o local

Para sua sorte o banheiro parecia estar vazio, ela entrou e trancou a porta

“Canalha” ela sentia seu peito doer só de imaginar que a pessoa que ela mais confiava estava a traindo sem o mínimo peso na consciência

Seu celular tocou, “chamador desconhecido” brilhava no display

“Alô?”

“Alô” uma voz grave sooa do outro lado da linha

“Quem é?”

“Quem é?”

“Ha ha muito engraçado zayn, chega da brincadeirinha”

“Zayn?” A voz continua “não conheço nenhum zayn, harry. Ou melhor sally” harry sente todo seu corpo arrepiar

“Quem é você?”

“Quem é você? Quem é você? Quem é você? Todo falam a mesma coisa. Acredito que tenha feito a pergunta errada, harry”

“Oque você quer?”

“Brincar”

“Brincar?”

“Um jogo, se eu ganhar temo que essa seja a ultima coisa que você vai fazer” harry sentia seu corpo tremer ao que ela tirou o celular da orelha na tentativa de desligar a chamada “Não desligue caso queira continuar com todos os orgãos em seu copo, harry” a voz soou mais grave

“Ta bom ta bom, qual é o jogo” ela tentava esconder o medo em sua voz

“Perguntas e respostas sobre filmes de terror, você gosta certo? Se errar você terá uma surpresinha que não acho que seja muito agradavel para você”

“Pode começar”

“A primeira pergunta, harry. Qual o nome do assassino de sexta-feira 13?”

“Pamela”

“Pamela?”

“Pamela voorhees! A mãe de jason!”

“Certo… está com sorte, harry. Oque chris faz para não ser hipnotizado em corra?”

“Corra… ele arranha o braço do sofá!”

“A ultima, harry… quem era o assasino em panico 1?”

“Billy! Billy loomis” um silencio toma conta da chamada

Derrepente a porta do banheiro estoura revelando uma figura alta vestida de preto com uma mascara de ghostface

“Errado” harry sente seu corpo entrar em panico e não conseguia ao menos correr “qual o problema harry? Parece que você viu um fantasma” a faca brilhava na pouca luz do lugar

“Puta que pariu” ela começa a revirar sua propia bolsa ao que o desconhecido começa a se aproximar

“Procurando isso?” Ele gira o taser nos dedos “não acho que tenha muita escolha sally” ele avança e harry se abaixa se arrastando até uma das cabines do local

“Quer brincar de esconde esconde?” Um murro é deixado na porta de madeira fazendo-a quase quebrar “qual seu filme de terror favorito, harry?”

“Sai daqui!”

“Todo mundo tem um favorito” outro soco é deixado na porta e ela finalmente cede

O ghostface a encurrala contra a parede do pequeno cubículo “sabe qual é o meu?” A lamina da faca passeia pelo pescoço de harry antes de cortar a blusinha do vestido da garota ao meio “o nosso”

“Você é louco” ela se rebatia mas só fazia o aperto em seu braço ficar mais firma

“Todos nós enlouquecemos as vezes, harry” a garota achou que por um segundo ela reconhecia aquela voz

“S-sai”

“Acho que devia ter mais atençao com seus bolsos” harry tira o teaser do bolso da calça jeans preta e consegue escapar do aperto

Ela corria pela balada lotada, não conseguindo localizar madison ou tyson no meio de toda a gente

Ela se arrependeu no exato momento em que pisou na rua escura do lado de fora da balada, era 3:00 da manhã não passava um misero carro na rua

Harry correu.

Correu até seus pulmões pedirem uma pausa e suas pernas não aguentarem o peso de seu próprio corpo

Ela entrou em um beco escuro enquanto tentava ligar para alguma ajuda mas nenhuma ligação completava

“Achou que eu não ia te achar, gatinha?” Harry congelou sabendo exatamente quem estava por trás daquela mascara

“Tomlinson” ela se rastejou ate suas costas baterem em uma parede, as botas pretas do outro soando na brita do chão

“Tomlinson? Gosta de brincar de advinhar né?” Ele se agacha em frente a garota observando os olhos verdes se arregalarem “acho que errou mais uma vez”

Um pano é forçado contra o rosto de harry, ela se debate sentindo seu corpo ficar leve e sua visão começar a embaçar. Era como se ela estivesse flutuando sobre nuvens

“Dormindo como um bebê” ele pega harry no colo ao que a garota perde completamente a consciência em seus braços

🔪 🩸

Harry acorda sentindo seu corpo inteiro doer. Ela abre os olhos lentamente observando a sua volta

Ela estava em uma especie de porão que era iluminado apenas por uma lamparina e a luz da rua que entrava pela pequena janela, tinha uma especie de mesa com uma mochila e oque ela reconheceu ser sua bolsa. Harry tentou se levantar mas alem da fita em sua boca ela também estava amarrada em uma cadeira no centro da sala

A porta de metal se abre e louis passa por ela, ainda com a mascara cobrindo seu rosto porem agora a camisa preta tinha os botões abertos e com marcas de sangue em seu peitoral

“Que bom que acordou, bichinho. Por um momento achei que tinha exagerado no sonifero” ele caminha devagar jogando uma bolsa preta no chão “está com frio? O aquecedor daqui parou de funcionar deve ser por isso que está tão inquieta” louis retira a luva e então acaricia a bochecha macia de harry, essa que afasta o rosto em uma tentativa falha de se afasta do toque “oque foi? Sempre gostava dos meus toques” ele puxa a fita da boca de harry fazendo as bochechas cheinhas arderem

“Louco! Você é louco, Louis!”

“Não sou louco, amor” a lamina afiada corta levemente a meia calça de harry “fui tão legal com você, sequer te machuquei, e é assim que sou agradecido”

“Você é maniaco! Me sequestrou só porque ficou com raivinha?”

“Não te sequestrei, harry. Você precisa entender as coisas melhor” ele aperta o pescoço da cacheada fazendo o ar começar a ficar limitado “apenas te “trouxe para um passeio”, você já estava na rua e em um beco escuro, é perigoso existem muitos loucos por ai”

“L-louco” harry sentia que podia desmaiar novamente a qualquer momento

Harry tosse tentando regular sua respiração ao que louis se afasta de si

“Acho que ja ta bom do xingatório” em um movimento ele corta a fita que a prendia na cadeira, deixando somente a fita que prendia suas mãos, e puxando-a pelo braço fazendo a garota cair no chão frio “vamos lá, harry. Você sabe muito bem como isso funciona” ele desabotoa a calça jeans tirando o membro duro do aperto

Os cachos são puxados fazendo harry gemer baixinho de dor, o membro duro batia nas bochechas de harry sujando-as de pré-porra

Lagrimas escorrem involuntariamente ao que a mão pesada de louis se choca contra com seu rosto e ele segura seu queixo fazendo-a abrir a boca

“Isso, amor. Viu como mesmo depois do inutil do teu namorado você ainda sabe como eu gosto” o tomlinson estoca contra a garganta de harry fazendo a garota engasgar e se afastar tossindo assustada

“Talvez tenha se desacostumado mas não é nada que eu não possa te ensinar de novo” ele deixa alguns tapinhas nas bochechas vermelhas, harry abriu a boca sentindo o gosto do pré-gozo inundar seu palato ao que louis voltou a estocar gemendo rouco

Louis sentia seu estomago revirar ao sentir os gemidos da garota em seu pau, só assim notando como ela rebolava em seu sapato em busca de algum alivio

“Viu como já está voltando a ser uma puta, amor?” Ele se afasta chutando harry que se encolhe no chão “você não passa disso, Uma putinha sem cerebro”

“Louis… por favor” a voz de harry estava completamente fodida

“Vem, amor. Não ache que eu só vou te largar, nem sequer me fez gozar ainda” ele puxa harry com força, a jogando contra a mesa branca encostada na parede. Sua bunda ficando empinada no vestido curto que mal fazia o trabalho de a cobrir

Louis termina de levantar a sainha antes de cortar a meia calça fininha junto com a calcinha de harry

“Olha como você ta molhada feito uma vagabunda” o homem era agressivo e penetrar dois dedos na grutinha molhada fazendo harry gemer alto e bater os pés tentando o afastar “quieta”

Ele puxou o pescoço da garota tendo a visão rostinho choroso e os lábios inchados de tanto serem maltratados

Um tapa ecoou pela sala fazendo os lamurias da cacheada ficarem ainda mais altas

“Shh… tudo bem, bichinho” ele tira os dedos de dentro dela levando em seguida para os lábios gordinhos

Harry geme abafado sentindo o falo duro a preencher

Louis apertava a cintura fininha deixando a sua mão marcada perfeitamente ali

“Porra hazza…” ele puxa a garota para perto de si fazendo-a apoiar a costa em seu peito

Harry gemia chorosa com a cabeça apoiada no ombro tatuado, ela podia o sentir perfeitamente em sua barriga

As estocadas continuas faziam o baixo ventre de harry revirar e suas pernas tremerem

“Eu vou g-gozar” ela fala entre gemidos

“Que egoista, bichinho.” Ele brinca com os mamilos rijos sentindo a cacheada se molhar ainda mais em seu pau

“Por favor” lagrimas se formavam no canto dos olhos verdes e ela tremia desnorteada contra o peito de louis

Um grito agoniado ecoou pelo comodo quando a lamina afiada traçou um LT perfeito na bunda machucada de harry

“Quer gozar sozinha? não te ensinei a ser egoista, amor.” As estocadas começavam a descontrolar indicando o quão perto louis também estava

“Louis…”

“Goza” ele diz ríspido sentindo harry se apertar em volta de seu pau e gozar molhando toda a mesa e pelves de louis, esse que levantou a mascara puxando a garota para um beijo ávido e quente enquanto gozava

ele deixa mais um tapa na banda cheinha antes de cortar a fita dos pulsos pálidos

🔪 🩸

O suv estaciona no meio fio algumas casas antes da casa de Madison, harry desce do carro correndo e sentindo seu coração bater descontrolado

“MAD! MADISON ABRE PORFAVOR!” Ela batia rápido na porta branca que não demorou a ser aberta pela garota

“Harry?! Oque aconteceu? Meu deus você tá bem?” Ela ajuda a cacheada a entrar na casa, trancando a porta principal logo em seguida

“Ele me achou” harry soluçava abraçando a amiga “o assassino” os olhos verdes a encaram em agonia

“Oque? Você ta machucada? Harry…”

“Ele me torturou mads” harry continua sentindo as lagrimas quentes molharem sua bochecha e o moletom da outra garota “liga para o Tyson”

“Harry… ele foi encontrado morto não muito longe da balada ontem”

“Oque?! Como…” os lábios de harry perdem completamente o sangue

“28 facadas e-“ a fala de Madison é cortada com a figura mascarada que aparece no reflexo do espelho “harry… harry ele ta aqui!” A garota tenta corre mas é segurada por harry que continuava parada no lugar “harry? O assassino ta aqui!”

“Eu sei… se tivesse prestado atenção nas vezes que assistimos filmes saberia que sempre tem dois assassinos” a lamina afiada é cravada no estômago da outra “se não estivesse tão ocupada ficando com o meu namorado” a pupila de harry estava tomada pelo preto e aos poucos o casaco laranja sujava mais com o sangue “agora você pode ter ele todinho pra você, filha da puta” a lamina atravessa a cabeça da garota que cai inconsciente no chão, uma poça de sangue se formando no carpete claro

“Muito bem, amor” louis se aproxima retirando a mascara e deixando um beijo no topo da cabeça cacheada “melhor irmos”

[storm-angel989]

Hi, I don't know if this is too dark of a request so feel free to ignore it if it is but I was hoping to request a valentino one-shot where valentino's teenage son is sexually assaulted by his boyfriend and how valentino helps him through the trauma and is protective of him? Sorry if it's too dark.

Hi there!

It's not too dark of a request- its a reality that oh too many of us have gone through. I wanted to be sure everyone who is putting themselves in reader's shoes can feel the love Val has for his son. I kept the incidental details vague for that reason.

If you want more specifics, please feel free to request- otherwise I hope this story helps someone, somewhere, take another step closer to healing.

Love,

Mandy

Valentino noticed almost immediately that something wasn’t quite right. 

It wasn’t as though he didn’t know the signs. The change in behavior, the quietness. The slipping of grades. But when he noticed several of his pills missing, Valentino knew he had to have a talk with reader. 

A gentle confrontation turned into a sobbing mess. Valentino stepped forward and for the first time in his life, he watched his son flinch away. Then the words came, the words Valentino never wanted to hear.

“Dad, he raped me,” and with those words, reader broke down.

Valentino cursed himself for not making the connection sooner. After all- he was the overlord of lust and depravity. Hell, every single part of him oozed raw sexuality. He should have known what was going on. 

It took everything in Valentino’s power to not lose his temper, to not immediately order a hit on his son’s rapist. Instead, he swallowed back his anger. He needed to focus on his son first and above all. 

“Reader, I believe you. And I’m here to listen when you’re ready to talk.” 

He watched as his son heaved tears and silently, Valentino opened his arms. To his relief, reader leaned into his shoulder and sobbed as he held him. Slowly, the story came out. It was all Valentino could do to keep his own emotion in check while he listened. 

“What happened isn’t alright,” he said quietly when reader finished. “It isn’t okay. And it isn’t your fault.”

“I shouldn’t have been at his house, you told me…”

“That doesn’t make it your fault,” Valentino replied gently. 

“But Dad he…I…we’ve done it before, but I told him no and he just…he held me down and I…I didn’t fight back, Dad,” Reader choked out. “I told him no, but I couldn’t…I should have, I didn’t….”

“No. Nothing you said or did makes what he did to you alright,” Valentino replied firmly. “I don’t care what you were wearing, where you were or what was running through your system. It wasn’t your fault, you weren't asking for it.”

Reader was quiet for a moment. “Dad, I’m so..I’m so ashamed.”

Valentino gently reached over and cupped his son’s chin. “Look at me, mi amore. There is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. It took a ton of courage for you to share this with me, and I am here to help you get through it in anyway I can.”

Reader looked down. “Dad…do you still love me?” 

Valentino could feel his heart breaking. Fuck. Fuck that son of a bitch who put his son in this position. He took a deep breath and pulled reader into his arms tightly. 

“Listen to me. I will always love you. And we will get through this, together. You’re not alone, nor will you ever have to go through this alone. I promise.”

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

If requests are still open I’d like to request a fic where Maegor marries Aenys’ second oldest daughter, after his death.

A/N: I hope you like this! Requests are always open!

pairing: Fanon!Maegor Targaryen x Reader

summary: Maegor marries Aenys’ second oldest daughter, after his death.

Word count: 2,5K

Warnings: Angst, forced marriage, a little rape, smut

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

You trembled under the heated gaze of your uncle ceasing you up along with your mother and siblings. He had just usurped the throne for himself instead of letting your brother Aegon take it who was currently stuck along with your sister Rhaena in Casterly Rock.

"That crown is not yours to wear!" Your mother glared at him. He only smirked and turned to look at his mother standing stoically beside him. You were the second child of your father and mother being only a year younger than Rhaena and two older than Aegon.

"And it is your child of a son's?" Maegor asked crossing his legs with his ankle on his lap. He looked intimidating enough without having to try with his height and muscles but seeing him with your grandfather's crown on his head and wearing his amor he looked deadly.

"Yes!" Your mother screamed. Your younger brothers Viserys and Jaehaerys sought safety in your arms. You held them close to your body with a hand on each of their backs trying your hardest to comfort them but it was hard when you were scared yourself. Alysanne was in the arms of her wet nurse also shaking in dear.

Your heart dropped when your uncle's eyes trailed to you. His eyes had an evil glint in them that made you want to hurl yourself out of the window in fear.

"Hmmm, I have a solution" He said turning back to look at your mother. She straightened her back as politics took over her mind.

"What could excuse this behaviour?" She asked. Her arms crossed in front of her and her eyebrows pinched closer to one another, she was more Queen Alyssa than your mother in that moment.

"Wed your second eldest to me and I will let you leave in peace" He answered. Rolling his neck a little to look at his mother who nodded approvingly. You took a step back pulling your brothers with you. Your mother turned to look at you noticing the fear in your eyes and the tears streaming down your face already over losing your father. Her gaze hardened however when she looked at your siblings. You begged her in your head to refuse.

"And the throne?" She turned back around to look at Maegor. Visenya's eyes trailed to you, you were young and naive. She would enjoy watching how her son will fair with a wife like you.

"Will go to the heir produced off this union" He answered. He uncrossed his legs leaning forward a little. The maester standing in the corner muttered under his breath of this abomination, first your siblings wed and Maegor had two wives now he wanted to get a third wife who was his niece as well.

"What if one of your other wives produced an heir first?" Your mother uncrossed her arms. She stepped closer to Maegor.

"Mother" Your voice was filled with horror. She was ready to sacrifice you for her own safety and your siblings instead of finding a solution to save you all.

"Hush child" It was Visenya who spoke to you. Your eyes watered even more. Now it was you leaning on your brothers with your arms around their shoulders for support.

"They will be behind our children in line" Maegora assured her. You gulped when his eyes glanced at you. You could feel the cruelty creeping off of him. He was no man, he was a monster.

"Deal" Your mother's voice rang through your head, the sound of diplomacy. Her words echoed in your head as the maids forced you into a dress meant for a Valyrian wedding. Her cold stare made you shiver as Queen Visenya officiated your wedding to your uncle. Her quick and cold hug made you cry before she and your siblings left you to the mercy of your uncle.

"Endure it" Was all Visenya said before leaving you alone in your room. She had helped you change from the ceremonial dress to a sheer night gown. You felt exposed and dirty. Your uncle had forbade the bedding ceremony, saying you were of blood of the dragon and no one should see you in that state.

Your blood ran cold either way when the doors to the room opened and your uncle stepped inside. Your eyes did not leave your own reflection in the mirror as you brushed through your hair. You wanted to stay there and then, imagning it was your warm mother doing it instead of the cold one who had left you earlier that day along with your siblings.

"You look breathtaking, ābrazȳrys" Wife. Your uncle's voice dripped arousal. Your hand holding the comb froze but you kept your gaze on yourself feeling self pity rise in your chest.

"Aren't you going to answer your husband?" He questioned. His large hand rested on your shoulder squeezing almost painfully. You finally found the courage to raised your gaze and look at him through the mirror. He looked the part of a tyrant as good as he played.

"Thank you, valzȳrys" Husband. Your voice was monotone but still you could hear the fear in it. Your mother had told you how it went after marriage, what was expected of you and the act to produce an heir that was very much need being a huge part in the deal between your now husband and your mother.

"Much better, zaldrītsos" Little dragon. His hand trailed down around your neck showing just how big he was and how easily he could overpower you if you even though to disobey. Then it trailed down over your breasts giving each one of them a squeeze, painful enough to make your eyes tear up.

"Shhh, zaldrītsos, uncle will take care of you" Little dragon. He whispered. He enjoyed watching you squirm in pain. His hand trailed down to your middle cupping your cunt. In one swift move he stood up straight and pulled you to your feet.

"Answer me!" He glared heatedly at you. Every nerve in your body twitched with fear.

"Sorry, valzȳrys" Husband. You whimpered. He smirked darkly like he just won a prize. His hand bunched up your night gown and pulled it over your head and threw it some where in the room.

"Much better, zaldrītsos" Little dragon. He pushed you against the wall beside the vanity table. Your eyes widened as he made quick word to undo his his belt and pushed down his trousers. Your mother said it should be in the bed but you were nowhere near it.

"Jump" He ordered. You were confused having never down or seen anything like this. Your gaze was locked on his shaft seeing how big it was, normal for a man his size.

He huffed annoyed wrapping his arms under your thighs and pulled you up and wrapped your legs around his waist. He leaned his head on your shoulder sucking harshly, he wanted to mark you and show everyone who you belonged to. His sucking moved up your neck and then moved to the other side of your neck. You could not help but feel pleasure form the action.

"Uncle" You moaned as he bit down on your pulse point. Fingers running through his short silver-blonde hair the same color as yours.

"Yes, let the whole keep hear, niece" he pulled back to smirk at you. Your eyes widened when he lined his cock with your entrance.

"You're wet" He pointed out. You had not realised that his actions had aroused you. You gulped looking down watching as his head pushed. He paused his movement to pull your head up so you would look at him instead.

"Look at me, keep your eyes on me" he ordered. You nodded loosing all ability to speak from the fear. Your eyes watered as the pain hit you when he pushed fully in breaking your maidenhead.

"It hurts" You cried not daring to take your eyes off of him. A tear rolled down your cheek but your uncle was quick in licking it off your cheek. Only then when he was the one to break eye contact did you allow your eyes to close and leaned your head back against the wall.

"It will go away" He promised, surprisingly gentle. He held you close as he moved off the wall cock still deeply seated inside of you. He laid you down on the bed seeking your comfort. You opened your eyes to look at him with acceptance.

"Move, valzȳrys" Husband. You gave him permission not like he needed it, he could have gotten what he wanted already but chose to wait for you. Maybe this marriage would not be the worst thing you had to live through.

"Oh is my byka ābrazȳrys, needy?" Little wife. He teased. He pulled out slowly eyes never leaving yours. Your hands snaked around his neck and then down his back feeling every muscle there flex under your touch. A moan emitted from your lips as he pushed back in.

"Needy syt ñuha rōva valzȳrys" Needy for my big husband. You found enough confidence to tease him back. He threw his head back as he laughed at your words. His pace also grew faster but not enough for him to be slamming in you but more like rocking back and forth.

"how scandalous byka ābrazȳrys! nyke gōntan daor gīmigon īlē such iā witty byka run" How scandalous little wife! I did not know you were such a witty little thing. He leaned his head down to mouth at your chest. Your nippled pebbled as his tongue licked over them. He latched and sucked hungrily.

"Qogralbar nyke hae ao nūmāzma ziry, valzȳrys" Fuck me like you mean it, husband. Your urged growing frustrated with his slowly and calculated moves. He did not respond too busy sucking on your nipple but he pulled out of you slowly but slammed back in roughly making you cry out.

"Hae bisa?" Like this? He questioned pulling away far enough to see your face. You nodded your head eagerly. Pleasure coursed through your body with each stroke of his cock inside your warm and velvety walls.

"Sepār hae bona" Just like that. You whimpered. He picked up the pace slamming into you painfully but you loved it. A scream of his name ripped through your throat. One of your hands trailed up to his hair needing to hold onto something while the other one trailed down to his bottom almost as if you wanted to assist him with his movement.

"Jurnegon rȳ nyke" Look at me. He ordered, tone growing harsher and more king like. You understood now why Maegor would be a much better king than Aegon or maybe you were just brainwashed by his cock.

"Open aōha relgos sweat ābrazȳrys" Open your mouth sweet wife. You obeyed, sticking out your tongue for good measure. He smirked before pursing his lips and spitting on your tongue. You moaned when you felt the warm liquid touch your tongue but kept your tongue out either way. His hips slammed at a faster pace inside of you.

"Swallow" He said in the common tongue. You obeyed again like a puppet on a string. He groaned feeling his peak closing in on him.

"Valzȳrys kostilus, mirros iksis happening" Husband please, something is happening. Your moans sounded heavenly in his ears. He was sure the entire Keep could hear you two, hear how good he was fucking and how good your cunt was receiving him.

"Cum dōna ābrazȳrys" Sweet wife. Was what made the damn break. Lips touch your ear with each letter, breath tickling your neck and then his tongue licked a strip down to your breasts. His cock hammered inside of you despite your screams of pleasure. Your juices gushed out, squirting onto Maegor's cock, abdomen and the bed, some of it was a pinkish colour having been mixed with your maidenhead blood.

"Ñuha vok ābrazȳrys" My perfect wife. He moaned his release washing over him as well. All his movement stopped and he stilled inside of you shooting rope after rope of his hot seed into your womb.

"Kessa cum isse nyke, nūmo nyke se mazverdagon nyke hōzigon lēda aōha riña, uncle, valzȳrys, ñuha dārys" Yes cum in me, seed me and make me swell with your child, uncle, husband, my king. You moaned feeling aroused still despite squirting only moments ago. Maegor's cock surprisingly did not soften after his orgasm. His stamina was not shocking at all.

"Oh pāsagon nyke kesan, kesan qogralbar ao lēda hen ñuha cum ēva aōha belly swells hen se amount se skori ao jiōragon ziry mirre hen aōha belly would iēdrosa sagon lēda hen ñuha vok zaldrīzes blooded riñar, dōna ābrazȳrys, niece, ñuha dāria" Oh believe me I will, I will fuck you full of my cum until your belly swells from the amount and when you get it all out your belly would still be full of my pure dragon blooded children, sweet wife, niece, my queen. Maegor never imagined that his sweet, naive and innocent niece would be this twisted.

You clenched around him feeling a second orgasm wash over you with only a couple of strokes but it was his words that had made you peak and not his cock.

"Kesan sikagon ao hae naenie heirs hae jaelā, iā gār se olvie tolī lo ao jaelagon" I will birth you as many heirs as you want, a hundred and much more if you wish. Both of your hands were on his ass now pushing attempting to push him deeper inside of you. Your mind was filled with two things only, him and his cock.

"Sȳz ābrazȳrys" good wife. His voice sounded strained, he was still sensitive from the first orgasm and was holding back with all his might to not spill inside of you again until you had reached your peak a third time.

"Fuck!" Your body shook when his finger reached down to your numb rubbing it gently unlike his cock's movement. Your head fell back on the mattress and your eyes rolled back. Feeling possessed and unable to stop the shaking when you felt his hot seed spurt inside of you triggering your third orgasm.

"Īlon're isse syt iā Bantāzma, ābrazȳrys" We're in for a long night, wife. Maegor chuckled. Hums left your lips sounding like growls from your chest as you came down still shaking with each movement. You cried out when he pulled his cock out.

"Iksan mirre aōhon" I'm all yours. You whispered finally having some control over your body. Maegor smirked sitting back on his knees and pulled your hands away from his bottom before leaning back down to hold them with of his above your head.

"Se nyke'll mazverdagon sure tolvys knows bona" And I'll make sure everyone knows that. He grinded his hips against you, rubbing his hard erection against your sensitive hole. Your body jolted at the touch whining with fear and excitement of what was to come.

"Skorkydoso glaesā iēdrosa qopsa" How are you still hard. Your question made him laugh darkly. He leaned down to capture your lips in a heated kiss for the first since this entire ordeal began.

[beyonsatan]

We need to discuss sex in astrology girlies (will be debunking a few things and will also mention r*pe) 🤒

So let’s first go over what Mars and Venus rule in modern astrology

Venus - relationships, Art, beauty

Mars - sex, aggression, war, passion

Now let’s take a look at what significations these two planets have in Hellenistic astrology which is based in ancient cultures and spiritualities like Indian, Greek and middle eastern thousands of years ago before any social constructs were even able to plague our society

Venus - Marriage, Gold, jewelry, Sex, Pregnancy and love of children, pleasure seeking, intimacy, fun, art, wealth, good fortune, socializing, sweets. gets meaning from the 5th house

Mars - Conquest, Enemies, Separation, Abuse Celibacy, Action, War, danger, Injuries, Death, Sickness, Slaves, labor, evil play, hatred, bad fortune. Gets meaning from the 6th house

Now here’s some background as followed….

Modern astrology was invented in the 1900’s so themes of Christianity and Patriarchy had every opportunity before then to instill some of its values into the practice. the REASON why modern astrology keeps associating mars and Scorpio with sex is because Scorpio rules over the genitals but it only rules over the genitals and not sex at all in traditional astrology. We keep associating the planet of conquest that is mars with sex because we have been taught by a patriarchal and puritanical society to view sex as something that should only be done in secret, is hidden and/or otherwise taboo. When you associate the planet of “conquest” mars that is malefic dominant, wrong-doing, unethical, consumes wastefully and against the good will of others with intercourse, sex then sounds like something that’s exploitative and nonconsensual. Let’s imagine mars did rule sex which it objectively does not, rape would then be a huge theme of that. Mars in general does rule assault but there is nothing amorous and consenting about the red planet. You’re probably thinking to yourself “well patriarchy is at minimum 6000 years old” and you’re absolutely right, patriarchal values are really old but many ancient and indigenous societies had faiths and beliefs that transcended these values and this is what ancient astrology draws from.

I often talk with scorpios and mars ruled people who become frustrated every time at the thought of them being hypersexualized because of their sign and just overall not feeling like a sexual person at all so hopefully this brought some confirmation to any of you mars ruled or dominant people out there.

Hope this helps xx

[boymanmaletheshequel]

I see…

I see Chione in the snowflakes and the icicles that come with the first gust of winters cold, harsh breath

I see Chione In the women who gaslight themselves into believing they deserved to be raped or assaulted, and I hurt for them.

I see Chione in the depression, but also the familial comfort that comes with the arrival of the dark season.

I see Chione when I see happy little girls building a snowman or making a snow angel, their precious innocence not yet stolen by the world

I see Chione with the barren trees, dead, yet in so, soon enough to bare green life amore come the end of the cold, long nights.

I see Chione…

[katerinaaqu]

I’m nodding along with your posts cause the thunder saga ending just didn’t sit well with me at all. I feel like once again Odysseus is being characterized as a villain and a totally ruthless, selfish person when that’s just NOT who he is in the Homeric myths. I really enjoyed the start of the musical and I admire Jay’s talent for making music. But it’s missing Odysseus’ character by a long shot and it’s missing the heart of the Odyssey

It wouldn't be the first time. Many post-homeric sources depicted Odysseus as an amoral bastard who would sell anything and anyone to achieve his goals. For instance post-homeric sources have HIM instead of the will of the gods be the one to orchestrate the sacrifice of Iphigenia and leading her to the altar.

Unfortunately Odysseus seems like free game to be turned into the villain of the story since antiquity. And that is because his methods were going against what ancient Greeks considered honorable (aka direct fight) so they strifed to use Odysseus as an example of what one shouldn't be doing plus many who created anti-war plays like Eurypedes wanted Odysseus as the symbol of anything going under the table in a war. Basically the shady aspects of war. In a way it made sense in antiquity even if it was overplayed.

Romans were also divided but many depicted Odysseus as the absolute villain because he is the taker of Troy. The ancient Roman progenitor is Aeneas who runs away from Troy after the massacre. In a way Odysseus is portrayed as the villain by the romans because he took their mythological ancestral city.

However indeed what bothers me is that this musical was not supposed to be some rewrite of Odysseus's persona. It was supposed to be an adaptation from HOMER'S Odyssey and homeric Odysseus is in my opinion the most solid Odysseus. He is not a goodie guy of course. He has tons of flaws and he made many gray decisions but he was still the hero. Not the lowkey villain. He was incredibly loyal to his friends and crew and didn't abandon them before any danger.

The Musical I think ruined his potential. Not just the thunder saga but almost everything from the end of Storm till now. Odysseus does not speak his name to Polyphemus out of his fatigue anger and insult after a week of seclusion and torture. He speaks it out of spite because he just lost his friend (that same friend that was killed off for the sakes of dramatics given that Polites is mentioned only once in the homeric poems and that is on Circe's island), he doesn't sell himself to Circe to save his men apparently no price needed to be paid. He didn't remain a slave for one year close to her. He doesn't get strikes by guilt by ACTUALLY talking to his mother in the underworld or by fear by talking to Achilles or by doubt by talking to Agamemnon. He gets zero definitive answers from Tiresias. He gets no advice from Circe he gets not his experience with Sirens. He didn't gear up to protec his men from Skylla even if Circe told him not to because she was immortal and there would be no point...

Why would anyone claim that they make an adaptation if they do not follow literally anything from the plot?

I absolutely agree. I got my hopes way too high at Troy saga because I loved the way he actually used the Iliou Persis half-saved phrase and turned it into an amazing dilemma. Those first songs were amazing and spoke volumes for the characters. However the more we move in the more disappointed I get.

Yes I still feel happy that a fellow artist shows such passion over music and how he started everything by himself and all but now I feel like he just seeks to change everything from the original and I fail to see why...why must this potential masterpiece be turned into yet another "loosely based on" thing like every typical mainstream Hollywood film? I think my expectation at first increased my disappointment now.

Quite frankly I got a glimpse of Calypso too and they seem they want to turn the story of the poor man practically being raped for 7 years and held prisoner into a bubbly romcom...seriously no...

[nattikay]

I just finished the last season of Sweet Tooth on Netflix, I gotta vent a little, warning that this post probably won't be everyone's cup of tea but I gotta say it somewhere. [there be spoilers for anyone who may care about that]

so I've been pretty invested in this show since the first season; yeah, some of the acting is pretty corny and some of the effects look a tad clunky (hello awkward Bobby puppet), but I still enjoyed the characters well enough and wanted them to succeed and also, hey, I'm a simple woman, show me cute animal-people and I'm hooked.

But....I've gotta admit that I really didn't care for the ending. Within the last three episodes of the show they pivot from "we've gotta find a cure for this virus to save humanity" to "actually on second thought humans are the REAL disease and their extinction is the cure" which........ewwwwwwww, no dude, keep your cringe nihilism to yourself k thx

And yeah, in the end they do stop the virus so the remaining humans can survive for a while longer, but all babies are still born as hybrids meaning "humanity" is going to die off within the next 80 years or so anyways.

and they try to dress this up as a great mercy, and they say oh, yeah humans have some good in them but it always comes with Bad, unlike the hybrids who got all the Good in humanity but also they're Better because they're part animal so all the Bad will die off with the humans and hybrids will live in peace forever and I'm sorry but I call bullcrap

Animals are not these great bastions of altruism and morality. Animals rape. Animals steal. Animals kill. Animals cannibalize. Animals eat prey alive.

Even the "oh but humans are greedy and want to take everything and upset the balance of nature" spiel. Buddy, contrary to what some environmentalist stories want to tell you, animals do not actually have a concept of "the balance of nature". That's why invasive species are such a big problem. Introduce an invasive predator into a region and several native prey species go extinct. Those predators don't have a concept of "conserving resources", they'll just keep hunting as long as they're hungry.

And it's not a problem unique to predators either. Remember when wolves were hunted to extinction is parts of the US and then the deer populations exploded and ate all the grass and the whole ecosystem kinda fell apart until wolves were re-introduced to the region? The deer didn't give a crap that they were eating all the grass. They weren't even consciously aware of it. They're not capable of conceptualizing abstract ideas like that.

Natural ecosystems have a balance to them because they're intricately designed systems, not because the animals that live in them are actively making Morally Right Choices to preserve them.

One major thing that separates humans from animals is that we have the capacity for morality. We have the ability to comprehend abstract concepts like freedom and conservation and honor and sacrifice etc., and with it the ability to make moral choices. We are capable of great good, and great evil. You cannot have the capacity for one without having the capacity for the other, because good and evil rest on your choices. Even if you go through your whole life doing only "nice" things, if you did those things because you had no other option, no say in the matter, are you really "good"? Good people choose to be so. I love animals and they're super cool and all, and yes some of them are very smart, but they are not really capable of making that choice (no, I don't care how much of an "angel" your dog is). They are amoral, neither morally good nor bad.

And the hybrids? It's clearly shown that they have the same capacity for choice as humans....which in turn means that yes, whether the narrative wants to admit it or not, the hybrids still have the capacity for evil just like the humans did. Giving them some animal ears or special powers doesn't change that.

Not to mention that all but one of the hybrids we've met are children. They haven't even hit puberty yet!! Of course a bunch of innocent kids are gonna look like sweet little angels compared to hardened desperate adults trying to survive an apocalypse holy flip! And just because Gus happens to be a particularly good person who strives to see the best in others does not mean that all other hybrids for the rest of time are gonna be the same! He's not good because he's part deer, he's good because he's Gus! Because he believes in good things and acts on it!

The one adult hybrid we briefly meet isn't a sweet little kid who sees the best in others, he's a grouchy old man who wants human genocide. And while I can totally understand why he as a character feels that way....that's not good dude!!!! That's not any better than the humans who want to kill the hybrids!

You didn't "remove worst of humanity and preserve the best of it" by replacing humans with hybrids. You just gave them a makeover.

Human/animal hybrids as a character concept are totally up my ally, I think they're very cool, but pretending that being part animal makes them inherently morally better than regular humans is just ridiculous imo.

tl;dr I just really hate the nihilistic "humans are uniquely evil, deserve to go extinct as a Punishment, and literally any other sapient species would be better" trope and I'm very disappointed that this show pivoted to that at the last minute.

[dangermousie]

So bandit leader needs to bang someone or die thanks to stuff FL faced down his throat so he finds the other princess...

But unlike our FL, while she had fun biting him, it's not because she's saving her virtue for marriage (she ran away from hers) or really anything but kinda unhinged foreplay on her part.

She smacks the shit out of him but, once again, it's unhinged foreplay and he can tell.

The thing that I genuinely love about this set up is bandit leader does not have modern morality or any morality - he's fine with robbery and rape and murder. So our FL was never gonna be a good match for him in any way; she's a period woman with period morality but she possesses it - she would never think it would be OK to take up with a bandit instead of her arranged marriage to save her people and for vengeance. Stick her with amoral dude, you end up in rape or escape (we got the latter.)

But our SFL is not like that. She would be mad if he hurt someone she cared for, sure. But she does not feel duty - she was running away from the marriage to save her tribe because she (and I can't blame her) puts herself first. She is EXACTLY the kind of woman who might make a good, bonnie and clyde gf for him - she is not saving her virginity and she has no moral or practical objection to banging (or potentially shacking up with for a bit with) a fearsome bandit leader who's hot and powerful.

Would he have raped her if she resisted? Sure. But the interesting thing is he didn't need to, she was game for whatever insanity.