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kiss-me-muchoo · 21 days ago

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𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 || 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐮𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐀𝐜𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐮𝐬

part one: the fallen fruit || part two: here

summary_after freeing Rome, you’ve lost Marcus Acacius, his baby and you are forced to marry Lucius Verus in order to freely rule as empress and visit Acacius’ grave

warnings_ CRINGE, age gap (legal) (I’m 20, sorry) historical inaccuracy, angst, sexism and misogyny, fluff but angst, a lot of canon divergence bc I said so. ANGST ANGST I CRIED WHILE WRITING THIS

note_ that’s it, it’s official, Paul Mescal my new bf, don’t you ever make me write a fic where I knowledge any Pedro character’s death (even if it’s canon) listen to 13 beaches pls

♪ ♫ Pedro playlist

♫ ♪ Paul playlist

✰ Index (+ fics here)

𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𓆇𓆸⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𓆇𓆸⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𓆇𓆸

Once your eyes opened, reality struck you in the harshest possible way. This time, no one was there to tend your wounds. Although they weren’t severe, they had dozed you off for days. You heard Lucilla’s scream and you closed your eyes, knowing your love was dead.

Numbness assaulted you, nausea struck you and you heard everyone gasping in horror as their beloved general’s body collapsed in the arena.

Hours after Marcus Acacius’ died, you lost his baby as well.

A day later, Rome was freed. Lucius Verus became the new emperor and you caught a fatal fever when the sun came down.

That night, death seemed like the most convenient alternative. You had lost everything you had fought for over the years. The man you loved and the prospective children were taken from you before you could’ve claimed them.

Something changed when you woke up. Like time has passed so rapidly that the pain from the loss of Acacius and your baby has healed. But as soon as you think about the would’ve, could’ve, should’ve… you start sobbing.

It’s a bright morning and the city sounds peaceful. Everyone has moved on. And you know you’ll have to. Only that, you don’t know how.

With your brother’s death, your lover and baby’s, everyone was gone.

Lucius is alive…

There’s a knock on the door and soon it opened.

A man should never intrude into a woman’s chamber he had no relationship with.

“Ah. Princess y/n you’re awake….” He says uncomfortably. You didn’t knew his name, but had been running as a politician for several years.

“I suppose I’m no longer a princess”

“Trials are happening right now, the senate is a disaster but we’re handling it okay. Lucius Verus Aurelius refuses to be crown emperor but he has argued in your favor and you have been found not guilty, but you face conspiracy charges. Consequently, you’re still a princess. And the only person we can rely on according to the law…”

You sigh, looking away from the old man to focus on the tapestry that hangs from a wall. It has a naked woman’s statue in the middle of a garden. A woman being the center of attention.

You were the maximum authority at the moment. But you still had barriers to break.

“What did you do with the corpses of my brothers?” perhaps your siblings weren’t the most lovable people, but you grew up with them. They were your last remaining family.

“Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla rest in the secluded area of the cemetery of Rome. Where the punished are buried…” you nod.

They deserved punishment, but still, an odd sensation in your stomach rested, feeling shame and pity for your brothers.

Where did the good one go? An imaginary little light sparkles upon your eyes.

“And General Acacius?”

“In his Death Will, General Acacius stated that he wanted to be buried alone in one of the islands belonging to Rome” Your eyes water and you have to bite your tongue and gulp to calm your tears.

Where he had wanted to build a home with you.

“His wife Lucilla was buried in the neighbor island upon petition” You nod, trying to sit down. You finally spot the cuts and sewed arm. Fighting Pretorials had been more difficult than participating in the war.

Alongside Marcus…

“I would like to visit his grave. Marcus Acacius’s grave” Your voice sounded broken and you could barely see the man, failing to hide your growing tears.

“There is one problem, princess y/n. Until you’re officially crown empress, you can’t leave Rome and command without being considered charged, despite being not guilty. You must marry first and I’m afraid the only suitor is Lucius Verus Aurelius”

The man that made you feel so much in no time. Who made you feel like you could be for once unconditionally loved. And that maybe Acacius was not your downfall. Maybe you had one more chance to nourish your wounded heart.

You suppress a smile. You want to see him and talk. See if he felt the same way about you and if he did, it would be a new beginning.

“Where is he?” You ask trying to hide your excitement.

“The prince is back in Numidia. He wanted to give a proper burial to his friends and his late wife especially”

The little smile on your face disappears and you look down. Unbeknownst to the man standing in front of you, you felt shame. For believing Lucius would be waiting for you.

“How so?”

“He was given permission to go back with an audience from the council” you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“And why he was allowed to go to territory that is not declared Roman by the law yet…. But I can’t go to an island that is less than four hours away, claimed by the empire hundreds of years ago?”

The man gulps, seemingly uncomfortable by your sudden snapping. Your heart beats in anxiety and the anger increases. The first minutes after you awake you already feel the burden of your new present.

“Because he’s an heir…” to that, you can only sigh. Knowing the real answer.

“And I’m a heiress. I’m… a woman”

Rome was free. But as a woman, you probably never would.

“I suggest you rest and prepare for his arrival, princess. You’ll want to be ravishing to negotiate and assume the wedding”

“I haven’t decided if I’ll marry Lucius Verus Aurelius”

“It’s not like you have much of a choice, princess. I’ll send a doctor to check on you” The bitter tone of the man made you frown. You quietly curse him as he leaves the room.

Finally alone again. Like it seemed it would be for the rest of your life.

You should’ve run faster the first time you tried to escape Rome. You should’ve climbed that wall higher, maybe, just maybe none of your disgraces would’ve happened.

You had to go to Marcus’ grave. You had to say goodbye to him. Tell him all the things you couldn’t say the last time. Because he deserved it. To let him know that no matter where your baby and he were, you would always love them.

Lucius meant nothing, you try to lie to yourself.

I won’t be part of a deal, you remember as you look at the renewed Rome.

Suddenly you realize no matter whom you decide to love, you’re always the lover, not the wife.

Always the second option, never the one.

…

Four days later, you realized you had no other choice but to attend the hearing that would determine your future. Where you would face Lucius. If you had seen him once again before he left, many things could’ve been different, you liked to think.

But given the circumstances, you had no desire to see him again. You barely knew the man, of course, he would choose his wife first even when she was dead.

Your mind betrayed you with the idea of Lucius using you just all those nights to find a way to get out of the Colosseum. No matter what, he didn’t visit you, he didn’t bother to see if you were okay. Likely, he never knew you had fallen ill.

Everyone left you behind.

Happened once as a little girl who fell for her best friend, once as a teenager who fell for an older officer who turned General and once as a young woman who fell for a gladiator and turned out to be a missing prince.

With golden brackets that cover your arms and the heaviest earrings, you nervously walked through the long marble halls of the justice building. Near the temple of the god of war, there rested the place where justice was brought.

A guard opened the door for you and once you stepped in, the room was already full.

Every man inside stood up to greet you with a little reverence and you could feel a migraine already coming.

But when your eyes found a blue pair of aquamarine diamonds looking piercingly at you, the anger mixed with nervousness.

Immediately you look away from the prince. As you took a seat at the end of the long table, you could feel him everywhere. As if Lucius was silently begging for you to look at him.

“We reunite here to revoke any charges and penalties addressed to Prince and Princess; Lucius Verus Aurelius and y/n y/l/n”

You barely hear the man speaking, you were only waiting to hear the next part.

“From the power the senate gave us and by the guidance of the gods, said charges and penalties will be revoked by uniting the prince and princess in sacred marriage. Everyone who agrees says accipio…” everyone says the word, and you close your eyes trying to avoid huffing or ending up screaming in disagreement. Your father ascended to the throne rightfully. Every politician voted for him. When he died your brothers were young and naive and remained as so throughout their rule. Your only crime was to conspire against the empire along with Acacius when he was alive.

All a big nonsense.

“Hear hear, now… Do you Lucius Verus Aurelius agree to the terms of conditions of this agreement?” you look up to see the man. He looked different.

His wounds were healing, his hair looked trimmed, his beard styled. Without sweat, blood, and dirt covering his face, he looked gorgeous. Like an actual prince.

Lucius also looks at you. You can’t tell how he feels, but his eyes look hopeful. And his lips are slightly tilted. Was he trying to smile at you?.

“Accipio…” he says, looking away from you.

Your lips sealed shape a full face of anger.

“Do you y/n y/l/n agree to the terms of conditions of these agreements?”

“I would like to resign to my titles”

Gasps could be heard, and a mixture of shock and disapproval was all over the men at the table.

Lucius looks with curiosity at you. But you can see he’s also shocked.

“Princess y/n… you can’t resign” a man says and you roll your eyes.

“Exile me if needed. I can also recommend a handful of women who would be perfect suitors for Lucius Verus Aurelius” As much as you tried to sound calm, you sounded enraged.

“Then I won’t sign the agreement…” Lucius says looking at the same man who spoke first, then at you.

You eye him with confusion, he crosses his strong arms and he intimidates you with his strong gaze.

“I want you or nothing” he admits with tranquility. Which makes you even angrier. But also make your cheeks turn hot after feeling every man in the room exchange awkward looks.

How could he act so cooky and shameless?

Before you can say another thing, you are interrupted.

“If none of you agree, your charges and penalties will prevail. That would lead to several trials, where both of you could end up with death penalties despite being two rightful heirs”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh.

You’re so tired, drained from everything.

But you won’t give any man the satisfaction to see you crumbling.

Never again…

“You may constrain me all you want, Lucius Verus Aurelius. But you won’t hear what you want from me today”

The poison filling your voice intoxicated everyone, leaving the room flooding with awkwardness and uncertainty. Lucius and you share looks. There’s an odd warmth that makes you remember how good he was when you first met him. He is not a bad man. But you fell in love with him and overrated him so early.

With the silence reigning, the sound of your chair sliding as you stood up drew all the attention to you again. But you didn’t face anyone, you simply left.

The air hit you and you could already feel the tears threatening to spill.

It’s a shame because it seemed like it was a good day for Rome. You can hear kids playing nearby, and people selling goods while the clear sky warmed the afternoon.

“You really don’t know why I want you, y/n?” You hear behind your back, Lucius approaching with heavy steps, making you wipe your eyes before you turn around to see him.

“I would say to gain power. But I know you don’t want that so no… I’m clueless. All I know is I won’t be part of a deal when all my life I’ve lounged for love”

“I can’t believe you don’t remember…” he responds and you frown, disappointed that he has ignored your words. So rudely, you move away, farther from him.

“Who was there when you fell ill after breaking your bones?” your eyes almost pop out, you stop walking only to slowly turn around again and eye him in shock.

“Who was there when you used to escape the palace and needed someone to accompany you back?” Lucius pleads with every word he lets out, he walks towards you and tries to grab your hands but you slip away from his touch, defying him.

In your shock, you can only sigh as memories start reminiscing in your head. A childhood love that couldn’t be. Which involved some feelings you thought had no meaning. But sure they had. More than you wanted to admit as an adult.

Lucius Aurelius Verus was that little boy that you fell in love with as a child. That little boy disappeared without saying goodbye. A boy you thought you’d never see again.

“I left you and resented it all my life, y/n. Now I can be here for you again. Allow me to retrieve the memories we had…” This time you weren’t fast enough to prevent his touch.

He feels warm and at home. His fingers are calloused and his raspy fingertips slowly caress your knuckles. You want to hold him in your arms and cry from happiness. You want to curse him for making you believe he was dead.

But you are selfish after so much pain.

“Why you didn’t say anything when we met again?” You coldly ask, freezing the warmth he has built.

“I needed to know I could trust you first,” he says apologetically.

There’s so much to talk about. Never in your dreams, you thought you’d have the boy you loved once now turned into a man you must marry.

“Please, y/n. We’ll meet each other again, fill the empty promises we made years ago”

“You knew I was alive all this time. Why did you never come for me? We could have escaped. If I had known you were alive, a lot of my suffering could’ve been prevented” he looks away, he feels guilty.

“You married, Lucius. You were happy before Rome conquered Numidia. And I won’t diminish the death of her. But you moved on… like I never existed”

He grabs both of your hands but you move away.

“I thought you were safe. I had no chance of getting you back, that’s why I married. But when I saw you again at the celebration where I had my first fight…” even when he sounds convincingly remorseful, you still keep the distance.

“I don’t care, Lucius. The only thing I want now is to say goodbye to the only love that mattered while you were gone. I can’t visit his grave now for the charges, and when I marry you, I won’t be able to visit his grave because of it. Don’t act like you are not wanting me as your second choice”

If only you knew, Lucius thought as he watched you leave.

…

As a kid, your father would be delighted whenever you danced in the celebrations he hosted. Your brother Geta and Caracalla would sneak in and try to ruin your performance, they weren’t allowed to attend the parties because of their mother; a whore. Your father’s ginger hair had not spread across the twins’ heads and they certainly not looked anything like your mother. There was a snake hidden in the basket of flowers you carried while dancing. But a gentleman realized earlier and as soon as you dropped it because of the bite, he took you to the doctor. And that night you developed a little crush for the officer Marcus Acacius.

Soon you forgot about the older man when you took food and made your way out of the palace. Near the stables, you had found a safe place. Where you always met with who refused to tell you his name.

So you always called him amicus. You could only refer to him as a friend.

“Amicus…” you called him.

Soon he appeared, with burnt blonde hair, blue eyes, and his kind smile.

“What happened to your hand?” he asked pointing at your bandaged extremity.

“Geta and Caracalla placed a snake on my flower basket”

Your friend huffed, clearly annoyed that they tried to hurt you again.

“I wish I could be there, I would always protect you”

You smiled, caressing his face. You were no stranger to his proximity. At the rough age of nine years old, you two had grown a big friendship.

“But you’re always here for me, amicus”

“I won’t be always…” you frowned confused.

That was the last night you saw your friend; Lucius.

You shake your head, pushing aside the memories. Realizing you are once again in a party, but your father is gone. Nobody sits on the throne, your twin brothers are not around to try to banish you. There is no Acacius to help you and you are no longer a kid.

You wonder why Lucilla never told you his son was alive. That he was your best friend. You understand that probably she didn’t trust you enough, given that you looked like you were on your brother’s side most of the time. Although the reality was very different.

Lucius arrived at the celebration with many people trying to talk to him. His tone was kind, but he felt overwhelmed responding to the variety of questions thrown at his face.

Having all the attention resulted in frustration. He was no god and Rome started seeing him as such thing.

He was a humble man, despite growing up knowing he was a prince, he was accustomed to the peaceful farming life in Numidia. He married and thought he would die as a farmer. But even when he finished a rough day of tending his sprouts and counting seeds, mostly he would go to sleep thinking about you.

Lucius never forgot the little girl he found pacing through the secret passages under Rome. Surely he always knew you were a princess, you were alive and well within the walls of the city he grew to hate.

He thought he was correct in never telling you who he really was. He had no chance to say goodbye, he was forced to leave. For a lot of years, he thought he would never be able to fall in love again, but he found a new love.

As soon as he married, he tried to forget about you. And as much as he loved his wife, he always went back to you. Wondering if you were also married, if you remained as beautiful as you were as a kid, or if you missed him like he missed you.

His answers were given to him when he saw you eating figs and softly arguing with one of your red-haired brothers.

Lucius swore his heart stopped a few seconds before he had to fight under the demand of Macrinus. When he recited poetry, he understood you didn’t know who he was. He locked eyes with you for too long, which made you frown and exchange confused looks with Geta.

But he did a good job because you went to visit him later, realizing you knew only half of the truth.

Lucius never stopped loving you.

He watched you twirl around in a purple dress and he couldn’t help but smile. His need to know who you had transformed into was eating him. The curiosity over your love affair with Acacius and how you ended up on the battlefront of war killing him. And he wished nothing buy you to understand that destiny wanted you to be separated but now there was a chance to heal together and be together.

Although it seemed like you were beyond hurt. Only makes Lucius feel guilty for some reason.

A man from the senate reveals to the party you and Lucius are officially engaged and he knows you must be boiling in anger. Lucius tries to go and talk to you. Assure you that he wasn’t involved in the early announcement. He wanted your consent and forcing you would never fix your anger and resentment.

But when he tried to reach you, you were gone. And he knew to where.

To visit Acacius’ grave.

…

With white roses and a dirty cloak, you arrive at the island. Is smaller than you thought. It’s just a hill.

No gold, no ostentatious mausoleum, just a little mark in the middle of the hill that over the centuries would be swallowed by the Earth. There rests Marcus Acacius.

You swallow hard, hoping to get there before your legs betray you and you end up on the grass crying. After hearing the announcement of the engagement, you sprinted out of there making a mess of fury. Your desire to say goodbye to your love would never become a reality. So you took matters into your own hands and risked three hours of absence in Rome.

Each step adds a little more pain to your chest and you want to leave as fast as possible.

But you remain silent, looking at the little plaque.

Not even beloved General of Rome. Just his name.

“I don’t regret saying that I hated you the last time we talked…” you start, biting your cheek from the inside and frowning, competing against the tears that were already coming.

“I closed my eyes so hard to pretend I wasn’t witnessing your death” The chilly air makes you shriek, it also makes some scary sounds as you talk.

“We had a baby, Acacius. I suppose conceived in Athens. He left me hours after you did. I guess he sensed my bad luck…” you coldly say, attempting to joke with the silence.

“Not of importance anymore. I just came to say goodbye. To thank you for training me, and for making me a strong woman. Thank you for loving me the wrong way…”

“You can rest now, Marcus. Your death was worth it, Rome is free. But I’m not…” Finally, your voice breaks and you start sobbing, weeping, and crying so loudly that your lungs hurt.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be strong enough to come back again, Acacius. Your death will always be the loss of my life but our baby is my little hope. To always remind me that I was very close to having you…” with your legs trembling, you stand up and grab the basket. The flowers are gently placed and your tears fall over his name, washing the accumulated dirt.

“I’ll move on. Because I know that’s what you would’ve wanted. I’ll keep your memory alive. And I’ll never love the same way I did with you. You earned it, Marcus. In life and death…”

Dried from all the tears, suddenly you felt less weight on your shoulders. You feel light and in peace.

In that hill would rest the memories of your past, of the love you gave to that General and what could’ve been.

You leave in silence. And when you step foot in the boat again, you have the strength to smile and realize that you don’t care about anything anymore.

The sense of everything comes into question.

Nothing can hurt you anymore.

…

He’s there when you step a foot into the salty shores of Rome. Lucius looks worried. He gives confident steps until he’s facing you.

“You went to that island. Didn’t you?” He asks judging you, which makes you frown.

“I did…”

“Why are you risking yourself? I had to tell everyone you felt ill” You roll your eyes, not handling his words with patience.

“I have nothing to lose, Lucius. I don’t care anymore if I die right now…” he huffs and slides his fingers through his blonde hair, exasperated.

“Why can you understand you’re the one I want? I want you to be safe. But you can’t stop acting like there is no hope left. Why?”

You finally explode.

“BECAUSE I’M HURT!. You know my brothers never loved me, I thought I had you and you disappeared. I spent years in love with Acacius and when he finally looked down at me, he never chose me above your mother. But he wanted to give me a house, a family. I lost him and that night I lost our baby too, I didn’t even know I was with child. And now everyone’s gone, you’re back but I feel like you are just choosing me because you have no choice” Your lungs so tired of your crying make you ache as you end up sobbing once again.

Lucius immediately places his arms around you. And it’s the first hug someone gives you in a long time. So you sob harder and slide your arms to hold him closer.

“I didn’t know… I’m sorry” he whispers in your ear, one of his hands caressing the back of your head, fingers sliding through your hair.

“You’re not my second option. You were always the first. I choose you all or nothing because I couldn’t before. And now that I have you in my arms, I’m never letting you go”

Lucius feels like the home you never experienced but always dreamed of. His words start soothing you. His words feel bigger, like an oath this time. A healed promise of the one he made as a kid.

“When I looked at you again, I remembered that little girl I used to play with. With her dazzling hair and loving eyes” you look away, to the shore. You never liked receiving compliments.

“Look at me…” his fingers grab your chin and gently, he makes you look at him but you close your eyes after briefly meeting his eyes.

Just like the first time, you get lost in his blue irises. Blue like the sea you traveled, like the sea you once thought would be your way to freedom.

“Please look at me, y/n,” he says pleading, with his warm touch you know you won’t be able to oppose any longer.

Slowly you open your eyes and finally accept his gaze.

“You loved another man and I loved another woman. But we had already marked each other’s hearts before we met them”

Slowly, you nod. He smiles and wipes the tears from your eyes. He looks so gorgeous. You know he means every word. Only a man who did everything to save his mother and free a city would make such a big promise to a woman and beg.

You caress his strong jawline, ignoring the way his beard tickles at your fingers. You smile back at him.

“I love you”

Before he could finish, you kissed him.

…

You hadn’t thought back on your love Acacius in months, but that morning you dedicated the bright sky to him. You hope he’s happy for you.

You look at yourself in a mirror and smile at your reflection.

“Are you ready?” Lucius asked entering the room. Your smile grows at the sight of him dressed in gold and a crown in his head. He also eyes your dress and you blush at the way he is mentally undressing you.

Your husband is possessive, kind, brave, and an emperor.

“Stop staring like that…” he looks back at your eyes and it makes you chuckle.

“Come here…” he pleads and when you try to kiss him you both hear a tiny yelp.

“Oh Lucilla, I’m just trying to kiss your father…”

You had birthed a daughter two months ago in Egypt. And was named after Lucius’ mother. She had matted hair the same color as you and she had the blue eyes of his father.

“I’ll get her…” Lucius carried her and leaned to let you look at yourself tiny baby yawning, as she had woken up from a little nap. Her tiny hands flirt fists and her face scrunched in slumber.

She was a winter baby and every citizen of Rome was waiting to meet the daughter of the emperor and empress.

“So fussy like her father…” you claimed, making Lucius roll his eyes at you.

He had grown patient. A perfect partner and father. You felt lucky and blessed to have him. Thinking all the pain was worth it. Your head would now and then think back on what could’ve been if Acacius had survived, and his baby as well.

But you accepted that in this life, he wasn’t meant to be yours. So you prayed to meet him again in the next one. But for now, you were in the arms of your first love.

“I love you, Lucius…” he seemed lightly surprised, as he was the one that says it more often. But he knows he looks so clumsy and in love.

“Not more than me…” you kiss your daughter’s cheek and then your husband, making him softly gasp as you deepen the kiss.

“Don’t do this to me now, y/n…” you giggle, taking the baby from his arms and leading the way towards the door.

“Wait, satis… I know it’s nonsensical to ask at this point but…Do you think I’m being good at this?” Lucius asks pointing at little Lucilla, you sigh, walking back towards him.

“My love, there is no way of being good at this. But if she knows that we love her and that we’ll be here for her forever, is enough…”

He had his doubts a couple of months after the wedding when you got pregnant.

“You don’t know how proud and thankful I am of you. You decided to agree and give me a family after so much pain, satis” You form a smile grin, opting to avoid the memories of your old love. Because that was the past, sacred to you but still the past.

“We deserved it, Lucius.” He nods, taking your free hand.

“I have the feeling that this one will be a boy…” you say pointing at your still-flat stomach.

“Whatever it is… as long as you’re the mother, it’ll be okay”

You both exit the room hand in hand, hearing the excited crowd outside waiting.

_________________

PAUL X PEDRO X READER FIC IS COMING, COMMENT TO BE TAGGED :)

I won’t ever ever ever write a fanfic where a Pedro character dies again. NEVER AGAIN! I don’t care if you think this was cringe, I cried a lot while writing on different days. I love Lucius but in my head Acacius never died, so from now on if I write for him, he WON’T DIE.

follow me on twitter or I’ll kill myself 🔫

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius #lucius verus x reader #lucius verus #paul mescal x reader #paul mescal #gladiator x reader #marcus acacius x lucius verus #lucius verus x reader x marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader x lucius verus #marcus acacius x lucius verus x reader

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buckysegan · 10 months ago

Text

With all my gratitude, hope and adoration John.

Summary: Everyone deserves a letter from home. John x She. Word Count: 785. A/N: we are def rolling with some historical inaccuracies in regards to letters here but sue me. he deserves it. Part Two.

"mail boys!"

the familiar call sounded through the bunks and bucky didn't even bother to lift his head from where he had been watching crank deal out the cards. he didn't need to look, he never needed to look because there had never been any mail for him. it was a well known fact among the boys, something none of them seemed brave enough to comment on. and john? well he wasn't the type that was going to dwell on such a thing with anyone other than buck.

"buck another one for you, brady, one for me....bucky." the silence that took over was almost immediate as his name was called and for a moment he almost didn't want to look, terrified how he may react if he found a smirk on murph's face. instead he was greeted with absolute sincerity and just as every other face in the bunk did, his pulled into a picture of confusion as he moved to swipe the letter, blue eyes quick to inspect the penmanship.

there it was, as clear as day, his name. lifting it to his nose the way he had seen each man do it sniffed, the rounds of taunts flying from the boys over some secret broad he'd had hidden away from them all. not that the major was listening, already retreating to his bunk with the piece of paper as buck silenced the rest of them, sending them on their way to read their own letters as he watched with quiet concern for his best friend.

he had known john long enough to know he wasn't the pen pal type, but he'd also seen the change, the longing for something that the rest of them had. it wasn't anything he had ever expected of his john, ever the class clown so he was as confused as the rest of the crew.

none were more confused than john though, as he tore, with gentleness he had long since reserved for the touch of a woman, wondering who the hell had wrote him.

"dear major egan..."

Dear Major Egan,

It's odd I find, to be writing a letter to someone when your name and rank is all I know of you. It feels terribly impersonal and honestly I'm not sure how this letter will be received so I am sorry if this feels like an intrusion on your day but the thing is...

Well the truth Major, is that it seems to have been noted that during your time in England you have yet to receive a letter. When I learnt that fact my heart broke a little and not with pity I assure you, but any man fighting for home deserves something to hold onto. You may have that, I hope you do, but just in case I wanted to offer you some form of peace.

I am with you Major Egan, for as long as it takes you to get back home. There is someone out there praying for you every night, someone waiting on your soul to make it back. I know not what your favorite warm meal is, nor what you sound like, I know not what you look like or what makes you laugh, but I would like to learn all of those things should you wish to write back at all.

In return I shall share all those things about myself and anything else should you wish to know any of it. Oh they tell me your name is John, may I call you John next time? I'm going to do it anyway.

With all my gratitude, hope and adoration John

A friend from home x

he wasn't aware the tears had welled as he finished the letter. really bucky had almost forgotten what it was like to cry. but as he scanned the page, again and again and again, he couldn't bring himself to stop the tear that spilled over his cheek, even with the silence he could feel around him again as the boys grew curious once more.

"who was it john?" the gentle voice of his best friend broke through the fourth rerun of the words, the blonde stepping forward so that the answer could stay between them.

blue eyes lifted to meet hazel, with a smile he knew that he hadn't worn in weeks really. one not dissimilar to the smile he had given buck when he had seen him behind that fence. "i - i have a friend from home." someone, somewhere was waiting for him, someone somewhere, had given him what he had forgotten about in this war. hope. she was with him and unless god himself tried to stop him john egan was going to make it home.

#callum turner #masters of the air #mota drabble #john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #mota fanfic

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notjustjavierpena · 3 months ago

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Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia: Chapter II

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: I'm so sorry for the very long wait. I ended up separating the chapter into two parts because it ended up being 13k. Hope you can forgive me!

Chapter Summary: In which you get married to the General.

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Chapter warnings: +18, arranged marriage, historical sexism, probably historical inaccuracies, large age gap, religion in the form of Roman Gods, shitty parents, anxieties over wedding night

Word count: 5k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57443332/chapters/151335016#workskin

Chapter II: A wonderful day for a wedding

Due to the warm night, it doesn’t surprise you when dawn brings the most beautiful sunrise all year. The landscape outside is bathed in gold and when you gently guide a lost bee out of your bedroom window, you feel the warmth of the sunshine prickle your skin.

You have a great deal to do before the carriage ride to the Acacius estate, so you hurry through breakfast - bread and cheese with herbs - to make sure there are enough hours in the morning for your bath, your grooming, and your dress preparations.

You gently wash off the sweat and sleep from last night by rubbing slow circles down your arms, legs, and chest with a piece of soaked cloth. The excitement pools in your belly as you focus on the dream wedding belonging to the little girl in your heart happening today. The fact that it is arranged by your parents doesn’t diminish the fact that your tunic is beautiful and the festivities will be worthy of the Gods. You have no tears and concerns for Cassius left, you say to yourself, or at least, you’re not allowing yourself to have any left.

“A perfect day for a wedding,” your mother says as she brings you more water for your bath instead of the maids, pouring the freshly hot water into the tub by your feet. Afterward, she moves to sit on a chair behind you to wash your hair.

“Mother,” you say while she tilts your head forward, pouring water over the back of your neck, “I want jasmine flowers in the wedding crown, can we please have a maid pick some from the garden? Marcus— I mean, General Acacius will be impressed if I remember our conversation from yesterday.”

The warm water feels soothing as it cascades down your shoulders, even more soothing is your mother’s fingers detangling your hair with practiced care. You spot her in the full-body mirror along the wall, her face sporting an affectionate smile, “Jasmine is his favorite? The General told you this? He must like you, my daughter.”

“Mother, we barely know each other,” you let out a little laugh and turn your head back to look up at her. She grins down at you, smoothing her palm over your wet hair to squeeze out some excess water.

“Yet you already care what he thinks,” she points out with a slight hint of teasing. You splash a few drops of water in her direction and she acts outraged in only the way a mother can. The both of you laugh, the bubbling feeling warm in your chest until you also feel melancholic. The feeling that you should have had last night comes creeping up on you now.

“I’m gonna miss you and father,” you say softly and she wraps her arms around you from behind, not caring about getting her clothes wet if it means squeezing you enough to make you feel how much she loves you.

“I’ve been through this two times already. You know we still see both of your sisters. I am not sending you off to another country,” she soothes, rocking you from side to side and pecking the top of your head. You reach up to hold her wrist.

“I know this but I’m the last bird leaving the nest,” you reply with eye contact in the mirror, corners of your mouth turning downward. You sigh quietly.

“And father and I will finally be able to have some peace around here,” she tries to make you laugh again. When it doesn’t happen, the tone of her voice changes into something more serious, “I know everything feels safe and familiar here but you will grow to love your new life. Change is good.”

“I still feel like a child,” you lean back into her and stare down at the water that is growing colder, “You should have seen me trying to have a conversation with him yesterday. He is much older and more experienced than I am. I made a fool of myself not just once.”

“Listen to me, dearest,” she releases you from the confines of her arms and lifts your head to find your gaze in the mirror again, “I know that this is not a matter of love. I understand, my dear. This union is a great responsibility, but it can also be an even greater source of joy and strength for you. Your father and I have always wanted what’s best for you, even in situations where it might seem like it is only to our own advantage. Yet think about the possibilities this match will bring you; you will be the wife of a general. You can do anything.”

You nod with an understanding that is still marked by sorrow for the life you will leave behind, the dream of true love delivered by Cupid himself that will not be fulfilled now, “Yes, Mother.”

“And I will say this with confidence,” she continues, now with a gleam of pride in her eyes, “You are not a child, in fact, you have grown into a remarkable young woman. One that you can be very proud of. I know I am.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth and eventually, you cannot hold back the breath of air that you have been holding. Your eyes are watery, your mouth grinning with teeth from being reassured so affectionately by your mother. You suppose that you can get through this day with those words playing on your mind, “You had that rehearsed, did you not?”

“Not at all, came straight from the heart,” she giggles and gets up from her seat. She walks to stand at your side, offering you her hand, “Now, let’s get you out of the tub and make you more beautiful than even Goddess Venus herself. Today is a celebration of everything you’ve become and everything you will achieve with your husband. However, remember that General Acacius is even more fortunate to have you and your heart by his side.”

“Thank you, Mother,” you say as she helps you to your feet, holding you steady as you step over the edge of the bathtub.

She wraps a linen cloth around you, “I’ll send for the flowers right away. The tailor has already been with your tunic this morning, I’ve had the maids hang it in your room.”

“Perfect,” you smile. You leave the bathroom while another ancilla - a maid - empties the tub, hangs the linen towel to dry, and mops excess water from the floor.

As you make your way back to your bedroom, you notice your home is abuzz with servants doing all sorts of tasks to ensure a perfect day. They pass you with kind smiles and congratulations, carrying wine in jugs and baskets of fruit and vegetables, freshly baked bread, and flowers for decorating.

You think back to Marcus’ beautiful garden, wondering how it is taking shape to be the venue for your union. The red roses are sure to compliment your red veil, the marble the golden embroidery on your tunic too.

But then, as you enter your room, you think about Cassius’ words from last night. In less than a day, you will belong to one of the most powerful families in all of the empire and despite this, it sounded like it did not ensure you the safety that your father had foreseen with this match. Quite the contrary, it seems like you are getting into something that’ll wash the pink and fluffy clouds away.

However, the concerned thoughts last only a moment as your gaze falls on the beautiful tunic hanging on the wall, just out of the sun’s rays. You smile and sigh, brushing the woven fabric delicately with your hand. It is long and white, embroidered with squared patterns along the shoulder seams and down the short sleeves. You know that Marcus’ own attire will have the same stitching and color, signaling that the two of you are weaved together from now on.

The veil hangs beside it and is as red as the fires that you have seen built for sacrifices to the Gods. Your mother has taught you enough during wedding preparations for you to know exactly what it is supposed to symbolize; you will be given to General Acacius today and you will belong to him in the same manner as the many gifts that have been given to the many Roman deities, like the coin you tossed in the fountain for Fortuna.

After taking the tunic off the hook on the wall, you let the linen around your body fall to the floor and slip your wedding attire on. You sit down on the chair by your vanity and gaze at your reflection in the mirror, staring at the woman you have become in such a short time.

You adjust the neckline of the garment, smoothing out any crease that makes you seem less than perfect and then you grab your hairbrush to start detangling your hair. After having brushed your hair for a while and getting lost in the mindless task, a knock on your door distracts your thoughts.

You quickly get up to hurriedly step behind the room divider in the corner, not wanting to reveal your look before it has gotten its final touches or in case the person seeking entry is your father.

“Come in,” you say when you are hidden from view.

However, it is your mother again who carries the wedding crown, which has now gotten beautiful jasmine flowers weaved into it. From the sound of the different footsteps, you deduce that she is followed by two servant girls who have come to help you with the remaining details of your outfit.

“I brought Lupa and Nidia to help you,” she chirps, hands the wedding crown to Lupa with the utmost care, and then gently sits down on the chair by the vanity. She waits as the girls join you behind the screen, “Quickly now, we have to be ready to go in half an hour.”

Nidia has gotten the veil from its spot on the wall, now draping it over the top of your head while Lupa secures it with the flower crown. You can smell the jasmine, feel the soft fabric of the red veil brush your bare arms, and suddenly, the weight of today begins to bear down on your shoulders. You swallow thickly as you look at yourself in the full-body mirror. This summer has changed you since you got the news of your arranged union, and suddenly, as you look at yourself at this moment, you are surprised to see that a bride stares back at you.

“You look perfect,” Nidia says softly as if sensing your nervousness. She holds your gaze in the mirror and smiles a little when Lupa joins in with a happy, agreeing nod, the both of them adjusting the veil to cascade down your back gracefully.

“Thank you,” you say gratefully and relax a bit more. At least how you look is going to be talked about the most but then again, will this enhance your future husband’s desire? What will happen when he gets you alone in his chambers? You shake the thought, not used to the idea of being perceived in such a fashion even if you tasted the idea yesterday, “Okay, I think I am ready.”

As you step out from behind the divider, your mother radiates maternal pride and clasps her hands together, “Oh, by Venus, you are radiant! I don’t know what your father was doing with all his worry.”

You try not to overthink that statement and act casual, very much aware that you have not seen him today. Instead, you ask, “Where is father?”

“He has gone back and forth between our home and the General’s many times today. I suppose that he wants everything to be perfect for you and make you happy,” she keeps her voice high-pitched and cheerful but you can feel your gut telling you that she isn’t completely convinced either. She may have been making jest of you being the last of her daughters to marry but you know that your father sees you as more of a chess piece - the final move out of three - than his blood.

In your wedding attire, sparkling as Lupa gets the box of jewelry and Nadia adorns you in gold, you think again of the way your father had handled the negotiations of your marriage; how little concern he had shown for your thoughts on the matter, and, possibly without intending to, made it clear that this isn’t about love or even your happiness. It is about influence, power, and ascension to something right under the Gods.

“He’s always wanted things to be perfect for us,” you say with a forced smile, though your mother doesn’t seem to notice the strain on your face, “Ever since we were little, it was always about making sure we made the right connections, the right alliances.”

Your mother looks up at you, not quite as oblivious as she tries to convince you of. Her smile softens, “It’s just his way, my dear. He wants the best for you, for all of us, and you like the General! I can tell.”

The best for him, perhaps. You dare ask a question that can only exist between women who understand that you live in a world ruled by men. “Mother, do you think he would have arranged this if General Acacius had been… cruel?”

The silence that follows is thick, and in that moment, you realize that the answer may not be one you want to hear. You stare at her, brows furrowed as you wait for her to say something, but in the end, she avoids your gaze completely.

“It is time to leave,” she says instead and turns to Lupa and Nidia who have gone completely quiet, “My daughter needs escorting to the carriage. We cannot keep my husband waiting so close to the time of the ceremony.”

You swallow thickly but do not protest, a heavy feeling in your stomach as you are led out of your home, taking in the details of the surroundings that you grew up in for what feels like the last time.

—

Upon arrival at Marcus' estate, you are greeted by who you assume will be your new maid. Ismene is her name, a woman not much older than yourself but with rougher hands, the kind that have known hard labor. She wears a plain tunic and her hair tied back in a braid, curtsying as you step out of the carriage.

You hear your mother tell Lupa and Nidia to stay back in case it’ll insult Ismene that you have brought maids from your home but Ismene just smiles, her eyes flicking up at you as she bows to catch a glimpse of who she will be serving from now on.

“My lady,” she greets after stretching to her full height again, a twinkle in her gaze and a gut feeling telling you that she has no ill will towards you, “Everything is ready for you. The General has requested that you go to the gardens immediately where the ceremony will take place shortly.”

She leads you and your mother through the mansion that is as beautiful as you remember it from yesterday. Except this time, seemingly overnight, the home has been decorated to be fit for festivities later. Your mother walks beside you, her expression calm, but you know her enough by now to sense the tension beneath the surface. She glances around the estate with careful eyes, not having been here before since your father refused it, and is perhaps judging the wealth and power of the man you are about to marry. Maybe, she may even be worrying for you.

You must screen your face from the sun in the gardens, but you still cannot help but notice the red roses and the ivy snaking their way around the columns that surround the spot chosen for the ceremony. Their colors are striking and beautiful against the white marble, eliciting a gasp of awe from your mother. What you also cannot help but notice is the return of the flutter of excitement that stirs in your belly, one that feels out of place among your adult worries. Everything is even more gorgeous than you had imagined in your childhood daydreams.

“It’s beautiful, truly. The Gods have indeed favored us,” your mother praises in a whisper just as the three of you come to a halt. Ismene has stopped in her tracks just out of sight from the guests who are here to witness the marriage, and she is deliberately quiet to give you and your mother this last brief moment of privacy before everything changes.

Your mother reaches out to gently touch your arm. In response, you turn to her and are met with her warm and reassuring smile. She cups your face and kisses your forehead.

“Remember that father and I raised you to be strong,” she tells you with tears welling up in her eyes. You can feel your heart beating harshly against your chest as you recognize both fear and excitement on her face, and you suppose that there’s grief in her following this; her last child leaving home will be the end of her being needed.

“Te amo in aeternum, Mamma (I love you forever, Mom),” you only just manage to say as your throat feels tight and you can hear footsteps approaching.

You know it is your father by the commanding pace of the steps, the way the feet strike the earth with determination. He rounds the corner with a small smile on his lips as he sees you.

“My beautiful daughter,” he greets you and immediately holds his arm out for you to take. There’s urgency in his voice even if it is tender at the sight of you, “It is time.”

“Are you ready?” Your mother interrupts, earning a glance from her husband. His presence somehow looms larger after that question, as if he wants to scoff at the thought that you could ever say no. He shakes his arm with an impatient smile when you still have not taken his arm. Clearly, this is not a moment for lingering but a moment for you to fulfill your duty.

You swallow hard and then you turn to your father. With a nod, you place your arm through his, “I’m ready.”

“Then let us not keep the General waiting,” he smiles.

The wedding ceremony is swift and takes place underneath the blazing sun of Rome. Marcus Acacius stands at the altar, his tall and broad figure exuding strength and importance. You feel drawn to the way he looks as he watches you walk down the pathway between the guests, stoic and calm in an attire that matches yours. You feel reassured by him because of this strength, that if everything fails, he will catch you.

When you stop in front of him and your father nods in a way that feels transactional, you swear that you can see his eyes soften. The officiant drones on but you don’t hear a word, the thoughts of last night when you were alone in your bed flooding your mind and causing your heartbeat to drown out noise around you. You can still feel the warmth of your own touch between your legs and it’s so consuming of your attention that you suddenly hear someone clearing their throat.

“We will now perform the joining of hands, dear,” the officiant repeats and you can see that Marcus is already holding out his palm for you to place your own in. Your face is hot, your cheeks prickling with embarrassment but you recover by not letting it faze you. Marcus smiles ever so gently when your hand takes his and a leather band is wrapped around them. You say your promise to him like you have practiced so many times in the mirror back in your room.

Where he is your Gaius, you will be Gaia. Mother nature. The first goddess. The one who made sense of chaos.

“Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia.”

–

In the early evening, the festivities begin with a banquet that makes the ones your father has hosted in the past pale in comparison. There’s people and food and people eating the food everywhere. Goblets get continuously filled by servants and bread with oil, butter, and cheese gets restocked as soon as it might look like serving platters are emptying out. However, it is not envy that you see on your parents’ faces as they take in the long table that abounds in the season’s most beautiful flowers laid out in rich displays of colors, or the most expensive foods that are replenished before anyone can take notice of their shortages, but rather pride in your mother’s eyes and some sort of distasteful greed in your father’s.

It makes you think of Cassius again, the idea of his stomach growling as he makes his way home from laboring in the fields surrounding your village. He would hate this, you think to yourself, the sight of the uppermost elite of society stuffing their faces but not for nourishment.

You look down at your hands when you start to feel bad for thinking of another man while sitting right next to your new husband. Yet Marcus doesn’t seem to notice the way your shoulders slump. He smiles warmly at each congratulations that he receives while you sit at the end of the same long table and you’re surprised to see that it comes off as genuine each time. He graciously lifts his goblet of wine as thanks, nodding to the faces of men his own age who approach with offerings and gifts. You’ve seen them steal glances at you when they think others haven’t noticed.

You wonder if Marcus has, if he feels triumphant or enraged by the lingering appreciative stares that you receive right before they go back to their wine.

It is to be expected with how beautiful your mother has made you for this day, you say to yourself in your new state as an object of desire, but still, you are without much appetite from being stared at. It makes you think of your wedding night and the duty that lies within it. As a comfort, you reach for your goblet of wine frequently throughout the evening and completely ignore the delicious smell of roasted meats and the sight of shiny green grapes and berries that you have on your plate. Right now, they make you feel sick.

Sensing your discomfort, Marcus holds his hand up to stop an approaching guest and turns his attention to you. His gaze follows the movement of your hand as you lift the goblet to your slightly-stained lips once more. Gently, he reaches out and covers your hand with his, taking the cup away from you.

“No more wine. I don’t want you to feel unwell on our night together,” he says simply and firmly but there’s affection in his command, a concern for your wellbeing. It’s the first time that you see a glimpse of the man you met yesterday. He makes you fold quickly, nod with embarrassment as you in return stare sheepishly at him while he sets down the goblet out of your reach.

“Of course, my legatus,” you hurry to say, remembering how your mother had urged you to show respect by referring to his rank. You offer him a hesitant smile, “You’re right.”

“I know this is not easy for a maiden as young as you, and I must admit that it is all very overwhelming even for me,” he gives you a smile in return, allowing himself to show brief vulnerability to ease your mind, “But there’s no need to dull your senses, Carrissima.”

“It was not my intention to make you feel like I was unappreciative—“

“I did not think you were,” he interrupts before you can tear yourself down in an effort to humble yourself. He places a hand on yours underneath the table, “Are you pleased with the celebration? I never notice if others are enjoying the festivities. I admit I seek solitude more often than company in these situations.”

“It is beautiful, I’ve never seen anything like it,” you reply with a nod and realize that you find the conversation less terrifying now. You blame your ease on the amount of wine you have already consumed, “If you want reassurance, a woman can always tell if people are enjoying themselves.”

“And what is your verdict?” Marcus brushes his thumb over the back of your hand. You hide the shiver that goes up your spine, breathe deeply to steady your heart after it has skipped at least a few beats. He must know what his touch does to you after feeling it yesterday.

A burst of laughter from a table nearby catches both of your attention. A group of guests are engaged in lighthearted discussions, chatting cheerfully with each other and getting up when the musicians strike up a song made for dancing.

You observe them for a moment before turning back to Marcus again, but before you can answer, a man approaches your table with what you assume is more congratulations. You make a mental note to be more present in this, to show your husband and his guests that you are in favor of the union. However, the man leans in close to Marcus, whispering something in his ear.

You notice a subtle shift in Marcus’s demeanor; the previous warmth in his eyes momentarily replaces itself with a focused seriousness. He nods at the messenger, who quickly slips away into the crowd before you can even register what he looks like.

“Is everything all right?” You ask with curiosity and concern.

“Yes, nothing to worry about. Just a small matter that needed my attention. I apologize for the interruption,” he assures you but hardly satisfies your curiosity. The seriousness vanishes completely in favor of softness as soon as he looks at you again, “Forgive me for forgetting but I must compliment the jasmine flowers in your wedding crown. They suit my bride perfectly.”

The sudden change in his tone makes your heart flutter, and you realize how intentional his words are, as if to draw you back into the moment with him. You reach up to feel the soft petals of the flowers with your fingertips. You smile genuinely at him, shy from the compliment, “It was already weaved this morning but I remembered you mentioning that jasmine is your favorite.”

He raises an eyebrow, “You remembered our conversation.”

“I wanted to show that I was attentive,” you reply, feeling a connection that wasn’t there just a moment before.

“You’ve certainly succeeded,” he replies with a pleased grin at being surprised by you.

The sunset has crept up on you while you have been in conversation with Marcus for a while, the plate in front of you suddenly having been emptied by you without much thought. You only register the darkness of the night when guests have started to get up from their seats to say goodbye and go home, and panic starts to rise in your throat when the crowd thins out enough for Marcus to send the rest home.

You've known this night would come, and yet as you get up from your seat, standing right in the middle of all the many tables, it feels like it is brand new information that comes hurtling towards you and frightens you even further.

With a lump in your throat, you watch the last few faces take their leave, observing how Marcus says goodbye to what you assume are the most important guests.

When everything is quiet except for the servants’ footsteps, your parents approach you. Your mother is the first to talk, her eyes glistening with pride.

“My dear, it’s been a wonderful celebration,” she says, gently squeezing you in an embrace. “We’re so happy for you.”

“Thank you, Mother. I’m so grateful you were here to share it with me,” you reply, accepting her embrace warmly and almost desperately due to your anxiety. You can feel her tense up when she realizes that you are hugging her to soothe yourself but she doesn’t say anything.

Your father stands by quietly. He only nods approvingly when Marcus joins the three of you, “A splendid event. We’re confident our daughter is in good hands.”

Marcus bows his head respectfully, “You have my word that she is.”

Your father turns to you, his expression of importance softening just a bit, “Remember what we’ve taught you, my daughter. Honor and family are paramount.”

“I understand, Father,” you assure him, avoiding his eyes. The surprisingly cool interaction between father and daughter catches Marcus’ attention, and the step he takes closer to you is almost unnoticeable. You feel his arm accidentally brushing yours but you swear that there’s a sort of protectiveness in the featherlight touch even if it is unintentional. It makes exchanging farewells easier.

“Perhaps we should retire as well,” he suggests when your parents are out of sight, “Goddess Nox has already spread her veil across the sky for a while.”

"Yes, I suppose it is time,” you glance up at the stars above, feeling the cool night air against your skin. You wish he would ground you like before.

The both of you make your way to your shared chambers. The short walk feels longer than it should, the weight of the moment pressing down on you with each step. You glance at your husband as he walks beside you, his calm and steady demeanor sharply in contrast with the growing nervousness inside you. The walls of the corridor are lined with flickering torches, and they seem to stretch on endlessly. Though nothing lasts forever and eventually you come to a halt, the door in front of you leading you to your wedding night.

This is it.

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bosbas · 9 months ago

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Chapter 3: they say looks can kill and I might try

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 3.4k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, a small part of the dialogue is in French, Colin being mean, reader being mean, perhaps some historical inaccuracies (idk if the royal opera house was actually called that in 1816 IM SORRY)

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

April 23, 1816 – It seems Lady Violet Bridgerton and Lady Catherine Montclair have become fast friends. This author, ever intrigued by the comings and goings of the Montclairs in London's high society, cannot help but ponder: Is there a union on the horizon? Does the blossoming friendship between Lady Montclair and Lady Bridgerton hint at an impending marriage, or are they simply two kindred spirits enjoying each other's company, with no matrimonial plans for their children?

Your mother had taken quite a liking to Lady Bridgerton. In truth, you mostly didn’t mind. Contrary to what Lady Whistledown was telling the ton, your mother wasn’t particularly interested in marrying you off to a Bridgerton. In fact, the only time she wasn’t trying to marry you off was when she was with Lady Bridgerton. It was a breath of fresh air, to say the least.

Benedict was lovely, as was Eloise. The trouble, as always, came in the form of Colin Bridgerton. Typical.

Since your mother’s newfound friendship with Lady Violet, you found yourself thrust into Colin Bridgerton's company at every event. It was ghastly. Even being near him had your heart rate speeding up. You had to make a conscious effort not to grind your teeth and clench your fists every time he spoke.

You weren’t quite sure when it happened, but it seemed that Colin Bridgerton had abandoned all pretense of gentlemanly conduct and settled for matching your disdain. You couldn’t say you were surprised. It was exactly what you expected of him, after all.

Tonight had been particularly taxing. Anthony Bridgerton was hosting a ball, which meant that your mother had strong-armed you into spending the entire night with the Bridgertons—when you weren’t with Lord Barlow, that is. You hadn’t minded much at the beginning, enjoying the respite from your mother practically auctioning you off for a dance now that you were courting the Duke.

Yet, Colin seemed to have made it his singular mission to vex you constantly. Sly glances and biting remarks had escalated to a glass of water “inexplicably” pouring down the front of your dress. Thankfully, the dark blue of your gown successfully camouflaged any stain, but your patience was wearing perilously thin.

To be fair, you had insulted his intelligence, unprovoked, about three or four times before he spilled the glass of water on you. And not-so-subtly called him a “sale enfoiré” (dirty bastard). But still, he was infuriating, and he had been equally as bad all night.

Currently, you were standing side by side, a simmering tension palpable in the air between you. A fragile truce had been brokered by the stern words of your elder sister, Charlotte, but the desire to spark an argument with Colin was ever-present.

He crossed his arms, and you couldn’t help but be acutely aware of his shoulder touching yours. The closeness of his touch sent a jolt through you, an unwelcome sensation that only added to your mounting frustration.

Colin Bridgerton was not the sort of man you liked, let alone respected, you reminded yourself. You were not particularly interested in engaging with a man who viewed you as merely a dowry with a womb.

And yet, you couldn’t help yourself. At every chance you got, you couldn’t resist the urge to show him just how much you disliked him. You might have been embarrassed by your childish actions if he weren’t also an instigator.

“You’ve only danced with the Duke once tonight, Lady Montclair” he commented, his tone dripping with a hint of mockery as he kept his gaze fixed elsewhere. “Has he bored you already with his talk about his family’s estate? Or is that exactly what you’re after?”

You held back a groan. He was particularly relentless tonight, wasn’t he?

“I can assure you, Mr. Bridgerton, the Duke and I engage in far more stimulating conversations than you might imagine,” you retorted, a flash of defiance in your eyes. “Certainly more engaging than your exchange with Miss Abernathy, I'd venture to say. Although her substantial dowry must have held some interest for you, I presume?”

“We were talking about my travels to India, if you must know,” he drawled, the challenge evident in his tone. “Not that you and the Duke would have much to speak about in that regard, given he’s never been.”

You scoffed. “I should hope I would be able to talk about it, Mr. Bridgerton; I spent three years living in India.”

Colin huffed, annoyed that he had forgotten that small detail. It took everything in you not to turn and face him right then, wanting to bask in the fact that you had bested him yet again.

“Well, I fear the Duke would have been bored regardless. Look at him now, speaking with Miss Barrington. He certainly did not look that entertained when speaking with you.”

You glanced over at Lord Barlow. It was true, he was smiling at something Miss Barrington had said, but it wasn’t like he never smiled around you. You knew Colin was just winding you up, trying to get a reaction out of you.

“I see he's asked her to dance. Do you think he'll ask you for another, or has he had enough of you for tonight?”

Your fists clenched. The snide looks and snarky comments and even the water on your dress you could deal with. But you knew that you had to marry to secure your future, and Colin's thinly veiled jabs struck a nerve.

You turned to look at him slightly, finding his gaze still on your suitor across the ballroom. Perfect. You shifted closer to him, momentarily taken aback by the intense sound of your heartbeat in your ears. But you ignored it, much like you ignored his sharp inhale as you moved closer.

With a deliberate motion, you lifted your foot and brought it down on top of his with as much strength as you could muster. The impact was immediate, a sharp jolt of pain shooting through Colin as he fought to stifle a cry.

He staggered forward, lifting his injured foot off the ground and feeling the throbbing of his toes he knew would last for days. Colin’s eyes watered with the effort of standing up, and you could do nothing but smile.

Oh, how he wished to wipe that triumphant expression from your face. He probably deserved your wrath at this point, given his behavior, but dear Lord did you have to make it so painful?

Gingerly, he lowered his injured foot to the ground, his breath catching in a subdued groan as he sought to regain his balance amidst the lingering ache.

“Lady Montclair, I’m sure you’ll excuse me,” Colin managed through gritted teeth, the pain in his foot now a throbbing ache. “I believe I must go tend to my foot, which has been inexplicably injured,” he finished weakly.

You cooed at him, mock concern in your voice. “Oh, Mr. Bridgerton, how dreadful! Pray do take care of yourself. We wouldn't want any lasting damage, now would we?”

He shot a glower in your direction, his eyes practically sparking with irritation as he searched for the nearest exit so he could return to the comfort of the Bridgerton carriage.

“If my toes are broken you’ll never hear the end of it,” he threatened.

“Let us all hope the injury is not so grave, then,” you replied smugly, not the slightest bit bothered that he was in pain.

And as much as you were infuriating and annoying and even slightly murderous, Colin found himself sad to be leaving your side. Even as he limped toward the exit, he missed your presence beside him. He probably just enjoyed a rivalry with someone who wasn’t related to him, he reasoned. It kept his mind sharp and his days entertaining. No other reason.

---

May 2, 1816 – Though the dowager Viscountess Violet Bridgerton and Countess Catherine Montclair remain friends, the hope for a union between the two families might be fading, if it was ever present. Lady Y/N Montclair has been spending quite a bit of time with Lord Arthur Barlow, and even this author knows a Duke is a better match than a Bridgerton, highly esteemed as their family might be.

Today was one of the rare occasions where you could simply enjoy yourself. The Duke and Duchess of Hastings were hosting an intimate garden party, and Lord Barlow was not in attendance. Although you were a tad disappointed, given that the two of you got along quite well, it did mean you could take a break from the pursuit of a husband for one afternoon.

Which is why you were sitting next to Eloise, gently rocking Caroline Basset to sleep as you discussed your marriage prospects.

“Your parents really delayed your coming out so you could marry an Englishman?” Eloise asked, shocked. “What could compel them to be so cruel toward you? The men of the ton are not the sort to write home about, I can assure you.”

You laughed, amused by Eloise’s aversion to marriage. Well, aversion to marriage in the way that you knew it to be. She was so refreshing to speak with: Eloise had rejected two marriage proposals already simply because she didn’t like her suitors. Truthfully it was not something you had previously thought was possible.

“The Duke is not so bad that I would dread marrying him!” you giggled. “And he is fairly handsome, too.”

“The best of a bad bunch, it seems,” teased Eloise, sensing the beginnings of fondness in your voice.

How on earth was Colin related to her? Or any of the Bridgertons, really? Eloise was lovely, and it remained a mystery how she and Colin could share any parentage at all.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Daphne and Simon, who stood in the garden and tapped on a glass to address their guests. Not wanting baby Caroline to wake up, you stood up carefully and made your way across the garden to the nurses.

“And we also have some news to share,” Daphne announced excitedly.

You turned around to face the Duchess after successfully handing Caroline off to a nurse and groaned involuntarily as you saw Colin already standing next to you. Unfortunately, it was far too late to move without causing a commotion, and you did not hate Colin so much as to disrespect Daphne to avoid him.

Your peaceful, somewhat liberating afternoon came crashing down five seconds after being in Colin Bridgerton’s presence. You were instantly irritated by everything about him. Irritated by his signet ring glinting in the sunlight, by his windblown hair landing perfectly on his face, and by his small smile toward you when he saw you standing next to him,

Most of all, you were irritated with yourself for noticing every little detail about him. You were trying to listen to Daphne, but his breathing was so loud, so close to your ear that you found it impossible. It was ridiculous, you knew. And you also knew it was only irritating you because you hated him. But it didn’t stop you from absolutely loathing the way Colin Bridgerton breathed.

You felt anger rising in your chest as more time went on, his chest rising and falling evenly, and the words came out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“Stop breathing. I’m trying to listen to your sister,” you hissed.

“Stop breathing?” he whispered back, incredulous. “Do you suggest I stop entirely and fall dead right at this very moment?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” you shot back.

“It would certainly be on your conscience, then. Or perhaps you don’t have one. I wouldn’t be surprised,” he whispered back angrily.

And then suddenly, everyone was clapping and cheering, and neither of you had any idea what for. You looked around dumbly, trying to figure out what exactly had been said while mentally berating yourself for picking a fight with Colin, who also seemed confused by all the commotion.

Gregory walked up to Colin, clapping him on the back and punching him on the arm.

“We’re going to be uncles once again! D’you reckon I’ll be the godfather this time around?”

“Not a chance,” Colin responded jovially, having realized that Daphne had announced a pregnancy.

Gregory moaned in disappointment and walked away to speak with Simon, surely to convince him of his candidacy as a godfather, but Colin turned to you, a raging fire in his eyes.

“You couldn’t have waited ten more seconds before asking me to 'stop breathing'?” he all but spat.

You cringed, feeling a twinge of guilt in the pit of your stomach as you watched Colin walk away to speak with his sister. You deserved his wrath just this once. Perhaps you’d take the day off from antagonizing him, more for Daphne’s sake than anything else.

---

May 11, 1816 – Siena Rosso, esteemed opera singer and previously a regular performer at the Royal Opera House, has returned to Mayfair after two years away. This author has learned that the Montclairs have been invited to watch from Lady Danbury’s box…

You rubbed your eyes and sighed deeply, already dreading the three-hour-long opera ahead of you as you watched Siena Rosso emerge and begin singing.

Your mother turned around in her seat with a frown, leaning over to you. “Y/N,” she scolded softly. “Ce n'est pas digne d'une dame.” (That’s unladylike)

You rolled your eyes once she turned around again. Usually, you were not opposed to going to the opera, finding the story compelling and the music beautiful, but tonight all you were looking forward to were the closing curtains.

Lady Whistledown had failed to mention that the Bridgertons would be in Lady Danbury’s box tonight, too, and you were upset that you would have to spend the evening sitting next to Colin. Of course, Louis had gotten out of coming tonight, as had Benedict, and you simply assumed Colin would do the same. But no, he had shown up looking disconcertingly good and sat right next to you.

On top of being forced to spend the evening alongside your least favorite member of the ton, you were completely exhausted. Having come to terms with the reality that you would probably be engaged to be married in a few weeks, you had been unable to sleep and opted to go to your spot in the garden to look at the stars instead. Although it had been soothing, seeing the twinkling lights and being reminded of every version of you who had looked up at these same stars, you were now bone-tired and fighting off sleep.

You couldn’t even muster the energy to spite Colin in some form or another. All your energy was focused on staying awake and fighting against your eyelids as they periodically shuttered closed.

You had been hoping that, if anything, sitting next to Colin and inevitably trading insults with him would keep you awake, but he was being uncharacteristically mellow tonight. And you were nothing if not suspicious. In the time you had known him, he had always attempted at least one conversation-turned-argument within five minutes of seeing you.

Whatever the reason for his silence was, you were grateful. Perhaps his streak of combativeness was coming to an end and you could go back to silently loathing him. You hoped so. It had certainly been easier that way.

It would have been easier if you didn’t hate him at all, actually. And sometimes you did wish you could set aside your contempt toward each other and at least be civil. But then you remembered the biting words you heard in Lady Danbury’s hallway.

They were etched into your memory, replaying in your mind when you saw Colin being particularly sweet to one of his nieces or laughing with his brothers and you were tempted to forget the reason you hated him in the first place.

…I suppose it depends on her dowry. The larger the dowry the more I’m willing to overlook… I’m sure you could get away with anything with any of these girls, though I suggest picking one that’s got good hips.

Even just remembering the words made you want to strangle Colin. Colin Bridgerton and Nigel Berbrooke clearly had no respect for you and saw your worth as directly proportional to your dowry, so why should you have any respect for them?

Quite interestingly, you had not seen Nigel since that fateful night. But you didn’t dwell on it too much. Dealing with one of them was already more than enough for you.

Siena’s aria ended, and you realized you had not been paying attention in the slightest. However, you were not as bothered as you would usually be by your lack of attention. The music had become softer and lower, and you could hardly keep your eyes open. It wouldn’t hurt to close them for a short while, right? Siena wasn’t even performing, and you were sitting behind your mother, free from her prying eyes.

An hour later, Colin turned to look at you, sleeping peacefully, for what might have been the four-hundredth time. Your hand was supporting your head, your lips parted softly as you breathed deeply, and he just stared.

He had seen you laughing and smiling around other people, but this was the first time he had been so close to you without you glaring or frowning at him, and it was far more important to him than anything happening onstage.

In a few moments, you would wake up and remind him exactly why he disliked you, but for now, he could just enjoy this moment of peace.

A soft snore left your lips, and Colin nervously glanced toward your mother, hoping she hadn’t heard. He knew the countess would be upset if she realized her daughter was asleep at the opera, and he prayed your snore had been an isolated incident.

But to no avail; you let out another snore, slightly louder than the last, and Colin tensed. Your mother, along with his, seemed too enthralled in the opera to notice yet, but he suspected the snoring would only get worse.

Logically, Colin knew he had to do something. As much as he hated you– or rather hated that you hated him– he knew it would be cruel to let you face your mother’s wrath when you were clearly exhausted. But he couldn’t very well start being nice to you right now, after weeks of feuding.

He was far too proud to admit it to anyone, but you had gotten to him. You brought out the worst in him. Or maybe he brought out the worst in himself, and you were only there to see it. He felt slightly guilty at how aggressively he reacted at Daphne’s garden party, not to mention every other time he had made a disparaging comment about you. But the guilt quickly evaporated every time you replied with an equally disparaging comment.

After a moment, and another snore, Colin settled for reaching over and pinching your bicep to wake you up. You startled awake, almost yelping in pain and looking around in confusion.

Fully awake now, your eyes narrowed as you saw Colin smirking at you, his hand near your arm giving you a very clear idea of who had woken you up.

“Good morning, Lady Montclair. It’s nice of you to join us. There’s an opera happening at the minute, in case you hadn’t noticed,” he said sarcastically.

You clenched your fists, eyes glancing at your mother as she dabbed at her eyes after what Colin could only imagine was a very emotional aria. After a deep breath, you crossed your arms and slumped back in your seat, defeated.

“Like you’re any better. I doubt you’ve paid attention at the opera a single time in your life,” you finally whispered back, stifling a yawn.

As you sat glowering, Colin thought that it might be impossible for the two of you to be in a room without arguing. However, at least Colin had made sure that you had plenty of reasons to hate him. He might not have known why you disliked him at first, but he certainly knew now, and that was a far better feeling than wondering what he did wrong.

—

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caseyzhang1996 · 6 months ago

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Archangel of Terror

Several months before I drawing this artwork, I was engrossed in Michael Walter's 'Regicide and Revolution.' Saint-Just's impassioned speech countering Morison's arguments in the Convention deeply inspired me to delve further into the French Revolution.

By the way this is my first time sharing my artwork publicly, and I truly hope you all will enjoy it. I’m sorry for any historical inaccuracies of my artwork. Your feedback is greatly appreciated :)

#frev #french revolution #saint just #louis antoine de saint just #personal art #illustration #artists on tumblr

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probably-not-a-rocketscientist · 7 months ago

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Bored

You're bored of Bucky talking about his love life. Luckily, your favorite bombardier swoops in to save the day.

Warnings: Historical inaccuracies (its good for the plot)

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: Just a short Hambone fic I came up with at work! Inspired by Bored by Laufey.

You had been listening, for what felt like hours, to Bucky’s rants about Lil and Dye’s relationship. At first, you felt sorry for him. You spotted him across the dance hall, his usual cheery self now sulking and sad. Helen and Tatty had filled you in on what happened with Bucky and Lil, claiming he had been like this for days now. You questioned the validity of their information, but they assured you that they'd overheard some of the pilots talk about it earlier. You decided to be a good friend to Bucky and, against Helen and Tatty’s advice, walked over to where he was sitting to ask him how he was feeling.

So now, instead of dancing and enjoying your night, you were stuck here. You could’ve left, but some part of you would have felt guilty for leaving him to deal with his heartache by himself. Even Buck, who was used to Bucky’s erratic behaviors, steered clear of him tonight.

Hambone saw that you were sitting with Buck, listening to whatever he was rambling on about. In fact, he saw you the moment you walked in, instantly taking his attention away from the conversation he was having with Douglass and Blakley to focus on you instead. Your usual grease stained coveralls were replaced with a blue dress and topped with a bright cherry lip. It wasn't that he didn't like your usual attire. Seeing you in your ground crew uniform was the best part of his day. But the sight of you in that dress was enough to make his heart skip a beat.

His infatuation for you started from the moment he arrived at Thorpe Abbotts. After the quite unfortunate landing of their plane, you and the rest of the ground crew jumped into action, making sure that the plane wouldn’t blow up after landing. After stabilizing everything and loading it up to be fixed, you had gone to check up on him. The fact that you went to him, out of everyone else on the plane, was the greatest welcome he could've received, and it only solidified your friendship with him.

The two of you grew closer after that encounter. You're the last person he sees on the ground before every mission and the first when he lands. He claims that you're his ‘good luck charm’ and that he always gets back safely when you're there. He also shares his bad jokes with you (you swear that they’re actually funny, he doesn’t believe you) and anecdotes about his life before the war.

You tell him about growing up in the city, a stark contrast to his Midwestern upbringing. He learns that after the war, you plan on finishing your degree just like him, and he can't help but picture life together with you stateside.

His thoughts were interrupted by Douglass, who noticed his lack of attention and he followed his gaze to you, earning him a thump on the shoulder.

“Go talk to her,” Douglass encouraged.

“She’s busy with Bucky,” Hambone argued. He did want to talk to you, tell you how pretty you looked tonight and chat with you until the sun came up, but some part of his brain stopped him from doing so and filled him up with nervousness instead.

“No she’s not, she’s clearly bored out of her mind,” Blakely added. And he was right. Even from across the room, it was clear that you were looking for any chance to escape the mostly one-sided conversation.

“I talk to her everyday, she probably doesn’t even want to see me.”

“If you don’t go over there right now, I will. And I’ll tell her that you talk about her for hours and even that one time you‒”

“Ok, ok I’ll go,” Hambone pleads, quickly standing up from his seat before his friends embarrass him even more.

He looks over to you once again. You still have the same unamused expression on your face, occasionally nodding to signal that you were still listening to whatever Bucky was still rambling about. Taking a deep breath, he makes his way over to you.

“Excuse me, Major. But the Lieutenant here promised me a dance tonight and I plan on taking her up on that offer.”

You were confused. You don’t remember Hambone asking you to dance earlier, and you knew he preferred to socialize at parties instead. Then, you realized what he was doing and looked over to Bucky, hoping he would let you be excused and more importantly, put you out of your misery.

When Bucky shooed you off and told you to enjoy the rest of your night, you jumped out of your chair with a little too much excitement and took Hambone’s hand as he led you out onto the dancefloor.

After finding a spot, you placed your hands on his shoulders. Hambone, wanting to be respectful, rested his hands a little too far above your waist. You smiled at how sweet this gesture was.

“Howard, I’m not your little sister. You can put your hands a little lower,” you teased. He still hesitated, so you took his hands in yours and moved them down. His hands feel warm against the fabric of your dress, and it's a feeling so addictive that it only strengthens the not-so-tiny crush you have on him.

“Better?” you asked.

“Better.”

You took this time to take in his appearance. He was wearing his Air Force issued olive suit. His usual floppy hair was brushed back and his mustaches neatly trimmed. Even in the midst of war, dancing at these parties with your favorite bombardier had provided you with a sense of much needed calmness.

The two of you swayed to the slow song the band was playing as you made small talk. You loved hearing the small details that made his day better. Like how his coffee was perfect this morning, or that the mission he went on earlier today was successful. However, he said that the best part of his day was seeing how pretty you looked in your dress and how your smile lit up the room. You had blushed at his last comment, knowing he was generally a flirt, but it had an effect on you every single time. You also filled him in on what happened with Bucky and his unfortunate love life. He laughed when you told him how long you were stuck there for, and you gently swatted him on the shoulder for doing so.

“But really, thanks for the assist. You were my real knight in shining armor earlier. What could I ever do to repay you?” you joked dramatically.

“A kiss should be enough.”

You froze at his answer. You knew it was a joke, but what if he was serious? Was this your chance to finally tell him how you feel?

Hambone, on the other hand, was panicking. A million thoughts had raced through his head. Had he gone too far? What if you never wanted to see him again and he had lost you as a friend, or‒

Before he could think another thought, you took his head in your hands and kissed him. It was a feeling he had imagined many times, but none of those compared to the real thing. He was trying to commit all of it to memory, from the flowery scent of your perfume to the cotton fabric of your dress under his hands. But the thing he loved the most was the way your thumbs gently brushed across his cheeks, attempting to pull him down to deepen the kiss.

When you finally had to separate for air, you searched his face for any signs of disgust or regret. Instead, you were met with that gold-tooth smile that you loved. That smile was dangerous, almost lethal, to the rhythm of your heart, and it made you wonder if he knew he had this effect on you. You then noticed the amount of lipstick that had transferred from your lips to his, making you giggle.

“What’s so funny, sweetheart?” he asked. He was still close to your face, trying to memorize every freckle, and that crinkle in your eyes when you smiled. He noticed that the scar on your right eyebrow was almost fully healed. He was with you during that accident, even talking with you for hours in case you had a concussion and was told not to fall asleep.

You took your thumb and swiped it across his lips. Then, you turned it around to show him the red pigment. He gave you a hum of amusement, satisfied with the result.

“Might as well get a little more.”

This time, he leaned to kiss you. This kiss is more passionate, almost as if it was fueled by months of pining and stolen glances. He pulled you in closer so that your bodies were flush, causing you to gasp into the kiss. He would’ve stayed here forever if he could, with you in his arms and not a single worry plaguing his mind.

You pulled away from him when you heard the sounds of cheering coming from his original table. Douglass and Blakely were still there, now joined by Brady and Crosby. Hambone had no doubt in his mind that they were gossiping about how they wouldn’t have to endure him pining over you every second of the day anymore.

Hambone walked back over with you under his arm and a grin on his face. More cheers came from the men, along with a few ‘congrats’ and ‘about time’s sprinkled in. You attempted to hide your blushing cheeks in Hambone's shoulder, not aware that your mutual feelings for each other were painfully obvious to everyone else.

“Red looks good on you,” Douglass said as he tossed Hambone a napkin to clean himself up. He doesn’t realize just how much of your lipstick is on him until he sees the amount he wipes off. You look at him with a smirk, almost proud of the way you marked his lips with red hue.

“I bet it does,” he agrees as he looks over to you with love in his eyes.

#hambone hamilton x reader #howard hamilton x reader #masters of the air #mota #masters of the air x reader #mota x reader #howard hamilton #hambone hamilton #howard hambone hamilton #masters of the air fanfic #mota fanfic

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stellabk · 16 days ago

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FVRY OF THE FIRE

Part III

Hi! So I completely forgot to mention I was going to start by posting every other day since this time of year at work is CRAZY. I still hope all of you enjoy the story when I do post it, and yeah I think that’s all. Enjoy!

Summary - Deianira has sulked in her room in the days leading up to her wedding, worrying everyone of the court, her sister, and even the Emperor she is meant to marry.

Warning(s) - verbal abuse, shouting, throwing things, historical inaccuracy; please let me know if their are any warnings I missed or grammar mistakes

The few days leading up to the wedding, parties were held in the grand hall, though Deianira did not attend. She was sure that Emperor Geta would send soldiers to knock down the door and carry her there against her will, or maybe even would’ve done it himself, yet she still sat in her room, only leaving to go to the bathhouse with Aelia. Her sister had come to visit her the night she had not attended the first celebration, finding Deia in the bed unmoving. Publia instructed servants to bring her meals and told them she was ill.

Now, here she was yet again, lying in the plush bed with fresh, soft linens and looking up at the mosaic covered ceiling. Aelia entered, not even earning a startled jump from her mistress.

”I have brought your lunch, Empre- Deianira,” she corrected herself. Upon being told that Deia was ill—though even she knew she was well—she brought her breakfast and called her empress. Deia had stood to her feet and was shouting that she would never be empress, though she did apologize profusely to Aelia after realizing she was taking it all out on her only companion other than family.

“Leave it. I wish to be alone before I walk the aisle toward my demise,”

”Miss Deia, it can’t be all that bad. Being married to the emperor gives you so much freedom, your children shall be legitimate, and not to mention they will one day inherit the throne.”

”You wouldn’t understand, Lia, and I would not expect you to.”

Aelia sat on the bed, facing her future ruler. Her red hair appeared on fire in the sunlight that shone through. “It might surprise you just how much I understand.”

Deia looked at her, Aelia now noticing the puffiness of her eyes, so red they matched her hair.

“You know, malady, I was once married.” Aelia smiled at her hands resting in her lap, not noticing the shock on Deia’s face as she shot to sit up. “He was lovely. We were of no nobility, but I was given the liberty of choosing my own marriage. I had two beautiful sons as well.”

”What happened to them?” Deia grew closer to her companion, scooping up her hands in her own and holding them tightly.

”He was taken from me. I shall spare you the details, but he passed, and once my sons were of age, they wished to avenge their father. They were met with the same fate.”

Aelia wiped a stray tear, Deia still cradling her hands and stroking her knuckles in comfort.

”I should not burden a woman with such woe the night before she is to be married. Would you like to go to the bathhouse? We have new imported oils to use for your wedding… a gift from Emperor Geta.”

“I suppose since I am trapped, I may as well appreciate the gifts I have been given.”

Deia sat in the warm water, running her hand over the top to create ripples that distorted her figure below the surface. Aelia washed her hair with a pomegranate and fig soaps and oils to signify female fertility and long lasting commitment.

”I was in love like you once,” Deia broke through the silence. Aelia continued to wash the long red hair that had darkened from the moisture. “He promised that we would be wed after… after everything in my village began to quiet itself.”

”What was he like?”

”He was kind. He had brown eyes, though one was blinded and scarred from fighting to protect me once while we were still young. He grew to be so strong, as well. He was… everything a woman hears of in stories.”

”He sounds marvelous, my lady. I understand now… I am sorry that you are not with the man you wished for, but perhaps you will fall for the Imperator in time.”

No other words were said between the two of them, but it had been enough. Geta had heard tell that his future wife had left for the bathhouse and though he would never voice his concerns, he did grow worried about her. When he had arrived, Deianira had began talking about her love lost back home. He fumed, not moving as he clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms and blood dripped onto the marble floor.

”Imperator, are you alright? Do you wish to return to your room?” His servant cowered behind him, praying to the Gods that he would agree and they could both avoid the altercation. His prayers were in vain, as Geta pushed the door open, hitting it against the wall and letting the sound reverberate though the bathhouse.

”Oh, so sorry to startle you, wife, I thought you would still be in bed.”

”well, I am feeling much better with Aelia’s care. I can take my leave and give you the bathhouse for the rest of the afternoon,” she shifted to rise while Aelia used a linen to guard her from the emperor’s gaze, but he held up his hand.

”Nonsense. We are to be married; it is no concern of mine if you were to stay. In fact, I insist.”

Deia nodded, sinking back into the water as Aelia refolded the linen and resumed scrubbing the lady’s hair.

“Although I understand that you wish to spend your days in the bathhouse with another man of much lower standing. It does not suit such an important standing woman as yourself.”

”I don’t know what you are referring to, imperator. I am to be your wife, whether I wish it or not,” she brought her knees to her chest to shield what little of her figure he may see through the water.

”There’s no need to lie to me, Deia. I am emperor and must hear all the voices of Rome and their woes,” his jaw ticked as he splayed his arms out against the side of the pool.

”I assure you, I have no need to lie to the man I am to marry.”

He stared at her with blooming fury, using his hard gaze like he usually had to make people cower and confess, but it only made him angrier that she was an exact mirror. The silence was thick enough to cut with shears, and the servants’ movements were tense at the interaction.

”I was beginning to wonder what ailment had fallen upon you. You have not been to a single celebration in honor of our engagement, and yet here I find you, being pampered like a most loved pet. With the fineries I bought you, no less.”

”I am quite alright. I was not feeling my best, but I shall be ready for tomorrow. Do not fret too much about me,” she didn’t look at him as she continued playing in the water as if it were far more intriguing than he was. Aelia had finished washing long ago, but she could not bring herself to interrupt the emperor in fear of losing her head.

”Are you quite sure you’re ready? You must be certain. After all, if you discover you are not, and I catch wind of any infidelity on your part, even just a man looking at you, I shall cut their tongues out and serve it to you before locking you in my bedchambers for the rest of my life, little snake.”

”You believe me to be a whore? I am offended you would call your soon-to-be wife something so sinister, emperor. I shall be faithful, as this marriage is at least legitimate, whether I were to love you or not.”

Aelia held up the linen, letting Deianira climb out of the water shielded, before wrapping her and fastening her dress just to wear back to the room.

”Forgive me for my departure, emperor, but I must go prepare for our wedding tomorrow,” she bowed to him, eyes cold as she stared at him the entire time. “I shall see you tomorrow at the altar.”

Deia’s hair had been dry for some time now as she twisted the glossy red waves around her finger and took in the new scent. She sat in the small chair in the corner next to the ornate mirror, picking up her hairbrush and combing it through as she stared at a shell of herself looking back.

The door swung open, Geta marching toward her. As soon as she looked toward him, he was right in front of her, snatching the brush from her hands and throwing it against the mirror causing it to shatter and pieces to fly across the floor. She dared not to flinch and show that he frightened her or he may become more hostile.

”You dare embarrass me like that!” He shouted in her face as she stared at him with the same lifeless eyes she had given him earlier.

”How did I do such a thing, emperor?”

“You have not been to a single celebration. You made excuses that you were unwell that made people worry for you, when really you were sulking,” he spit the last word. “You lied right to my face about what I overheard just outside the bathhouse, and in front of the help, no less. I should have you confined to my room for the rest of your days!”

“I pray you do! I have been ill: I have been sick of the idea that I must marry you of all people. I wish to be home instead of being forced to marry someone like you!”

”My little snake, your insolence knows no bounds. I would give you all you could ask for and it still would not be satiable for you, would it? I have tried to be gentle with you, dear, but it is hard for me to believe that anyone could ever have loved you!”

Deia stood her ground, but she felt choked. Her eyes and throat began to burn as she held back her bitterness for the words

“It is hard for me to believe that anyone could ever love you!”

Geta faltered at the sight, her brown eyes staring at him angrily as they glassed over. He felt the pang in his chest and couldn’t comprehend its origins. He pulled his face back to stone, not letting her see that her emotion caused him to stumble before he walked out the room briskly, slamming the door behind him and rattling Deia’s insides.

#emperor geta x fem reader #emperor geta x female reader #emperor geta fanfic #emperor geta fanfiction #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta #gladiator ii smut #gladiator 2 smut #gladiator ll #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #joeseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn

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perotovar · 1 year ago

Text

ásjá - a winter solstice story

Ásjá by Heilung (i highly recommend listening to this while reading)

Our second single release is a love song. Maria sings to the listener of love, recovery and prosperity, chasing away evil and welcoming love. The piece contains a quotation of some lines of “Hávamál”, combined with a selection of blessing words meant to provide help to the listener in a troubled time. Kai brought his vocal part of 'Asja' back to us after a month of isolation, fasting and meditation in nature. Only the spirits know the full meaning, but we do know that the context is love, prosperity and protection.

pairing: pero tovar/ofc!helga (but this is mostly a character study) rating: T word count: 7.4k (idk what happened here) warnings: minor swearing, google translated spanish (sorry), historical inaccuracies in favor of fantasy/magic, my american norse pagan perspective of these practices, if i missed anything else lemme know! dividers by @saradika-graphics beta and norwegian translations by the lovely @chloeangelic thank you, honey ♥

summary: Pero picks up a contract that leads him "somewhere up North", but what he finds instead is unlike anything he imagined for himself. Or, what would happen if Pero encountered the Vikings during their winter celebration?

this is apart of @hellishjoel's 12 days of pedro. thank you for including me, kylee, and make sure you all read the other presents!

god jól, everyone🌲❄️🌙🐺

It was fucking cold.

With shaking hands and numb limbs, Pero made his way further up the hill. The wind picked up the further he went into the trees.

The contract he’d taken up was for a man by the name of Ingvar. A strange name to Pero’s ears, but that hardly mattered to him. This Ingvar was to be taken care of, and Pero had to show proof.

Not a problem.

The problem, at least for the moment, was the fucking weather and his own lack of foresight. He was told that Ingvar was “somewhere up North”, and that was it. He didn’t exactly plan for just how cold it would be. His fingers were going numb and red, and he saw every breath that left his lungs. If William were here, he’d tell Pero to quit his “bitching” and to make camp.

The camp, he could do. The bitching? Unlikely.

Pero and William separated after the… events in China. They stayed together to do a few jobs together, but William decided to make his way back to China and meet up with Lin Mae again, possibly even settle down. Pero didn’t fancy seeing the people that had arrested and almost killed him, and black powder wasn’t worth the trouble anymore. At least not to him. He rather liked the uncertainty of his job. Found comfort in it, in fact. His future was set for him in this line of work. He would live doing the things he loved most; fighting, fucking, and drinking. And the ending was always the same. At least, that’s what he told himself.

A low whisper brought Pero out of his thoughts. He snapped his head towards the direction of the sound and furrowed his already heavy brow. The sound of a raven cawing caught his attention, making him hum skeptically to himself before deciding this was as good a spot as any for a fire.

Once settled on a fallen tree and attempting to warm his hands with his meager fire, Pero dug into his travel pack. He grumbled at the pitiful excuse for food he had left. He grabbed a piece of thick, dry bread and started ripping off chunks and eating that. Perhaps he could hunt? Find a rabbit, or something a little bigger. He remembered to make a bow this time. Swallowing the last chunk of the bread, he picked up his bow and arrows, and threw his cloak-slash-blanket over his shoulders. It was going to be dark soon, and he didn’t like the idea of starving his first night in this frozen Northern hell.

Another whisper.

Pero’s body went taut. He looked between the tall trees and the endless sea of white ahead of him. Nothing. A rabbit hopped by, distracting him. Before he could think too hard, he knocked an arrow and let fly. The arrow landed in the snow just after the rabbit hopped away.

“Mierda,” he grumbled. (Shit.)

He crouched low and slowly followed after the rabbit. He made his way toward a small clearing, which seemed to be in the center of the forest, if his tracking skills were getting any better.

There was a large stone in the middle, towards the top of the clearing. There looked to be a large blood stain in the center of it. Pero raised a brow and grunted quietly. This was none of his business, clearly.

Suddenly, the rabbit made its way to the middle of the clearing, next to the large stone. Pero sighed and lined up a shot, hoping for the best. He released a breath at the same time that the arrow left his fingers, and another whisper passed through his ears.

He gasped quietly and time seemed to stop as the arrow traveled through the cold air. A shiver ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the weather. He closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath, trying to make himself as still as possible.

The sound of the arrow piercing the rabbit startled him out of his frozen state. He blinked a few times, the white forest coming back into view as he looked down at the dead rabbit in the clearing. He exhaled and slowly stood, settling his bow on his shoulder. He looked around again, and when he saw nothing, slowly made his way down the hill and towards the center of the clearing.

He picked up the dead rabbit and removed the arrow, tucking it into his belt to clean and use again later. Standing in the center of the clearing, he looked over at the bloodstained stone and felt that shiver go down his spine again. He looked up at the gray sky and decided it was time to go back to his camp. He hooked the rabbit’s carcass onto his belt, pulled the cloak over his shoulders tighter, and shoved his hands inside the fabric.

“Maldita nieve,” he grumbled to himself. (Fucking snow.) As he climbed back up the hill, he felt a sharp pain in his foot and lost his balance, catching himself with his hands in the snow. He hissed loudly and looked down at his boot. A small spike was poking out through the top, meaning the sharp rock was piercing through his foot. He groaned and leaned against the hill, steadying his breathing. He counted to three in his head and yanked the rock from his foot. “Fuck,” he exhaled loudly, a few drops of his own blood covering his palm as he looked at the rock. A small symbol was carved into it, making him squint his eyes, trying to decipher what it was. Pero shook his head and sighed, pocketing the strange rock to inspect later.

On his way back to his little camp, limping the whole way to not put too much pressure on his foot, he grabbed some branches to make the fire last a little longer. Once the meager fire came into view, he swore he saw someone sitting on the log he was using before. He froze in place, heavy boots landing in the snow abruptly. He squinted his eyes and grew confused. An old man? What would he be doing out here?

Pero looked around the frozen forest to see if there was anyone that could be with the old man. When he didn’t see anyone, he looked back at the campfire, and the old man was gone. He’d completely vanished. Pero grunted quietly and rubbed his eyes with frozen fingers. He shook his head to snap himself out of it and made his way over to the campfire.

After putting the rabbit on the spit and it started to cook, Pero made his bed for the night. He’d do his best to sleep, but didn’t have high hopes. Once the rabbit was cooked, he stabbed it with his knife and started eating it messily. He groaned at the taste of fresh, hot, cooked meat and enjoyed it, even if it was pretty bland. It warmed his bones a little and made him more comfortable, pulling the cloak tighter around his shoulders.

The sound of a branch snapping behind him went unnoticed by Pero’s ears, too focused on the food. He hadn’t eaten in days. The second snap, however, was heard, and it made him drop the rabbit onto the ground and grab his sword, brandishing it in front of him as he stood.

“¿Dónde estás, bastardo?” He grumbled under his breath, his heavy breaths puffing out into smoke. (Where are you, bastard?)

He sighed in frustration when he didn’t see anything. He was seriously starting to consider if this contract was even worth it. And if it wasn’t, would he be able to make it back without dying? Either from the cold, or whatever it was that was playing with him. He mumbled obscenities to himself and sat back down on his fallen tree.

He picked up the rabbit and groaned at the dirt now covering it. He blew off what he could and decided to continue eating it, dirt be damned. He was hungry.

Once full, he looked up at the moon in the sky, trying to figure out how late it was. He rubbed his hands over his arms to keep warm and added a branch or two to his fire. He grabbed a piece of spare cloth from his travel pack and quickly wrapped his foot. He laid down next to the fire and pulled the cloak up over his shoulders and shut his eyes. He didn’t feel tired, but he couldn’t help closing his eyes. He tried to fight it, to keep his guard up, but it was useless.

He started to feel lightheaded and turned onto his back, looking up at the moon again. The moon and the stars, so bright he almost didn’t need the campfire, were swirling around and moving in close and further away. The trees surrounding him looked to be moving side to side.

What was happening? Did the old man poison him somehow? Who was that old man?

His vision went blurry and he felt like he was spinning in place despite laying on the ground, completely still. He let out a weak groan and tried to move, reaching for his sword.

The last thing he saw before his vision went black, was the silhouette of a large dog, or perhaps a wolf, in the distance hidden behind the trees.

Warmth. He felt warm. And a pounding headache.

Pero slowly blinked awake and groaned at the light that hit his eyes. The smell of cooked meat and root vegetables hit his nostrils. His stomach whined in protest.

“For en merkelig fyr…” An older male voice said, somewhere behind him. (He is a strange one…)

“Kjekk, da,” A younger, female voice replied. (Handsome, though.)

He didn’t understand any of it. It wasn’t a language he’d heard before. Eyelids fluttering, he slowly opened his eyes to a small gathering of people all looking down at him. He startled and reached for his knife, and grunted when he didn’t feel it.

“Vi har våpnene dine. De er trygge.” (We have your weapons. They’re safe.)

Pero turned his head in the direction of the voice and squinted his eyes at the woman. She looked to be in her 30s, with a baby attached to her breast and drinking.

“No entiendo,” he grumbled, voice hoarse from lack of use. “¿Dónde estoy?” (I do not understand. Where am I?)

He took in his surroundings, now sitting up, and saw that he looked to be in a small room cut off from a much larger group of people. He heard laughter and song outside the cloth separating the, assumed, larger hall from where he was now. He furrowed his brows. A celebration? What for?

“¿Dónde estoy?” He repeated, voice slightly harsher. (Where am I?)

“Har ikke hørt det språket før,” one of the men said. (Haven’t heard that tongue before.) Pero looked up at him and squinted his eyes slightly. The man was large, with a full beard, and an even fuller middle. But there was no denying his strength; age hadn’t stopped this man from doing well in a fight, Pero assumed. Not that he couldn’t take him, of course. He looked at the man’s belt and saw a one-handed axe attached to his belt and thought better of it, especially without his own weapons.

Suddenly a small sting came from his foot and he snapped his head down at the young woman tending to the wound he’d gotten on his way back from the clearing. He’d almost completely forgotten about it, too cold to even really feel it. The young woman startled and blushed, keeping her head down as she cleaned the cut.

“Det er et vakkert språk, da, er det ikke?” The first younger woman’s voice came through, a slightly entranced tone to it. (It is a beautiful tongue, though, no?) He looked to his left and saw her batting her eyelashes at him. He huffed a breath in amusement. He’d had his fair share of women giving him looks like that, almost always with a payment in mind, but his thoughts were elsewhere, even if it did feel nice. And she was a tad too skinny for his own tastes.

Pero exhaled. This was clearly getting nowhere. Fine. “Where am I? You know English, yes?” He asked, exasperated, in the general direction of anyone who might be able to answer him.

The shy girl cleaning his wound lifted her head and smiled softly at him. “I know a little,” she said quietly, her voice heavily accented.

“Finally,” he sighed. “What is going on?”

“A few of our men found you in the forest, passed out. Your lips were blue.” She won’t make eye contact with him, bur her brows furrowed like she was worried for him. “We have lost some of our own men in a similar way before. It is not pretty.”

Pero hummed softly and nodded his thanks. “Did any of them see an old man? In the woods?”

The girl tilted her head and asked the man next to him, the one with the axe in his belt, if any of them had seen such a man. The man raised a brow and shook his head, looking at Pero skeptically.

“Ingvar says–”

“Yes, I understood, thank you–” Pero cut himself off and looked back at the man with the axe. This was Ingvar? Pero looked back at the girl and nodded his head as she bandaged his wound, his own cloth wrapped around his ankle. He would have to be careful if he was to carry out this contract. “Thank you,” he repeated, the words foreign on his tongue.

The girl nodded, cheeks pink, and stood to leave. As she left, the cloth covering them moved to show a large fire in the middle of the hall with an even larger feast around it. The girl came back with a tankard of something for him and he took it gratefully. As the sweet liquid hit his tongue, he coughed slightly.

“What is this?” He wheezed a little, looking at the cup like it slapped his mother.

The girl giggled before saying, “Mead. It is honey wine.”

Pero rolled the words around his tongue for a moment. “Interesante,” he hummed to himself. (Interesting.)

“Vel, han er våken. Tilby ham noe å spise, men hold øye på ham. Han ser ut som en leiesoldat, og jeg stoler ikke på ham,” Ingvar grunted, leaving the room and rejoining the festivities. (Well, he is up. Invite him to eat, but keep an eye on him. He looks like a mercenary and I do not trust him.)

Pero watched him closely as he left, and took another drink of his mead, eyes hard.

“Would you like some food, mister-”

“Tovar,” Pero grunted. “Yes. I am very hungry.” He turned on the cot and got to his feet quickly, but quickly lost his balance, a couple of the women catching him as he stood on shaky legs. He sighed in frustration and stood on his own, shrugging off their help. The girl held her arm out to him, and didn’t seem too offended when he just stared at it.

“Tovar. This way,” she smiled, her face a little pinched.

“What are you celebrating?” He asked, looking around at all the food. His stomach roared at the smells.

“It is the third night of Jól. You have heard of Jól?” She asked excitedly, turning to him as she found a place for him to sit. He slowly made his way down at a long table nearby where Ingvar sat at the head of the table. A leader. This contract was getting more difficult by the second.

“I have not,” he grumbled. “What is this… Yool?”

The girl giggled again, this time at his attempt at the word. “Jól is the celebration that welcomes back the sun from the harsh Winter. Our crops start growing as the sun comes back, and the snow melts away.”

Pero hummed as he listened, nodding his thanks when she handed him a full plate of different meats, root vegetables, bread, and cheese. “You are farmers?”

The girl nods. “Most of us. Some are warriors.”

Pero hummed again, chewing on a piece of meat. “How did you learn English?”

The girl turned a little sad, but smiled anyway. “We used to have a man that came from… Eng-land? He died last year,” she sighed. “He taught me and a few of the children how to read and speak English. How did you learn?”

Pero frowned around his food and sighed.

“I am sorry, forget–” Pero held up a hand to stop her. “Apologies. I am… unused to kindness from strangers,” he grunted, not meeting her eyes. “A dear friend of mine is from Scotland. We have separated so he could be with his woman. He taught me.”

“Scotland?”

“It is near England.”

She nodded, slowly picking at her own food. The two of them grew quiet and just ate for a while. The celebrations continued around them, and it gave Pero a chance to take it all in.

In the center of the hall was a large hearth, with an even larger tree in the middle, lighting up the hall. It looked like the one he was using earlier as a bench, so they must have gotten it from the same forest. He can’t be too far from there, then. There were candles and flames everywhere, lighting up the hall brightly, but warmly.

He looked back at the girl and found her already staring at him. She startled, cheeks going pink again, and looked down at her food. He smirked a little, but hid it well. She was amusing.

“What is your name?” He asked.

“Sigrid,” she said softly.

“It sounds strong.”

“Yes. I am more drawn to medicine, so I suppose the name is ironic.”

Pero chuckled. “Hardly.”

Sigrid smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

A comfortable silence fell over the two of them again before Pero asked, “Who is Ingvar? He seems like a powerful man.”

“He is our Jarl. Our leader.”

“Is this like a king?” Pero furrowed his brows. He didn’t think this contract would be finished.

“Not exactly. But no less powerful.”

“I see,” Pero grunted. As if on cue, Ingvar stood from his seat at the head of the table, a large grin on his bearded face.

“Venner! Kvelden er ung, og festen er rik. Vær så snill, nyt, for mine gamle beindekk. Jeg ser dere alle i morgen tidlig.” Everyone raised their drinks and shouted… something, but Pero didn’t catch it. Sigrid leaned over and translated what Ingvar said for him. He nodded his thanks, but he was skeptical at best. Ingvar left through a door behind the throne that sat in the center of the hall. (Friends! The night is young, and the feast bountiful. Please, enjoy, for my old bones tire. I will see you all in the morning.)

“He cannot be that old, no?”

“He has been around much longer than I,” Sigrid shrugged. Pero laughed softly, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You are a child, of course he has.”

Sigrid rolled her eyes, but didn’t deny it. “If seventeen winters makes me a child, then yes.”

Pero choked on his mead and hit his chest to keep from coughing too hard. “Yes, it does,” he wheezed, laughing quietly. Sigrid laughed, too, eating some bread and cheese. A small child ran up to Sigrid and asked her a question as he tugged on her dress. Sigrid looked back at Pero apologetically and he waved her off, eating some more meat.

This was hardly the setting he expected for himself when he took the contract, but he couldn’t deny it, it was a pleasant one. The food was good, and the people seemed friendly enough. He couldn’t help but be confused by the contract; who was dumb enough to put a hit out on a powerful leader like Ingvar?

Sigrid mentioned that some of them were warriors. That didn’t surprise him at all. Just by looking at the people around the table, men and women alike, he could’ve figured that out on his own.

He sighed to himself and chewed thoughtfully. Suddenly, he remembered the small stone that pierced his foot. He looked around at the people around him to be sure no one was watching before he felt around his pocket for the stone. When he didn’t feel anything, his body went taut and he froze. Shit. They probably found it when they grabbed his weapons. Where were his weapons?

Sigrid came up to his side with the small child from before holding her hand and looking at him from behind her. “Tovar?” She asked softly. He looked up at her, heavy brow still pulled down. She gave him a quick once-over before clearing her throat. “We have sleeping quarters for you, but Lord Ingvar wishes to speak with you first.”

Pero chuckled humorlessly around his food before putting it down on his plate. He grabbed the mead and took a drink, making a face at the taste. He wasn’t sure he’d get used to that anytime soon. “Of course he does,” he sighed. “You will translate for me?”

Sigrid nodded, braided blonde hair swinging with the movement, and looked like she was trying to steel herself. He admired her mettle.

Pero followed after her, keeping light pressure on his foot as they went through that door Ingvar went through before. It led down a short hallway and ended up in a large bedroom. Ingvar was sitting on the edge of the bed before standing tall and fixing Pero with a hard look. Pero grunted and rested a hand on his hip as he leaned on the uninjured foot, waiting to get this over with.

“Hva heter du?” Ingvar grunted. (What is your name?)

“He asked your name,” Sigrid said softly.

“Tovar,” Pero narrowed his eyes.

“Hvorfor er du her?” (Why are you here?)

Sigrid translated quietly.

“Your people brought me here. I was wondering the same thing,” Pero shrugged with an attitude. Ingvar gave him a look, clearly unimpressed. Pero rolled his eyes.

Ingvar looked at Sigrid and she blushed, nodding. “He didn’t mean–”

“Yes, I know what he meant,” Pero sighed. “I had a contract. I came to fulfill that contract.”

Sigrid spoke quietly and Ingvar seemed tired as he nodded.

“Var navnet mitt på denne kontrakten?” Ingvar sighed. Pero gave Sigrid a look as she quickly translated. (Did this contract have my name on it?)

“It did…” Pero raised a brow, crossing his arms over his chest. Ingvar nodded again, but Pero spoke up before he could say anything. “I decided not to complete the contract when I saw your celebration and… status. I may be a mercenary, but I am no fool. I do not go after lords or kings.”

Ingvar raised a brow and chuckled quietly before letting out a loud, hearty laugh. “Jeg vet ikke om du er smart eller dum,” Ingvar smiled, cheeks flushed with mirth. “Jeg takker deg, men tilgi meg for at jeg ikke stoler på deg helt, Tovar.” (I do not know if you are smart or stupid. I thank you. But you will forgive me for not completely trusting you, Tovar.)

Pero nodded and shrugged. “I understand.”

Sigrid looked between the two of them, looking much less nervous. She quickly spoke to Ingvar quietly, asking him a question. Ingvar nodded, a small smile on his lips.

“Nyt festen, Tovar. Vi diskuterer hva vi skal gjøre med deg om morgenen.” (Enjoy the festivities, Tovar. We will discuss what to do with you in the morning.)

“I wish to leave,” Pero grunted, looking between Sigrid and the Jarl. Sigrid looked a little crestfallen, but took one more look at Ingvar before he waved them off. She pushed Pero out of the Jarl’s quarters and back out into the celebration. “Sigrid?” Pero asked, confused.

She sighed before looking up at him. “The Jarl wishes to keep you here until Jól ends. To keep an eye on you, make sure you keep your word.” She started wringing her hands together and bit her lip.

“How much longer is Yool?”

Sigrid went quiet.

“Sigrid.”

“Nine more days,” she sighed, looking down.

Pero’s eyes went wide before he shut them and sighed heavily. He looked up at the ceiling and mumbled, “Joder yo,” under his breath. (Fuck me.) “Fine. Nine more days and I will leave.”

Over the course of the first four days, Pero was treated like he belonged with these people. He still didn’t quite know where he was. If someone were to give him a map, he couldn’t tell them, but he knew he was probably at the top somewhere. He was shocked at how much he liked it there despite the bitter cold.

He felt eyes on him the whole time and he didn’t like the feeling, but he understood it.

He taught Sigrid and some of the children some Spanish words and in turn he was taught some words in their tongue. Norse, he was told.

Pero also found himself helping the warriors Sigrid mentioned before, called Vikingr. Their job was to sail to faraway lands, raid strangers of their belongings, and bring it back home. He didn’t judge. He’d done worse, and frankly, it sounded like something right up his alley. He mostly helped with keeping their longships cleaned for their next raid when the snow thawed.

And he ate. He ate a lot. There was so much food at the feasts in the evenings. He tried to eat as much as he could in the hopes that it would carry him on his journey home. Wherever that was. Every feast started with a chant and “offerings” to their Gods. Some of these “offerings” came in the form of the mead Pero had - reluctantly - grown to like, and other times it came in the form of one of the farmer’s poor goats.

While he didn’t understand a lot of these people’s customs, he couldn’t deny it, they were a hearty people.

He’d also caught the eye of some of the women there, too, but he mostly ignored them. They were all too young for him, and he was too busy not getting killed. He still wasn’t given back his weapons. Or the strange stone. His wound would take a while to heal yet, but he could put pressure on it again.

On the fifth day, he was helping chop wood for people’s homes. During the feast, everyone in the village congregated in the Jarl’s home to be surrounded by the fire given by the Jól Log and enjoy the food, but they all needed wood for their own homes as well.

He stopped to take a break and wiped the sweat from his brow as a cool chill blew past him. Pero looked to his left, the feeling of someone looking at him catching his attention. When he saw it wasn’t one of Ingvar’s men, he startled a little. It was a woman. Older than the ones that mostly watched him, and far more… Interesting. To him, at least. He raised a brow as she turned and left, clutching her basket closer to her body. He’d seen her around during his time there and she seemed to keep mostly to herself. She was unattached from what he could tell, and wondered why. She was beautiful.

Pero snapped himself out of it and shook his head, going back to chopping the wood.

On the sixth day, he saw her again. He’d asked Sigrid what her name was as he saw her making her way through the market, and she said it was Helga.

Helga.

He liked the name.

Helga was a thread-weaver. She made blankets, scarves, anything to keep one warm and covered. Pero was given clothing that suited the temperature better, and he felt strange without his armor, but he was never given a scarf. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted one before now.

He asked Sigrid if she could ask Helga for him for a scarf, and the girl giggled, pushing him toward the woman. He sighed and walked over to her, looking at the weapons and tools surrounding them at the market. He tried not to make himself too obvious, and it mostly worked, he thought. He was genuinely impressed with the craftsmanship of the weapons.

Pero sidled up to Helga’s side, but before he could say anything, she stepped away from the stand and walked back to her house. He watched her go and frowned.

This was going to be tougher than he thought.

The seventh day was much like the day before, but instead of chopping wood, Pero was asked to help around the Jarl’s home. He noticed a lot of the young women that stared at him worked there, so he tried to keep mostly to himself. He’d never cleaned linens or blankets before, but found it to be quite relaxing. There was a rhythm to it, and he could do it without much help.

“Tovar,” a young voice asked from his left. He looked up, finishing the fold of the blanket he was holding. He grunted in acknowledgement. “Jeg og noen av kvinnene har lurt på noe,” the girl was blushing hard up to her ears and biting her lip. (Some of the women and I have been wondering something.)

Pero smirked a little and nodded for her to continue. He picked up on the gist of what she was saying, thanks to Sigrid’s teachings of Norse.

“Hvor fikk du arret fra?” she asked meekly. (Where did you get your scar?)

Pero’s face pinched slightly and he shook his head. “I do not wish to talk about it.” The girl’s eyes went wide and she started scrambling out apologies, her hand pressed to her chest. A sad smile crossed his features before he shook his head. “It is okay,” he said quietly.

The girl frowned, cheeks bright red, but nodded as she turned and left. Pero exhaled quietly and looked down at the linens he was folding.

“I do not believe she meant any harm,” a low, feminine voice said to his left. He hummed in acknowledgement before he froze, realizing that she spoke perfect English. He turned his head and nearly jumped out of his boots when he saw Helga standing there. She smiled and started helping him with the linens. “Tovar, yes?”

Pero huffed a laugh and nodded.

“I have noticed you watching me.” She had a soft smile on her lips, brown hair pulled away from her face in a braid. She turned to look at him, blue eyes full of heat as she looked over his face and chest.

Pero blinked, eyes slightly wider. He went to speak, but all that came out was a croak, making him cough. “Apologies,” he wheezed, the side of his fist pressed to his chest. “I am sorry for staring,” he mumbled, turning back to his own linens as his cheeks flushed. “I am still getting used to the customs here. There are two days left of your celebration, and I will be gone.”

Helga hummed noncommittally and pushed her small stack of folded linens toward him to add to his pile. “That would be a shame.”

Pero furrowed his brows and added her stack to his. He looked at her incredulously, but her head was faced down as she continued folding. He didn’t say anything and continued as well, his thoughts running a mile a minute.

“I thought only Sigrid and a few of the children spoke English,” he said after a few moments of silence.

“They are not the only ones.”

Pero snorted and shook his head. “Clearly not,” he hummed to himself. He cleared his throat and glanced at her before continuing. “When I arrived at this place, I was in the forest. I am not sure how far it is from here, but I saw an old man,” he started, keeping his eyes downward. “I was hoping I would see him here in the village, but I have not.”

Helga hummed a noise for him to continue.

“He wore a cloak, the hood covering his head. He sat in front of my campfire, but I only saw one of his eyes,” Pero’s brows furrowed further, confusion filling his head. “I am not sure if he was missing one or if it was covered.”

Helga stopped folding and looked at him, a small smirk on her lips. “Did he have a long beard?”

Pero looked up and blinked. “Y-yes. You have seen this man?”

“Once or twice,” she said. “He is a wanderer. He does not stay in one place for very long.”

“Who is he?”

Helga bit her lip and shrugged. “He has many names. We cannot be certain which he likes best.”

Pero sighed in frustration. “Why was he at my camp?”

Helga smirked again and finished folding her linens. “Perhaps he was looking out for you,” she shrugged again, leaning over to pick up her basket of fabrics. “Enjoy the feast tonight.” She grinned and left the Jarl’s home, leaving Pero quiet and watching her retreating form.

Pero exhaled and looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head. When he looked down, there was a scarf folded on top of her pile of linens.

“Du får tingene dine i morgen, etter den siste festen,” Ingvar grumbled. (You will receive your belongings after tomorrow’s final feast.)

“Must I stay the whole time? I wish to return home,” Pero growled, crossing his arms over his chest. Not that he had a home to return to.

Ingvar rolled his eyes and waved him off. Sigrid grabbed his elbow and pulled him out of the Jarl’s bedroom. Pero grumbled obscenities in Spanish to himself until he was sat at a table in the hall. It was the eighth night, and he was getting tired of being watched constantly. He had no intention of hurting anyone here. He might if they didn’t give him his things, though. The people around him continued to have the same energy this night that they always seemed to. He supposed that came from actually understanding what you were celebrating, and not having to worry about death or arrest at every corner.

“You leave tomorrow evening, yes?”

Pero startled and looked to his right. Helga sat next to him, a plate of food in front of her. She smiled warmly at him and he softened. “How do you do that?” He huffed a laugh and shook his head before grabbing a piece of meat and eating it.

“You do not pay attention,” she said simply.

He squinted his eyes at her and grumbled around his food that he did too pay attention, thank you very much. She laughed softly and it made him bite his tongue. She had been nothing but kind to him while he was there and she didn’t deserve the frustration he felt to be forced on her.

“Where do you live?” Helga asked softly. “Where will you go?”

Pero bit his lip as he tore a piece of bread in two. “Nowhere. I am a mercenary. I go where the work is,” he shrugged, shoving the bread in his mouth.

“You enjoy this?”

Pero raised a brow as he chewed.

“You like not having anywhere to call home? You do not have to leave,” she hummed around her own food, taking a drink of some mead.

“What do you mean? Of course I do,” he scoffed. “Ingvar wants me dead. His men are constantly watching me.”

Helga rolled her eyes. “You really do not pay attention,” she sighed, setting down her cup and turning to face him. “You have not heard how people talk about you?”

“I am still learning the language,” he frowned, chewing messily and lips greasy.

“Why are you learning the language if you want to leave?”

Pero blinked and looked down at his plate. He frowned, thinking about it. Why was he learning the language?

“Because you like it here, Tovar,” she said softly. “We like you.” It went unsaid, but he got the feeling that she liked him, too.

“Pero.”

“What?”

“My name is Pero.”

Helga smiled, pink dusting her cheeks. “I do not think you will have many people protesting if you stay. The children love you. And I think you would make an excellent Viking.”

Pero raised a brow and exhaled, thinking about it. Having a place to call his own would be nice. And he was familiar with the kind of work the warriors did, from what he’d heard.

“You do not have long to think about it, Pero,” Helga hummed. She picked up her plate and stood before leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. “I would like it if you stayed,” she whispered into his ear. He looked up at her with soft eyes and she smiled down at him with her hand on his shoulder before turning and leaving.

Pero shut his eyes and exhaled once again, then looked in the direction of the Jarl’s personal quarters.

Would it be such a terrible thing to stay?

On the ninth day, Pero woke with a startle. He thought he’d heard a whisper next to his ear again. He’d been mostly dreamless while he was in the village. Last night, after his talk with Helga, he dreamt about the old man and the wolf in the woods. He didn’t understand any of it, and he barely remembered what the dream actually entailed, but he remembered the feeling. He felt… odd. Not bad or wrong. Just… different. Comforting.

As he got dressed in the clothes that were given to him, he looked over at the scarf Helga gave him. It was a brown color and the material was rough, but also thick and soft. It kept his ears warm. He wrapped it around his neck before slipping his feet into his boots, making sure to be careful of his injured one. He made his way over to the Jarl’s quarters and knocked on the door.

“Er du sikker?” (Are you sure?)

Pero nodded, arms crossed over his chest. “Yes.”

Ingvar sighed and crossed his arms, too. “Du forvirrer meg, Tovar. Men hvis dette virkelig er det du vil, tror jeg ikke at jeg ser noe problem med det.” He shrugged and looked at Sigrid’s smiling face. “Gå og hent tingene hans.” (You confuse me, Tovar. But if this is truly what you want, I don’t suppose I see a problem with it. Go get his things.)

Sigrid nodded happily and ran from the room. Pero and Ingvar awkwardly avoided eye contact. Even if neither of them were enemies, the circumstances of their acquaintanceship were less than ideal. When Sigrid returned, she was carrying Pero’s weapons in both arms and looked to be struggling to do so.

Pero furrowed his brows and gently took the weapons from her. She sighed in relief, but smiled shyly up at him. “I am happy you decided to stay,” she giggled.

Pero smiled down at her, then gave a grateful nod to Ingvar before leaving the room. Sigrid walked next to him while he attached his sword and hunting knife to his belt. He carried the armor under his left arm. “Me too,” he grunted awkwardly. “I am unsure how I will fit in, but…” He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck.

“I think you will be fine,” she nodded, sure of herself. One of the small children, a younger brother of hers he found out, came up to her and tugged on her dress. He mumbled something Pero didn’t quite catch. Sigrid tapped on his shoulder to get Pero’s attention, making him look down at the two of them, dark eyes intimidating, but soft. “She lives at the end of the village,” Sigrid winked, then took off with her younger brother.

Pero’s cheeks flushed, but he chuckled to himself. He made his way through the village, waving or nodding to people as he saw them. It was strange, being accepted as he was. He wasn’t the only gruff and hardened warrior here, and no one seemed scared of him for his scars or his accent. The feeling was so foreign to him.

As he walked up a small hill toward the end of the village, he heard a quiet thud against the grass. He looked down and saw the strange stone from the forest laying there. Right, he’d completely forgotten. It must’ve fallen from his belongings. He picked it up and looked at it, thumbs running over the strange markings. It was almost shaped like a fork, but with three prongs. Maybe Helga would know what it meant.

When he made his way in front of the door of the last house in the village, he hesitated before knocking. The sun was slowly setting and it was getting a tad colder, so he eventually knocked.

“Et øyeblikk!” (One moment!)

Pero smiled to himself as he heard her voice behind the door. Once the door opened, he raised his head and smiled sheepishly, the shape on his face still foreign to him.

Helga’s face softened as she saw him and rested a hand on her hip. “Well, come on in, then,” she grinned, opening the door wider for him. He nodded gratefully and stepped inside her home, the smells of burnt leaves and the feeling of a warm fire engulfing his body.

“I will find my own home, you need not keep me here if–”

“Hush,” she chuckled softly, taking his armor from his arms and putting it in her bedroom for cleaning later. “You are more than welcome to stay here,” she looked up at him with a bit of shyness. The first time she’d ever looked at him like that. “If you want to, that is.”

Pero took two steps closer to her until his face was mere inches from her own. “I want nothing more,” he said softly, rubbing the knuckle of his index finger against her cheek. She shut her eyes and exhaled softly, nodding.

“I was just getting ready to go to the feast,” Helga smiled, looking up at him. “Would you like to join me?”

Pero’s lips quirked up into a soft smile of his own before he remembered the stone he was holding. “Yes, but first,” his brows furrowed in thought. “It is silly, but… I found this strange stone while I was in the forest.”

Helga hummed and tilted her head to the side, letting him continue.

“It has a marking I have never seen before. Do you know what it means?” He asked, showing her the stone lying in the palm of his hand. She picked it up and rubbed her thumb over the marking like he had before.

“Where did you find this?” Helga asked, face pinched in confusion.

“In the forest. There was a small clearing with a bloodstained stone, and–”

“The ritual site,” she smiled up at him, clutching the stone in her hand. “We sacrificed one of the cows on the first day of Jól there.”

Pero blinked down at her, hands holding her arms and rubbing softly. “I see…”

Helga laughed softly. “You’ll get used to it,” she winked. “This is one of the runes. It seems we forgot one.”

“What does it mean?” He hummed, cupping her face in his large hand. He rubbed his thumb against her cheek.

“Protection,” she said softly. She looked at his lips, then looked back up at his eyes. He did the same and leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. They stayed there for a few moments before he released her and pressed his forehead against hers.

“Surely the feast can wait a few moments,” he growled into her neck, kissing against the soft skin there. Helga bit her lip and smiled, fingers tangling into the thick curls at the back of his head.

“It can,” she gasped, startled by the small nip he left against her shoulder. Pero slowly walked them toward her bedroom and laid her on top of the bed. The curtains in front of the window were drawn. Something caught his eye in the window and he looked out, hovering over Helga’s body.

In the distance, on top of a hill, was a large black wolf. It seemed to make eye contact with him before it turned and left.

A chill ran down Pero’s spine.

a/n: if you're at all curious, here's a decent idea of what i imagined the stone to look like 🥰

#pero tovar #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar fic #pero tovar x ofc #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #12 days of pedro #12dop #oaksfics

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ssinnerplazahotel · 4 months ago

Text

╭──────────.★..─╮

*Chapter Thirteen*

╰─..★.──────────╯

WC: 6k

Warning: 18+, age gap, smut, fluff, toxic elvis, manipulation, drug use, it’s the 50s/60s, death threat, painful-difficult-devastating-life-changing-extraordinary love

Pairing: elvis x black reader

Disclaimer: full of inaccuracies, inaccurate timeline, inaccurate depictions of Graceland, historically inaccurate themes and items

Masterlist: Prologue, Ch. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

You woke with a start the next morning—not even realizing that you’d fallen asleep at some point throughout the night. You checked the time—Liz would be there by now.

“You’re awake,” Andrea said, appearing from the bathroom. “I thought I’d let you sleep. Since you never do.”

“I’m supposed to be dressed by now,” You said. “Liz is probably waiting for me.”

“You aren’t scheduled to be anywhere, are you?”

“No, why?”

“Why don’t you skip Liz today? I can give you something to wear.”

You didn’t even consider it. “I can’t.”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

“Because…” You knew it’d only piss her off to know the reason. “I like the clothes Liz chooses.”

She shrugged. “You should head over then. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Come with me.”

“Why?”

“Because, he might not yell at me if you’re there.”

She rolled her eyes, but agreed to go. “He can yell. I want him to actually. Because if I have to deal with him~”

“You won’t have to. I don’t want you to fight him all the time, Andrea.”

“I do it because you won’t.”

“I know, but I can’t protect you. So I’d like it if you didn’t give me a reason to.”

“Do you think I need you to protect me?”

“No, of course not. Just don’t pick a fight.”

When you got to the bedroom Elvis was there with Liz and Serena. Aside from a brief glance, he didn’t acknowledge you when you walked in. You could always tell when he was on the brink of losing his shit.

“I’m so sorry, Liz,” You said immediately. “I had no idea what time it was.”

“It’s okay,” She said. “We already got everything ready for you.”

“This is gorgeous,” Andrea complimented as she looked at the dress laid out on the bed. “With the headband especially.”

“Oh, I wanted to let you know that the things you sent to the cleaners won’t be back until Monday,” Serena started as Andrea and Liz talked about your outfit. Liz spoke to Andrea more comfortably, you noticed. “I tried to get it back sooner but it’s been so busy because of the holidays.”

“It’s okay,” You reassured her. “I won’t even miss them.”

“Where’d you find the shoes?”

“Uhm, they were actually a wedding gift~”

Elvis stood from the edge of the bed suddenly, effectively ending every conversation happening in the room. “Liz, go show Andrea that thing you wanted to show her. You too, Serena.”

You met Andrea’s eyes—she gave you a look that said she’d stay if you wanted. You shook your head.

“Go ahead,” Elvis encouraged, walking over to open the door. “Shouldn’t take but five minutes. Come back when you’re done.”

Liz nodded and led the way out of the room, Serena following silently behind. Andrea stayed in place, crossing her arms with her eyes set on Elvis. You tried to motion for her to go but she wouldn’t look out at you.

“Andrea,” Elvis sighed.

He was too close to his breaking point and you didn’t want Andrea to be the recipient of his rage.

“Drea, it’s fine.” You stepped forward.

“I’m not leaving her alone with you,” She said directly to Elvis. “Can’t you see that she’s afraid of you?”

“N-No, no,” You said quickly, stepping between them. “Please don’t~”

Elvis snapped. “I’m so fucking sick of you acting like you know her any better than I do~”

“I wouldn’t have to know her at all to see that she’s terrified of you,” Andrea said with an equal amount of anger and distaste behind her words as she stepped towards him. “You’re a control freak.”

“If she’s so terrified, she can leave and take you with her.”

“As if you’d ever let her go.”

“She wouldn’t, Andrea, that’s the thing~”

“Do you see what I mean? You’re a fanatic.”

“You wouldn’t even be here if I didn’t hunt you down for weeks, that’s the kind of friend you are.”

“At least I treat her like a fully functioning adult. The way you run her, I can’t tell if you want a wife or pet.”

“What did your ex-husband want? It wasn’t you—that’s what we all know.”

“You trap one little girl and you think you know how to get and keep a woman?”

“I don’t have to trap anyone, she can fucking leave!”

You were frozen as their screaming match intensified with every dig. Elvis stepped forward until your hands pressed against his chest and the two of them were face to face. You had to force yourself to speak.

“Stop,” You said, too breathlessly and quiet at first. You had to shout over them. “Stop it!”

They fell silent and looked at you, both fuming as you stopped them from taking things too far.

“You’re gonna let her talk to me like that?” Elvis asked, forcing you into a position you never wanted to be in.

“Andrea,” You said, walking to the door. “Can you, please…?”

She heaved a sigh and walked out of the door but stopped short and gave you one last questioning glance. You nodded reassuringly despite the fact that you were so on edge that you could have thrown up.

You shut the door behind her and faced him, he had his arms crossed. You expected him to immediately snap and dig into you, but instead he asked—

“What the hell are you wearing?”

You looked down at the pajama pants and mismatched shirt you had fallen asleep in.

“Andrea gave them to me…”

His expression was furious but you could somehow still see the traces of a distasteful frown. He eyed you silently, watching you squirm in anticipation.

“You look fucking ridiculous.”

He could’ve thrown you across the room and it would’ve hurt less—been less humiliating.

He looked away as if he couldn’t stand the sight of you. “Get dressed before Liz gets back.”

You stood there for a moment before walking over to the dress laid out on the bed. You picked it up to take to the bathroom but he stopped you.

“We’re not done yet.”

You felt ashamed and embarrassed of yourself—you wanted to disappear as he watched you strip.

“Where the hell did you go last night?” He continued. “I sent Red all around the world lookin for you and he said you weren’t with Andrea.”

“I was with Andrea~”

“Do not lie to me right now~”

“I swear.”

“Then why weren’t you there?”

“I was, s-she…lied. I-I don’t know why. It was a joke. I told her~ I said that it wasn’t funny.”

“But you didn’t come to me when I asked you to?”

“I-I just…”

“You just…let her make up your mind for you like a little girl? You just go along with whatever she says? Because you just…can’t make your own decisions?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Tell me what it is. I mean, you act just about dumb as hell when it comes to Andrea, it has to be something.”

“What is your problem?” You didn’t wait for him to answer as you stormed into the bathroom to finish putting your clothes on.

“My problem is that I at least expected you to be in place this morning. Instead you come galavanting in here with Andrea like you didn’t disappear all night.” He followed you.

“I don’t understand why you’re blowing this so out of proportion.”

“Because you need to be reminded of your place. It’s here, with me, when I tell you to be.”

“Go to hell, Elvis.”

“Hey,” He barked, fuming as he caught your arm and made you face him. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

“And you don’t get to treat me like some useless accessory you get to stick your dick in whenever you want to.” You snatched your arm away. “I mean, for the love of god. Calling me dumb and demanding my respect?”

“Do not talk to me like that.” His stern eyes bore into you even after you looked away. “You will lose, every time, I promise.”

There was a knock on the door—it was Liz.

“Keep your fucking mouth shut,” Elvis said before going to get the door. You tried to put on a neutral expression as Liz and Serena entered the room. “She’s all ready for you.”

You smiled—it was forced but you didn’t think they noticed. He returned when your transformation was complete.

“What’s on the agenda for today, Mr. Presley?” Serena, who had also just returned after slipping out somewhere along the way, asked as Liz finished your hair.

Elvis slipped his arm around Serena’s shoulder and kissed her cheek before continuing. You usually wouldn’t think much of it—but seeing how her hand lingered on his, you couldn’t help but wonder. After the thought crossed your mind it was all you could think about. After they had left the room you couldn’t help yourself, you had to know.

“You’re fucking Serena.”

He fell silent, you were shocked by how stunned he seemed by your knowledge of his situation with your “assistant”—or whatever title he’d given her. His reaction stirred something inside of you. You were angry, and hurt, but you were right. For once, you were right and he couldn’t even process your words fast enough to deny it.

“What?” You asked. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Shut up.” His voice was low and unnerving, but you continued.

“People notice you, Elvis. They watch every little thing you do. When are you going to realize that?”

“I’m telling you right now, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t know why I’m surprised, you’ve always been that way. You’re a liar and you’re a cheater~”

“Shut up!” He was yelling now but his voice was muffled by the sound of your heart beating in your ears. “Do you really think you have any right to question me or anything I do? After everything I’ve done for you?”

“I never asked for any of this, Elvis. I’m here for you!”

“This is me,” He shouted, gesturing grandly with his arms. With each step he took forward, you stepped back until the back of your legs touched the bed—forcing you to sit as he towered over you. “To hear you so much as utter a complaint after everything I’ve risked for us, everything I’m sacrificing—it’s fucking ludicrous.”

You fell silent for a moment, too frightened to speak. “You said that it would be different this time—no more bullshit, remember? No more fighting, that’s what you said out of your mouth~”

“Whose fault is it that we’re fighting, huh?”

You kept your eyes trained on him but you didn’t speak—you only glared silently.

“You have two options,” He said. “You can either get your shit together, go downstairs with Andrea, and keep your mouth shut so we can enjoy the party. Or you can stay here, out of my sight, for the rest of the night. Pick one. Now or I’ll decide for you.”

You stood and forced past him to the bathroom. You made sure your makeup wasn’t ruined before leaving. As you made to walk past him and out of the door he grabbed your arm, forcing your hand into his.

“Don’t embarrass me in front of my family, they already think I’m insane,” He said, and then you were leaving. The commotion from downstairs could be heard clear as day from the top of the stairs. “You just stick with Andrea tonight. No one here’s gonna bother you, I told them not to.”

You kept your lips pressed firmly together as you met Andrea at the bottom of the stairs. All eyes were on the two of you when you entered the room—you hoped the forced smile on your face was fooling the crowd.

Andrea didn’t acknowledge Elvis but she forced a smile all the same. “Are you okay?”

“Keep an eye on her,” He said, handing you off. “She’s in a mood.”

You forced yourself not to pull away when he kissed your cheek—smiling as he tapped your chin and walked away.

“What’s wrong?” Andrea asked when he was gone. “What’d he do?”

“Did they give them to you?”

“Yeah.”

You took the envelope and turned to go into the kitchen. Andrea followed, keeping as little space between you as possible in the crowded house. You saw Elvis, the center of attention as always, being surrounded by people. They were mostly women, and you wanted to feel something when you saw the way they pawed at him and hung off his every word.

But you felt nothing.

You tried to stay in the least populated areas of the house but everywhere you went there was someone.

“I love your scarf,” A woman with long false lashes said to you. “Where’d you get it?”

You knew she was speaking to you but you didn’t respond. You kept your mouth shut.

“You can find one just like it at that boutique downtown,” Andrea spoke up, filling the awkwardness in the wake of your silence. “You know the one with the red mannequins in the window?”

They spoke for a few minutes before the woman finally walked away.

“Happy holidays. It was nice to meet you,” She said, you knew it wasn’t true but you offered a small smile as she left.

“What was that?”

“What?”

“Why’d you ignore her?”

You avoided her eyes. “Did I ignore her?

Andrea scoffed, stunned. “Yeah, kind of. What? Did he not give you permission to speak tonight?”

Your expression must’ve said what you were hoping Andrea wouldn’t assume.

“Really?”

“It’s not like that.”

She struggled for a moment to grasp what you were saying. “Did he tell you not to speak to these people?”

“Andrea,” You said, forcing a laugh. “It’s fine. Let’s just enjoy the party.”

“Did he?”

“They aren’t supposed to speak to me either.”

Your words had the opposite effect of what you intended and she looked even more bewildered.

“Not now,” You said before she could say anything else. “Let’s hang out down here for a while then we can go upstairs and do something else.”

“We need to talk. Now.”

“Please, can’t we just~”

“Now.”

You shook your head. “I told him I’d be downstairs with you. I want to be with you.”

She followed your gaze to where Elvis was. “I don’t think he’ll notice you’re gone.”

You almost laughed at that. “He’ll notice.”

Andrea’s expression was disbelieving but she didn’t continue to pressure you. You sat at the dining table with her well into the night—until Serena found you and told you that Elvis wanted you to turn in for the night.

“Thanks, Serena,” You said, standing. “He wasn’t screwing you when he said it, was he?”

You didn’t have time to take in her expression but you imagined that she was shocked as you walked away.

“M-Mrs. Presley, I’m so sorry.” She crumbled fast. “It was a-a mistake. I told him~ i-it was a one-time thing. I-I swear.”

You stopped and faced her, trying to calm her down before anyone noticed. You forced a reassuring smile. “God, don’t make a scene in front of all these people.”

“Please don’t fire me.”

“I can’t fire you. You don’t work for me.”

She looked devastatingly guilty, you didn’t care. Andrea followed you when you walked away, eyeing Serena judgmentally.

All you wanted to do was go to bed when you got upstairs, however, Andrea quickly reminded you that you had unfinished business to tend to.

“I guess he did it,” She said as soon as the door clicked shut behind you. “He finally shrunk you down to size.”

You didn’t respond. You sat down on the edge of the bed to remove your shoes. You wanted to say something but you couldn’t. Your throat felt like it was constricting, trapping all the words inside.

“He made you show up tonight in a room full of people he told to ignore you,” She continued. “He told you not to speak to anyone and you actually did it. I mean, god, you actually did it. What kind of program is he running on you? It’s like he changes your batteries every thirty days.”

“Please stop.”

“It must be all the pills he funnels down your throat.” You couldn’t take it anymore but she didn’t relent. “That’s why he does it. To keep you pliant and easy to control. Then he keeps you trapped here like a caged animal. If you were in your right mind for more than a few days at a time you might be able to see how fucked all of this is!”

You screamed in frustration. Not necessarily at Andrea, more outwardly.

“What’s the matter with you?” She asked, startled.

“What do you want me to do?” You sobbed.

She sighed reluctantly and hugged you as you cried. “You’re out of your mind.”

You wanted to argue and say that it wasn’t true—you weren’t out of your mind, not completely.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Andrea said. “You can love him and be your own person at the same time. You shouldn’t need his permission to…exist.”

“It’s my fault,” You said. “I chose this. I deserve it.”

“All you’re good for is throwing pity parties.” She sighed, sitting beside you. “When are you going to stop punishing yourself and start living with your decision?”

“You don’t think I’m living with it?”

“I don’t think you’re living at all. You’re going through the motions and drowning everything out.”

You shook your head in denial but your voice was caught in your throat again.

“I can’t stand to see you living like this.”

The hurt you felt suddenly morphed into anger. You wanted to cry even more now, but you clenched your teeth and held back your tears. You felt bad enough without her looking in and speculating about how sad your life must be.

“Andrea, please,” You said. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t?” She asked. “I’ve been by your side for this long. Have I somehow misinterpreted what I’ve been seeing?”

“I don’t know, have you?” You countered. She released a stunned scoff, staring at you in disbelief. You raised your eyebrow in question, waiting a moment for her to continue. “It’s a simple question.”

She directed her gaze downward. “I’m worried about you. That’s the only reason I’m saying anything.”

“You don’t have to worry. I’m happy.” You didn’t notice the evident catch in your voice. “I’m taken care of and I’m loved. I have everything I want. I have you.”

She met your eyes again, her expression was troubled.

“I know you’re worked up about the party but…Elvis does that kind of thing all the time,” You continued. “He thinks he’s protecting me. He doesn’t mean any harm.”

You couldn’t tell if she was believing anything you were saying. She still had that expression on her face—she was so concerned. You sighed when she didn’t respond, glancing off for a moment.

“I think you should go~”

“Don’t make me leave~”

“I have to,” You said. “Just take a few days~ o-or however long you need. Maybe it’s all too much t-too soon. You just need to get away from me…from us.”

She stood with you and let you take her to the door as you spoke.

“If you spend some time away and your feelings don’t change then…maybe you just shouldn’t come around anymore.”

“What?”

“I don’t know…” You opened the bedroom door.

She had tears in her eyes and you fought to hold back your own. “I don’t even recognize you anymore.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. All I ever wanted was for you to be here for me and to support me. Because I need someone like you in my life.”

“Someone like me?”

“A friend, Andrea. I need a friend.”

She batted away her tears as they fell. You stepped towards her.

“If you can’t be my friend,” You started. “If he makes that too difficult, then you have to go.”

There was a beat of silence before she attempted to dry the last of her tears and left the room. You stood there for a moment. You weren’t shocked, but you had hoped she would have stayed.

You were lying awake, alone in bed when the door crept open. You had no idea what time it was as you stared blankly into the darkness of the room.

“Birdie?”

“Hm?”

“Where’s Andrea?”

“She had to go.”

You felt the bed dip and turned blindly into his arms. You were glad that he couldn’t see your tear ridden face in the dark.

“Why’re you crying?”

“Because she left.”

He tried to comfort you but it felt like he didn’t care. “I’m here.”

“You aren’t going to leave me?”

“Why would I leave you?”

You closed your eyes. “Sometimes, E…it feels like I love you so much and you don’t care about me at all.”

“Everything I do is for you.”

“I know, but still.”

He sighed, tracing patterns into the small of your back. “You’re my heart.”

“Then how could you sleep with Serena?”

“That wasn’t love with Serena.”

“Did you think about how I’d feel?”

“No, because it had nothing to do with you or how I feel about you.”

You didn’t understand.

“I didn’t do it to hurt you,” He said. “You’re my girl. You’re the only girl that has that privilege.”

“So that means you get to go around doing whoever you want?”

“It’s not like that, baby.”

“Then what’s it like?”

He fell silent. You wish you could have seen his expression.

“All I’m saying is…if you’re going to have extracurricular activities I want some liberties of my own.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I want a car and I want to go wherever I want.”

“Ray can take you anywhere~”

“I want to take myself.”

“That’s unreasonable.”

You turned over so that your back was to him. He kissed your shoulder, still holding you.

“What do you think is going to happen?” You asked.

“You’ll run away.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You’ve done it before.”

You fell silent—he was right. “I came back.”

He laughed. “Yeah, after I fucked some sense into you.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Maybe I should just knock you up, make sure you don’t go anywhere.”

“I married you. Is that not enough?”

“Nothing will ever be enough. I love you.” His voice was a whisper now. “You’re the only girl I love.”

“Liar.”

“I’ll prove it.”

You didn’t hear from Andrea again for a few days. When you did see her, she was downstairs talking on the phone in the kitchen. Upon first sight, you were relieved that she had come back. But she didn’t speak to you directly when you approached her.

“Here she is,” She said, handing the receiver off to you before walking away.

You watched her go in confusion, bringing the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Hi, Joel.”

“How are you?”

You hesitated, narrowing your eyes. “I’m okay.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” He said. “I was just talking to Andrea~”

“Since when do you and Andrea talk?” You asked.

“Only the past few days really.”

“Why?”

“She’s been worried about you.”

“She has?”

“Yeah…I’m worried about you too.”

You laughed. “Why?”

“We’re concerned~”

“‘We’re?’”

“Andrea, Dawn and me.”

“Oh, are you?” You felt ambushed even though it was only Joel on the line. “Dawn hasn’t been here or even picked up the phone to call.”

“She’s worried about you, honest,” Joel said. “Andrea thinks that you’re not coping well with the changes happening in your life~”

“Do you want to talk to my husband about this, Joel?”

“No, I want to talk to you.”

You took the phone from your ear. “Elvis!”

Andrea rushed into the kitchen with a panicked expression.

“Go get Elvis,” You said. “You can’t bombard me like this~”

“We aren’t bombarding you,” She said, trying to deescalate the situation. “Just talk to him.”

“How could you do this to me?”

“I’m doing this because I care. We both do.”

You brought the phone to your ear. “What do you know about how I’m coping?”

“I know exactly how you’re coping,” He said.

“You have no idea what I’m going through~”

“Okay, I’m sorry~”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” You stressed. “I’m happy. Tell Dawn that the next time you talk to her. Since she’d rather hear about me from you.”

“Dawn’s been trying to get to you at Graceland, it’s impossible,” Joel said. “The only reason I even got through is because Andrea’s there.”

“What?”

“It’s like he has you cut off.”

“You’re lying.”

“Why would I?”

You looked at Andrea. “Why would he do that? He loves Dawn.”

“Dawn’s not the only one trying to get in touch with you,” Joel said. “I’m only saying this because I care about you. I think you have a bigger problem here than you’re willing to admit.”

You leaned against the counter, worrying your lip. You couldn’t get the mental image of Dawn trying to call you out of your mind. She must’ve thought you’d discarded her.

“You have free will,” Joel continued. “You can do whatever you want.”

“Okay?”

“Do you want our help?”

“With what?”

He sighed on the other line, he sounded defeated. Elvis entered the kitchen then, looking confused. “What’s going on?”

Andrea looked at you, her eyes pleading with you. You didn’t know if she wanted you to spare her and Joel or hear them out.

You took the phone from your ear, keeping your eyes trained on her as you handed it to Elvis. You hadn’t noticed it before but it was at that moment that you had felt the true impact of your final decision.

“It’s Joel,” You said—your voice sounded flat and separate from yourself. “He wants to talk to you.”

You didn’t wait to hear what came of the conversation. Nor did you linger to see the look of ultimate betrayal on Andrea’s face as you walked away.

She followed after you—stopping you with tears in her eyes. “I’ll never come back here. I refuse to stand by and watch you lose yourself like this.”

You stalled at the bottom of the stairs but you didn’t face her. You couldn’t.

“If I leave now, you’ll never see me again,” She said. “Please, don’t make me leave you.”

If you had another little piece of your heart to spare you would’ve given it to be crushed as she stood there awaiting your response. Her voice was a whisper when she spoke again.

“Come with me.”

You felt her hand slip into yours and, for a moment, you wanted to go. You turned and hugged her, despite the fury still burning in the pit of your stomach.

“I’m gonna miss you,” You said with tears in your eyes that you didn’t feel like crying. “I love you.”

She hugged you back but only for a moment before you were pulling away. You went upstairs without another word or glance in her direction.

You didn’t want to be bothered when Elvis found you upstairs. “Leave me alone,” You said, before he could say a word. “Just leave me alone.”

He caught the bathroom door before you could shut it, forcing it open. “What the hell was that?”

You rushed to leave the room, but he didn’t let you get far.

“What is it that Andrea’s got going on, huh?” He asked, keeping you in place by your arm. “She’s got Joel calling to talk to you, why?”

“I-I don’t know.”

He let you go, pacing angrily. “There’s no reason he should be calling to talk to you about anything. Let alone some made-up issue that Andrea’s conjured up. This is why I can’t fucking stand her. And you don’t make it any better by falling for everything she says.”

You looked at him, bewildered. “Is this my fault?”

“What’d she tell him?” He asked, fuming.

“I’m as surprised by all of this as you are,” You stressed. “I have no clue what they talked about before.”

“Bullshit~”

“I had nothing to do with this~”

“Bullshit! You’ll never talk to her again.”

“What?”

“I want her gone. I gave you a chance, it’s fucking done.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Excuse me?”

His jaw unclenched as he spoke. “You heard me.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so. It’s for your own good.”

“Is it? Or is it for yours?”

He shook his head with a look of disdain. “That’s exactly what the fuck I’m talking about. That’s all her.”

“No, it’s me.” You stepped in front of him, making him face you. “I’m asking you.”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

“By not taking my aunt’s calls? By keeping me isolated from everyone?”

“Everyone?” He asked. “Dawn, I’m sorry about, honey, I really am. But who else is there?”

“That’s not the point.”

“I haven’t exactly been standing guard by the phone, and, last time I checked, it works both ways. You can call anyone, anytime. What’s stopping you?”

You didn’t meet his eyes but refused to step away when he neared you.

“There is no one else,” He said. “Joel and Dawn. Two people who’s call probably got thrown out with the other hundreds of calls that come through asking for you.”

“So?”

“So, it’s not like you’re locked in a bunker with no communication with the outside world. Don’t be a baby.”

“I’m not.”

“Don’t be.”

You met his eyes when he fell silent, trying not to let the hurt show in your expression. “You told Liz not to speak to me.”

Despite your suspicion, you weren’t prepared for his confirmation. Something about his tone made you think that he didn’t want you to find out. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“To protect you.”

“From what, Elvis?”

“…Things you don’t need to hear.”

You turned your back to him, hoping it would stop him from coming any closer. It didn’t.

“I’m not punishing you.” He placed his hands gently on your shoulders.

“Do you want me to be alone?” You asked.

“No, I want you to be with me,” He said. “I can’t risk anyone coming between us and messing with your head.”

You didn’t know what to say. His hands slipped down your shoulders and his arms wrapped around your torso.

“People like Andrea and Joel…they’ll ruin us if you let them, birdie,” He continued. “And I’ll be damned if I let anything or anyone tear us apart again. Do you understand?”

He kissed your shoulder, then your neck—murmuring against your skin. He told you how much he loved and needed you and that nothing could ever come between you. He swore that he’d be there, that you wouldn’t be alone because you’d have him. Always.

“We go together. That means wherever I go, you go.”

He loved doing that—repeating himself until his words became ingrained into the very fiber of your being.

You were supposed to relinquish all control and live within your false sense of bliss, happily. That’s what he expected of you—so that's what you did.

You let him silence your curiosity.

“It’s you, and me. Always.”

Cage up your free will.

“You’re my girl. I’m just making sure you’ll always be my girl.”

However he wanted you—

“Okay, birdie?”

—you’d try your best to be.

“…Okay, E.”

He seemed relieved. He sighed, and some of the tension left his body. He kissed your shoulder once more before pulling away.

“Come on,” He said. “Let’s go downstairs.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You have to. Liz didn’t get you all dolled up for nothing.”

You nodded—not in agreement exactly. “I’m tired.”

He narrowed his eyes for a moment, no doubt deciding whether or not to force you. “Do you want me to stay?”

“No.” You didn’t want to be alone, but you didn’t want to be with him either.

“Are you sure?” He hummed suggestively, slipping his arms around your waist again and kissing your neck.

“Stop,” You laughed, pushing him away. “I’m sure.”

“Alright,” He sighed. “I’ll be back up in a few minutes.”

A few minutes turned into a few hours turned into the entire night and some of the next day. You didn’t know what time it was when you finally woke up. When you did, Liz was already there for you.

“How was your day yesterday, Liz?” You asked, even though you knew she wouldn’t give you much of a response.

“Fine, thank you,” She said without elaborating or even glancing up as you did your hair.

“What’d you get up to?” You asked, humoring yourself.

“…Nothing.” She shrugged off the question, showing you yourself in the mirror. “Something for around the house.”

“It’s perfect,” You said, hardly glancing at yourself. “Thank you.”

She smiled bashfully. “Of course.”

Serena entered the room carrying the coffee you requested. You didn’t want it, you just wanted to get rid of her.

You didn’t pay her any mind as she placed the coffee on the table in front of you. Elvis entered after her, meeting your eyes through the vanity.

He always waited until you were fully dressed to come get you. You didn’t know why. There was no mystery to what you’d be wearing or how your hair and makeup would be styled—it was his choice after all.

“You’re gorgeous, doll,” He said, leaning down to kiss your cheek before presenting you with a narrow black box. “Final touch.”

“What is it?” You asked, taking it.

“Open it and see.” He smiled and watched intently as you opened the box.

You offered a smile, hoping you looked pleased with the bracelet.

“Do you like it?” He asked.

“I love it.”

He took the bracelet from the box and carefully secured it around your wrist. You stood when it was done and gave him a hug—thanking him.

He dragged you along with him to the studio that day. You figured you were back to being attached at the hip. You were never sure what they were working on—it happened so fast in those days.

“Stay with Ray and Serena,” He said, taking your face in his hands and examining your expression. You weren’t sure what he was looking for. Was he picking apart your appearance or your expression? You couldn’t tell and it made you feel over-scrutinized. “I’ll come find you when we’re all done here.”

“I’ll be waiting.” What else would you be doing?

Ray showed you to the green room. Him and Serena stood by the door in shifts—they tried to go about switching out and taking guard in a casual manner. They’d pretend to be pacing the space in front of the door rather than posting up in front of it. Ray would do this thing where he’d stand and pretend to stretch his legs before Serena would suddenly decide to rest hers. It was funny, and did nothing to make you feel safe. It made you feel caged in and unable to move freely.

“Serena, can you grab my bag from the studio? I must’ve left it by accident.”

“Of course.”

You smiled as she left, looking at Ray. “Do you think they have water?”

His expression remained indifferent as always. “I’m sure they do.”

“Do you mind?”

You were relieved when they were gone and tried to take in the moment before it was over.

As you were slouched down on the couch a white envelope slipped beneath the crack of the door. You frowned and stood to grab it. You peaked out into the hallway—it was bustling with people. You shut the door and tore open the envelope. You didn’t even need to read it to know what it was.

A death threat.

You felt lightheaded. When you showed it to Ray he tried to take it to Elvis but you told him not to mention it and to get rid of it instead.

“Are you sure?” He asked. “They may still be on the premises.”

“It’s fine. No need to blow things out of proportion.”

He nodded and discarded the letter with a sigh. He stood by awkwardly as you cried and never tried to comfort you.

sorry for the late post! next week is the finale <3

#elvis presley #elvis x you #elvis imagine #elvis smut #black reader #elvis presely smut #elvis fluff #elvis x black reader #austin butler #50s elvis #60s elvis #what year is it #who knows #the bikeriders

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