4k1 | Javier PeĂąa x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist
Summary: forced to work for Escobar's men as a driver until the day you escape, a DEA agent finds you in the countryside, at the home of friends you've been hiding. You yearn to start over and get a visa, but things aren't so easy, especially when feelings complicate the situation
Warnings: 18+ mdni. Angst, slow burn, La Quica kills a cop, oral (f), piv, masturbation (m), cumplay, Javi is a broken man emotionally, closed towards other people, cold/soft Javi
a/n: this is written for @almostfoxglove 's Let's get angsty challenge- thank you for the event Freya đđ§Ą your mood board was the perfect inspo and absolutely gorgeous, so I kept it đ | Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing đ | dividers @/saradika-graphics đ
Same Javi as in And all that could have been. This story happens after the events of that fic but it can be read alone
You shouldnât have done that. You shouldnât have done what they told you to do, but what other choice did you have, in the end? Say no? Fucking joke.
You couldnât even complain about your bad luck in knowing someone who was involved in Escobarâs business, because the guy was everywhere. Everyone probably knew someone who was involved with him.Â
There were surely a lot of people like you, used because their record was clean, because they were doing legal work, because they seemed innocent. And innocent they were, until one of Pabloâs henchmen got their hands on them and blackmailed them. Just like they did with you.
Until a cop approached the car you were about to drive, and La Quica blew the copâs brains out, leaving you covered in blood and in shock, unable to drive. He yelled at you to start the car but it just increased your shaking. He got out and opened your door, grabbed your elbow and left you on the sidewalk, your white top now covered in red.
So you did the only thing you could think of, you packed a bag of clothes and headed out into the countryside to some of your friend's farm. You were so scared for your life that it was the only option you could think of. You left your apartment, your job, your other friends, everything.Â
It was four days ago.Â
The place was surrounded by fields and valleys, no other houses in sight. So when a car pulled onto the road, your blood ran cold. You didnât know where to go, they would see you if you ran to the fields. The sheepfold was the only place you could hide so you hurried there, hiding behind bales of straw.
When the door to the barn opened, you covered your mouth with your hand to prevent your cry from crossing the barrier of your lips. You heard a lamb bleat, then a male voice.
âWhat are you doing here all alone?âÂ
You didnât know if he was talking to you or the lamb, didnât recognize the voice, but that didnât change anything. You didnât know all of Escobarâs men anyway.
âI know youâre here. I saw you running towards this place.â
The male voice was calm, low. And you were terrified. All he had to do was to step a little further into the shadows of the barn, pass the straw, and heâd find you.
âMy name is Javier PeĂąa. DEA. Iâm not one of Escobarâs men.â He paused before adding âI guess theyâd say the same,â he chuckled, but his tone was cold.Â
âBut you and I both know that those men wouldnât have the patience to wait for you to come out of the hay, or waste their time petting a lamb. They'd just pull out their guns and shoot in your direction.â
You were fucked. Either he was one of Escobarâs men and that game of hide-and-seek would end soon, or he really was DEA⌠and who knew what would happen.
You slowly came out of the darkness and found yourself face to face with him. A dark-haired man with a moustache and an indefinable stare.
He put the lamb on the ground and took out his badge. DEA.
âSee?â he said. âYouâre not safe, here.â
âWhat do you mean?â you stammered.
âWe found you,â he added with a shrug. âTheyâll find you too when they start looking for you.â
He explained that they followed a lead that gave them two locations. His partner had gone to check the second one.
He took you to a safe house after calling the DEA. You were lost, wondering how long you would stay there. How long before you could resume a normal life, if you ever could. You asked him if they could get you a visa. There was nothing left for you there anyway, and you didnât want to put your few friends in danger. If it wasnât too late for that.
âIt doesnât work like that,â he told you abruptly as you were sitting at the kitchen table in the safe house, facing him and his partner who had joined you. Javier PeĂąa and Steve Murphy. You didn't know if you could trust them, but for now you had no other choice anyway. They wanted information, wanted you to give them something useful. You told them everything you knew.
A few days passed where you couldn't go out for your safety, until one day Javier came over, anxious, checking the windows. He told you to pack your things, that you had to move quickly. Steve was waiting for you in the car.
âWhatâs going on?â you asked once seated in the back seat.
âWe intercepted a conversation between La Quica and some other Escobarâs men,â Steve told you as he started to drive. âThe safe house is compromised.â
âWhere are you taking me?â you questioned, your gaze going from one man to the other.
They looked at each other, and Javier shook his head.
âWe have no choice, Javi. And it wonât happen again, weâre prepared this time, itâs different.â
Javi scoffed at Steve's words but didnât reply when you asked what they were talking about. He grabbed a cigarette nervously, rolling the flint of his lighter several times before managing to light it.
âYouâre gonna stay at my place,â he told you. âFor a while. But we have to make sure no one follows us, that no one sees you go in.â He threw you a large sweatshirt and a cap.
âPut these on, that will do it.â His tone was sharper than ever.
âWhy don't I go to Steve's, since you can't stand me?â you asked him aggressively. He'd always been so cold with you, and the idea of ââliving in the same apartment as him for the next few days or weeks didn't appeal to you.
âSteveâs got a wife and a kid. We can't put them in danger.â
So you settled there.Â
He was rarely present, coming back home late and leaving early. He slept on the couch of his one bed apartment and sometimes he didn't even come home at night. When he was there, you felt like you were looking at a cat, bored by the company he was being forced to deal with.
One evening while you were having dinner together, which happened rarely, you couldn't contain your worry, even if he clearly wasnât in the mood to talk.
âDo you know when Iâll get a visa? Iâm scared here... Theyâll kill me if they find me.â
âI donât. But they donât know youâre here, we made sure of it,â he answered coldly once again, your need for comfort and warmth remaining unfulfilled. You went to bed, trying to calm your anxiety and forget how lonely you were, but you ended up crying face against the pillow. You didn't want him to hear you. Didnât need to annoy him even more.
You started to transfer your thoughts on paper. Hoping that writing them down would help you to process them, in a way. You had no one to talk about your feelings, so you expressed them to yourself. It was better than nothing.
One night you heard him come home and turn on the TV. You fell back asleep, and when you woke up a couple hours later, the TV was still on. You got up and saw him sitting on the couch, smoking a cigarette. He seemed lost in his thoughts. Sad.Â
He looked up when he heard you.
âDid I wake you up?â he asked after clearing his throat.
âNo, no. I was thirsty.â You hesitated then added âCan I sit down?â
âSure.â
You stared at the TV, your glass of water in your hand, then asked if he knew how long you would be staying at his place.Â
âI donât know.â
You knew he hadnât cared about you, since the moment youâd met, but seeing day after day that it wasn't changing was weighing on you.
âArenât you ever afraid of coming home one day and finding your door broken, and me dead in your apartment?â
âNo. I doubt they think weâre stupid enough to hide you at a DEA agent's place.â
Oddly enough that made you both laugh, and you watched the TV with him for a few minutes before going back to bed.
After that night, you started to talk a little more. He was less cold and came back home earlier. Step by step, you began looking at him differently, maybe because he was the only person around. Or because you felt alone. Or maybe because you didn't really see him as an asshole anymore. You put his attitude into perspective by telling yourself that it might have pissed you off too, if you were forced to live with a stranger because of your work.
You started to look at him, to really look at him, days after days. And one night, after slipping your hand into your panties, longing for a physical touch that you missed terribly, it was Javier you were thinking about. Imagining his hands on you, wondering how he would touch you.
The next morning, you didn't dare to meet his eyes, and he noticed immediately, like a hunting dog smelling the scent of prey.
"What's going on?" he asked. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks and he stared at you as if he knew. You cleared the table before returning to your room.
He often came home exhausted, and one morning, he seemed as tired as the night before. You wondered if he was sleeping properly and you told him that he could have his bedroom back, that you could sleep on the couch. He refused but when you saw his under eye bags you couldn't help yourself and placed your hand on his to give him a little warmth, a little empathy, a bit of comfort. He looked at your hand for a few moments and you were sure he was going to pull it away, but his gaze rose to yours, and you could read clearly what was in them.
His lips crashed against yours, and he led you to the bedroom where he removed your clothes and asked you to lie down on the bed, before throwing off his own. You looked over his body, your legs slightly apart, arousal already flowing from your folds. He was magnificent, to the point that you thought his body must have been sculpted by an artist. Your throat was dry as your gaze moved slowly from his lips to his chest, his biceps, his happy trail. When your eyes landed on his cock, a low "fuck" escaped your lips. It was gorgeous too, thick, hard, and you were wondering how it would feel when he pushed inside you. Your gaze moved back up to his face to find some doubt in his eyes, as if he wasn't so sure it was a good idea anymore.
Doubt turned into desire and he knelt on the bed, squeezed your thighs between his hands and licked your pussy until you came in a shamefully short time, back arched, toes curled, fingers lost in his hair. Your trembling hadn't stopped yet when he settled between your thighs, sinking in slowly, his gaze lowered towards you. It wasn't affectionate. Just two bodies needing to release some pressure. You came a second time under his fingers while he was thrusting in you, and it was more intimacy than you'd had in weeks.
The next night you heard him come home, hoping he'd join you, but in vain. You touched yourself, thinking of the night before.
The night after that, you called him as he settled down on the couch. A few seconds later, his broad frame was in the crack of the bedroom door.
And then you started having sex every day. Morning, evening, or night. He began to sleep with you after you told him it was ridiculous to stay on the couch. You found yourself curled up against him in the night. He was way softer with you now, showing a side that you could never imagine. You loved when he kissed your cheek or forehead, rubbed his nose against yours. You started calling him Javi, and that was probably even more intimate than anything else.
You wondered a few times if he was seeing someone else, until you felt the blade of jealousy dive slowly, painfully in your heart. You didn't expect it. It couldn't lead you to anything good, so you pushed it away.
Sometimes he could see your hands shaking. âIâll protect you from them,â he used to say, wrapping you in his arms or holding your hands in his. He was comforting, using a confident voice that made you believe it.
One night, you saw that something was bothering him, but he didnât bring it up until you pushed,
âJavi, please. Whatâs going on?â
He sighed then said âAnother safe house is available. But... I'd like you to stay here. I want to be sure you're ok and I don't trust anyone else to protect you.â
You nodded. Of course youâd stay here, with him. He was your everyday life, your protector.Â
He called you âbabyâ now and your heart was melting.
Weeks passed. Not everything was perfect. He often came home stressed, losing himself in cigarettes or alcohol. Or between your thighs.Â
You were ok with that. But even when he was thrusting into you, his gaze was sometimes vacant. You would have liked to tear away the worry that flowed through his veins, and you would often take his face in your hands to make him focus on you and on the present moment. You succeeded, more and more often, but irremediably his stare would wander off again, at one point or another.
You didn't care that sometimes as soon as he got home he would kiss you and quickly press you against the wall, pushing his cock inside you. You needed it as much as he did, whatever was between the two of you. It made you feel alive.
Nevertheless when you fucked, it seemed like it meant something.
You often had late night talks, and sometimes he would tell you about his day. The horrors he had to face, the deaths he had to witness. His impression of an endless and unequal war.
Something had been lingering on your mind for several weeks now, and you couldn't resist talking about it lying in bed, while he was having an after sex cigarette.
âThe day you brought me here⌠Steve said it wouldnât happen again,â you started to say. He shook his head as if to dismiss the subject.
âPlease, Javi,â you insisted. âTell me.â
He brushed his moustache with his thumb, considering his reply.Â
âI can hear it, whatever this is,â you added in a soft voice.
He sighed, then said âok, ok. There was a woman⌠I put her in a safe house. I thought she would be ok there. Escobarâs men found herâŚ.â He lowered his head, unable to say more, but he didnât have to. His body was tense and his eyes filled with sadness.
âIâm sorry, Javi,â you said, wrapping your arms around him. âIâm so sorry.â
âIâm afraid sometimesâŚâ he added, his voice shaky. âAfraid I wonât be able to protect you either, afraid to fail again.â
âHey.â You cupped his cheeks with your hands. âIâm safe here, I know I am.â You searched for his eyes, showing unwavering determination in yours. âThey wonât find me, you hear me?â
Caressing his cheeks with your thumbs, you added âyou will keep me safe. I know it.âÂ
His eyes were still showing concern, so you persisted. âJavi! Listen to me. I know Iâm safe. Nothing will happen to me, baby.â
His brows furrowed as he looked at you, seeing determination and certainty in your stare. He nodded, hugged you, and kissed your forehead.
Sex became different. Intimate. He was passionate and generous.Â
You knew you were falling in love with him, a little more each day, even if a part of him remained a mystery, an insurmountable block, even in these moments. You didn't tell him about your feelings, afraid of pushing him away. Even though he wasn't as distant as before, it was still difficult to fully know him.
His apartment often echoed with your moans and sweaty bodies.
His hands were soft on you, and you started to think that maybe you became dear to him. During the day you thought of him, craved him, eager to feel his body every time he got back home.Â
You realized that he did, too, one evening, when he hurried to you as soon as he threw his keys on the cabinet.
âI need to⌠need to taste you. To eat you.â
He looked wrecked, his hair disheveled, his shirt collar unbuttoned, messy.Â
âI can't think of anything else. Every day, every hour, I think about you and your cunt. About your scent lingering on my moustache after I made you come on my tongue in the morning, before leaving. And I can't⌠couldnât focus at work, I need to be between your legs all the time. I'm fucking obsessed with your cunt. Wanna drink it all day long. Please⌠please, baby. Can I eat you out?â
You nodded, stunned by his statement. Your pussy wasn't questioning it, drooling as soon as you heard his key in the lock.
He took off his jacket and shirt then his pants, letting them fall to the floor, as he walked over to the couch where you were sitting. You weren't sure if he wanted to go to the bedroom and didn't move, but he knelt as soon as he was within reach, grabbed the elastic of your pants and pulled them off. He paused for a moment as he looked at your panties, and the gaze he gave you electrified your body. Animalistic, feline. A wild beast ready to devour you.Â
His fingers grasped the waistband of your panties but didn't remove them. Holding onto them, he leaned down and when his tongue lapped at the fabric, you couldn't hold back a deep moan.Â
His fingers tightened on your panties when he heard you, still lapping, to the point where your folds were outlined by the fabric, soaked by his saliva and your need.
He forced himself to slow down, just long enough to push your panties to the side, grunting, before finally licking your folds with nothing between his tongue and your skin.
âJavi,â you whined, gripping his hair, rolling your hips towards him.
You were almost on the verge of tears, overwhelmed by your emotions. His greed and eagerness were radiating from his body as he was pushing his tongue into you. Licking, lapping, sucking, keeping your folds open with his thumbs, his nose rubbing deliciously against your clit.
âJaviâŚâ you begged.
âTell me,â he murmured against your folds, without stopping.
âFingers, pleaseâŚâ
He lapped at your cunt again, slowly, so slowly you thought you might faint.
âYeah? You want me to fuck you with my fingers?â
âYes, yes, please.â
He placed them against your pussy, without moving at first, just letting you feel the warmth of his digits, and kissed your clit. He didnât lick, didnât suck. Just peppered kissed over it, and his moustache lightly tickled your skin. Each light kiss was giving you goosebumps. You heard him chuckle.
âSo needy, baby⌠just like me.â
Then he slid his fingers down to your entrance, his middle finger already slick with your arousal slipped between your folds and he pushed in a knuckle, making you gasp. His lips curved around your clit, sucking lightly, barely more than a touch. He pushed his finger in and started pumping.
âOh god,â you whined. Your clit was throbbing under his tongue as he was pushing in your pussy faster and deeper. A second finger joined the first, rubbing perfectly where you needed it.
You vaguely felt his other hand leave your hip and when you opened your eyes, you saw him spread the precum on his shaft. He gripped it with his firm hand and began slowly jerking himself, his eyes closed as he sucked on your clit and kept fucking you with his fingers.
âIâll never get enough of your cunt,â he murmured, before playing with your clit with the tip of his tongue.
You looked down at him. This gorgeous, protective, caring man. So eager to please you, to make you come. You couldn't believe the worst day of your life had led you to cross paths with him.Â
Your mind went blank. You could only vaguely hear the indecent sounds of his fingers in your soaked pussy, and his wrist fucking his shaft. His grunts faded into moans, until he came, cum spraying against the floor and down his fist.Â
Thinking that he had been unable to stop himself from coming was the last straw and you came, arching your back against the couch, fingers hooked in his hair. Panting, trembling against his mouth, clenching on his fingers.
âJavi, I need your cum,â you whined without realizing it. And his cum-covered fingers replaced the ones coated in your juices. He was fucking you with his digits dripping cum.
âFuck, baby,â he said. Grabbing your hand with his, squeezing it, until he slowed his thrusting between your thighs, feeling that you were on the verge of overstimulation. You cupped his face in your hands, pulled him to you and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips and his moustache.
He lay on top of you, catching his breath against your breasts.
You wondered if he could hear your heartbeat, as much as it echoed in your own body. You wondered if he understood the meaning of that rhythm, so fast and so strong.
You wondered if his was beating as strongly, and for the same reasons.
His hand found your breast, cupping it carefully, as if it was something precious.
You thought about the time when fate had brought you together, and smiled as you stroked his hair.
Two days later, when he came back home, you felt that something was wrong.Â
âI got your visa,â he said harshly. His eyes were off, so was his whole body. He was distant, and fear grabbed your weak heart in its hands. Squeezing it hard.
âWhat?â you asked in a trembling voice.
He avoided your gaze, and added âyou wanted a visa, right? And you can't stay here, it's not safe. We knew that.â
âWhat?â You repeated. âWait a minute, can we talk about it?â
He shook his head, without even looking at you.
âWhat are you doing, Javi?â you insisted, your heart begging for help, for answers.Â
âYou can leave Colombia, be safe. Go on with your life.â
âPlease, Javi, don't do it. Not like that. I'm not⌠I'm not her. What happened was awful but please let us talk about it.â
âSteve is waiting for you downstairs. He'll take you to the airport,â he said stubbornly.
âJaviâŚâ
Tears obscured your vision and you could only see a blurry shape of him, standing a few feet away from you. Out of reach. Your Javi wasn't there anymore, he had shut down all his emotions.
Your heart was ripped in two, the pain so intense that you wondered if that Javi had ever existed. And right now, there was nothing left for him to give you.
You packed your things, unable to believe what was happening, hoping it was a nightmare. You looked at him from time to time. Brows furrowed, arms crossed over his chest.
âHave you ever felt anything for me? Have these last weeks meant anything to you?â you asked. He didn't reply, and barely glanced at you. You never thought his confession two days ago would lead to this.Â
Your mind knew what was making him act like this, but you couldn't accept that he was cutting it all off.
You slammed the door when you left, a âfuck youâ escaping your lips.
He thought about the whisky he was going to drink to forget. Forget how he could have done it to you in such a cruel way. He liked to tell himself he was good at compartmentalizing. But tonight, lonely in his apartment, he couldn't believe it anymore.
A few days later he found the letters you had written to yourself. He sat down on his bed and read them all.Â
He was reading about your growing feelings, the complete trust you'd had towards him over the past few weeks. He wondered if you'd left them there on purpose, or if you had forgotten them, but he quickly shook the thoughts from his mind. It didn't change anything. He wanted you safe, now you would be. No matter the price you had to pay. Or he had to pay.
He burnt the letters and poured himself some whiskey.
If you wanna know more about what happened to the woman Javi speaks of: And all that could have been
javi p masterlist
More Javi angst: The constant
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pairing: marcus acacius x war prisoner!f!reader.
summary: Gaul, 52 BC. Julius Caesar and his bloodthirsty army have won the final battle of the Gallic Wars atop Mont Auxois, after sieging the oppidum of Alesia for more than a month. with the war coming to a bitter end, you, the daughter of the defeated Vercingetorix of the Arverni, are taken hostage. General Acacius is tasked with bringing you to Rome, letting you believe youâll only be an entertainment to the masses. little do you know, thatâs not the case at allâŚ
author's note: well... here's my submission for @almostfoxglove angst challenge! the lovely moodboard was made by freya, and this beautiful song served as inspo too - i've included as many elements as possible from both! i know it's a beast of a oneshot, so i apologise in advance. i just couldn't stop writing. hope y'all like it, likes, comments and reblogs appreciated! <3
tags/warnings: 18+, mdni. historical accuracies and some inaccuracies. appearances of historical figures. slow burn angst (bear with me pls). enemies to lovers. explicit smut. one bed trope. sleepy shenanigans. as for the rest⌠creator chose not to use archive warnings, just know thereâs no happy ending here. no descriptions of reader other than a female who can be carried by marcus (he's a strong boy). no age gap.
wordcount: 28.1k
divider by @\saradika-graphics
A chance encounter in the woods of Mont Drouot had changed the course of your life forever. Your curiosity for General Acacius had sealed your fate.
Eyeing him from the cover provided by the trees, you had aimed your arrow at him. Ever so watchful, you had listened to the nature surrounding you, alert to any signs that he might be accompanied by one of his men. Alone he had trudged forward, until his back stiffened and came to a halt.
His vacant eyesâbrown like those of Baco, the Gaulish boar-Godâhad shot to yours through the dense vegetation. Under his intense gaze you felt paralysed for an eternal second, your skin bristling with anticipation. His head had tilted, as if he was amused with your attempt to put an end to the war the Romans had waged on Gaul.
Steeling yourself, you had briefly looked down to the arrowâs point, slotting it in position. But the moment you glanced up, Acacius was gone, vanished like an anima haunting the realm of the living.
That had been your first mistake â not killing the Roman General right there and then. His death would not have stopped Julius Caesar from showering death upon your tribesmen, but it might have had set him back enough for your people to reconvene.
Your second mistake had happened soon after the first. Another fortuitous meeting, one where you had been at his mercy. You had fallen down a hole dug up in the side of the mountain, set by the Romans in the hope of some easy food. Acacius had found you with a twisted ankle, trying to crawl your way out of the pit. He had dropped a rope, which you tied around your waist, and lifted you up. The moment you set foot on the cushioned ground, you feared the worst, but he let you go without a word nor warning.
Your third mistake had been seeking him out in the battle that unfolded on Mont Auxois, near the Gallic oppidum of Alesia. The culmination of an eight-year long feud between Julius Caesar and your father, Vercingetorix of the Arverni. Had you refrained from your compulsion, you would have died a warriorâs death alongside your comrades.
But Acacius had intervened in the nick of time, right when one of the Roman legionnaires was about to behead you as you stood mighty and proud.
âDonât. Sheâll be useful,â he had said, tone gravelly with apathy.
Those words still rang in your ears. How badly you wished he hadnât stepped in â for the alternative was way worse than death itself.
And now here you were, tied to a wooden post outside of the Roman camp. Men eyed you from a distance â some lewd gazes, others with a disgusted look. In return, you straightened your back, bestowing haughtiness upon your posture. It didnât matter how desperate your situation was, you would affront your future with the arrogance they all deserved.
You paid them no mind, undeserving they were of your attention. Instead, you blindly patted the dirt around the post, grabbing a flat stone. Cupping it between your hands, you twisted it around until its sharpest edge met the rope and slowly worked at it to free yourself.
One of the Romans walked by your side, followed by another. He stared at you with disdain, with a superiority you knew was lacking. Your hands stopped, worried they would see what you were trying to do.
âGaulish bitch,â he sneered, teeth bare. âYouâre nothing more than a stray dog and as such should be put down. Your brutish people deserved what they got, crushed by the Roman yoke. Youâll yield or youâll die.â
When he sniffled and hollowed his cheeks, you knew what was to come. You turned your face the moment he spat in your direction, his nauseating saliva skidding down the skin on your right cheek. Slowly you veered your head his way, eyes devoid of emotion, while a smile crept up on your mouth.
Fast as thunder, you swung your bound feet under him, causing him to fall to the boggy ground in the blink of an eye. He snarled like the animal he was, hands deep in the mud that he unburied to reach for your ankle. Before he could, you kicked him in the face with your bare heel.
Your heart was pounding so wildly, the adrenaline rushing through your veins like wildfire consuming a forest, anticipating their every move. You glanced up at the other man, his fist coming down quickly towards your face. You swiftly dodged the blow, his hand hitting the wooden post. The second man started howling in pain, all caused by his own doing.
You couldnât help but cackle loudly.
âIs this what you mean by the Roman yoke? You pathetic, little men,â you mocked them, fearless. âIs this all you got?â
As they stood up, your heart came to a standstill. Not because of terror, but because all your senses had sharpened. You were overly aware of everything around you, of them too. Your fingers resumed their doing, slashing the rope that tethered your hands to the wooden post.
You would never fold, never let them see the anger that brewed inside you. Your family had taught you better and you would never tarnish their memory by succumbing to two trivial men. No matter the outcome.
âWhat is going on here?â his voice stopped the commotion before it escalated any further.
A voice you could recognise anywhere, even though the first time you actually ever heard it was on the battlefield, barking orders like the General he was.
Slowly you looked up at General Acacius, eyes squinting with defiance. He towered above you, but his attention was directed at the two men. His arms folded at chest level, a cocked brow staring them down. He exuded imposingness, as if he was highborn. There was something about his posture, the way he carried himself, that made you swallow hard to dissolve the lump in your throat.
âAre you deaf?â he insisted when the two apes didnât respond.
âGeneral, the prisoner was provoking us for no particular reason,â the one who tripped with your feet lied.
Another laugh escaped your lips, face tilted up to the cloudy sky. The fucking audacity these men had was ridiculous. Being born in a society where men and women were equal, you almost found amusing their piteous attempts at belittling you.
âOh, fuck me. Do you truly believe I would talk to any of you of my own accord? Itâs like talking to pigs,â you sneered, rolling your eyes.
The two men began talking loudly and rapidly, pointing at you while their angry tone grew and grew. You understood Latin, but when they screamed like pigs in the slaughter, they stopped making any sense.
âSilence,â Acacius ordered, one steady hand extended in front of him with the palm facing downwards. âThis is not how we treat our prisoners, not under my command. I was watching you both as you approached her, do not take me for a fool,â he kept on berating them.
They took a step back, brows knitting together and eyes averted with shame. It was obvious that Acacius was way above them and were embarrassed to be caught in a lie.
âBe gone now. I donât want you anywhere close to her,â he barked, the extended hand now pointing to the forestâs boundary. âYou will be standing guard tonight, the whole night.â
Then they both glanced at you, pupils blown with anger. As they walked away, you gifted them with a haughty smirk. One of them turned aroundâready to hit you, you presumedâbut the second man held him back and pushed him towards the trees.
When you canted your head, grin still painted on your lips, you realised Acacius was studying you intensely, as if he was trying to dive into the windows to your soul. The smile was quickly replaced with a pout and a frown when he crouched down in front of you, elbows resting on his knees.
âMen do not like it when a woman is confrontational. You would do well if you toned it down,â he offered his unrequited advice calmly, the drawl of his voice weirdly⌠soothing.
âFragile men, you mean,â you corrected him, straightening your posture and lifting your chin up.
Unexpectedly, Acacius cracked a tiny smile, one corner of his mouth slightly curving.
âYes, fragile men. There are many of them around here, so be careful,â he conceded, the half-smile lingering.
âMany of you, you mean,â you pushed the limits because you didnât know any better.
Acacius let out a chuckle, shaking his head. It transformed his features, softening the deep wrinkles that scored his sun-kissed skin. His head had tilted to one side, his warm brown eyes locked in on yours â and then you felt it again, your body taut, your skin bristling. The intensity of his gaze almost felt like a thunder hitting you right in the centre of your chest, leaving you gasping for air.
Suddenly, his hand reached for your face, and you tried to lean back away from his touch, for your head to hit the wooden post behind. You scowled, uncertain of what he was about to do, but that didnât stop him.
With his thumb ghosting your cheek, his eyes searched for yours â an unspoken permission. Acacius took your silence as an affirmation, and then his thumb brushed your skin, cleaning the spit off your cheek.
The delicate gesture took you aback, unsure of why he would show you such care. The contact of his thumb on your skin was thrilling, a strange sensation crawling up your spine all the way up to the nape of your neck. Your skin bristled even more to the point of pain, as if you had been thrown in an icy lake, and your breaths quickened.
You didnât like this â the power his body emanated; the power he had on you.
âWhy havenât you killed me?â you spat out, erasing the remnants of softness from his face in an instant, the blanket of war cascading down his expression.
Whatever gentleness you had thought to see in his orbs, was gone now.
âI am awaiting Caesarâs verdict. There are other prisonersââ
âOthers? Who?â you pressed, your heart racing now at the possibility of not being the only survivor.
âA few men. Including Vercingetorix of the Arverni,â his words dragged, his eyes watching you closely.
You couldnât stop the way your body stiffened at the discovery of your father being alive. Your pupils had widened, and your heartrate had spiked even more.
âVercingetorix?â you asked, wanting confirmation that your mind was not playing games on you.
Acacius nodded slowly, his brows slightly touching each other, eyes squinting.
âDo you know him personally?â
âNo,â you replied quickly. Too quickly.
Your heart would not stop pumping, so hard you could feel your heartbeat on your temples now. You tried taming your expression, forcing yourself to calm down and pretend that the news of Vercingetorixâs capture didnât faze you at all.
âYouâve got the same eyes,â Marcus thought out loud, scratching his stubble absentmindedly.
âNo, we donât,â you blurted out, your throat squeezing.
The man was like a hound with a chewed bone. You could see he was not going to let it go so easily â he knew you were lying. His eyes squinted and then clicked his fingers, the cracking sound momentarily distracting as you focused on his hands.
Big as paws, so broad he could easily wrap them aroundâŚ
Focus.
âWhy didnât you kill me when I fell in your hunting trap?â you attempted to divert his attention from the issue at hand. âOr are you a really shitty hunter, letting your prey go so easily?â
Marcusâ brow furrowed even deeper, and you wondered if he would bite the bait. You couldnât have him asking any more questions or he would find out the truth.
Or were you too late for that? You could only imagine what the Romans would do if they discovered you were Vercingetorixâs daughter. They would use you in despicable ways to get your father to bend to their will. As fierce as your father was, he had a tender spot for you. If he knew you had survived and been taken hostage, Vercingetorix would try to strike a deal to cut you lose.
But it would be in vain â Rome was thirsty for blood.
âYou could say my hunting days are long gone. I donât enjoy the thrill of the chase anymore,â he bluntly responded, towering above you as he stood up. âGet some rest if you can.â
âEasier said than done when I have to watch my back at all times,â you sneered, rolling your eyes.
Because if you fell asleep, your guard would be down. And you didnât trust those two men â you knew, saw in their eyes, that they would come back for payback.
Acacius gifted you with a stern look, all the previous softness and nonchalance forgotten. This was the General you had gotten a glimpse of in the battlefield. One, you suspected, that knew more about you than you wanted. One that wouldnât stop until he uncovered the truth of your ancestry.
Without any other word, General Acacius turned around and disappeared behind the bright red flap of a tent.
You couldnât just wait around to see what would happen. You had to break free, or they would kill you. Or worse, use you as leverage.
With renewed strength and determination, you resumed the slicing of the rope that bound you to the post.
âHow sure are you of your suspicions, Acacius?â
He had debated whether to speak of his conjecture or not. Nothing should hold him back from sharing an inkling with his old friend. If he was right, then they could get Vercingetorix to finally surrender the last enclaves of the Gauls â the bastard had not spoken one word since his capture. The war would be over, and he could return home.
So, if this was the right thing to do, why was he now doubting himself?
Your blown pupils still haunted him, the way you whispered âno, we donâtâ in a hush when questioned about the shade of your eyes. As soon as your expression faltered, Marcus knew he was onto something. And he hated himself for it â for not being in a position of freedom where he could just pretend he hadnât heard the fleeting panic in your voice.
Marcus wished he could lie to Julius Caesar; say he might have misinterpreted the signals. But he couldnât â he was indebted to the man in front of him. Marcus owed Julius his life and loyalty for taking him under his wing and giving him the chance to make a name for himself when no one believed in a puny farmer boy from the countryside.
Thanks to his friend and his own hard work, Marcus had climbed up the military ladder, having been decorated with the title of General ten years ago. Marcus had many victories under his belt, having proved his worth with sweat, tears and blood.
âI am positive she is Vercingetorixâs daughter, Caesar,â he ended up answering, straightening his back. âI went to pay him a visit. The moment I described her, his expression flinched. Itâs her.â
âYou have questioned the man yourself?â Caesar asked with a smirk, lazily resting on the chaise lounge. He nodded in reply. âHope youâve beaten him good.â
Acacius was not one to resort to unnecessary violence if he could avoid it. There was enough blood on his hands as it was, didnât need another notch on his conscience. So, when he visited the Gaulish chief, Marcus only used carefully delivered words to disarm his enemy. It had worked, because even if Vercingetorix hadnât said a word, his reaction was all confirmation he needed.
He didnât reply, standing tall in front of Caesar with his hands laced on his back, waiting to be discharged so he could call it a night and get some rest.
âWeâll use her as leverage,â his friend thought out loud.
Dread sank to the bottom of his stomach. Caesar could be⌠awfully creative sometimes.
His thirst for power, for notoriety, was very well known among the political sphere that surrounded Rome. Caesar had amassed gold and immense power over the last six years on Gaulish land. Julius had told Marcus in the past that this seemed to worry his allies in the First Triumvirate. With Crassusâ death last year, it was only Caesar and Pompeius Magnus who kept the political alliance intact.
But Marcus knew Julius wanted more â heâd heard his friend spoke of future plans that could hinder the Roman Republic. Those talks strayed far from what Marcus thought Caesar stood for, but they were more recurrent now, bordering on coup ideology.
Where Marcus would stand when, or if, that time came⌠He wasnât so sure. Heâd supported Caesar in so many of his quests and conquests, it would feel like a betrayal to the only man who believed in him.
Perhaps itâll never come to that, he always reminded himself.
âLeverage? How so?â Marcus forced his voice to sound flat, uninspired, when, in reality, an uncomfortable feeling settled in his tummy.
âGlad you asked, Acacius,â Caesarâs smirk only reinforced his fear. âSince Crassusâ death last year, I fear my alliance with Pompeius Magnus might suffer. Although I trust my sister Julia will keep him bound and loyal, I need to ensure more allies and reinforce the ones I already have,â his friend explained, sitting up on the chaise lounge. âYou are to bring the hostage to Rome. Weâll marry her off to General Marcus Antoniusâ brother, Gaius.â
Dread mutated within him, rage taking over.
If there ever was a man to walk this earth whom Marcus despised, that was Gaius Antonius. One year younger than his notorious brother, the man was as despicable as one could get. A drunk philanderer, Gaius could always be found in one of two places: in a private house drinking himself to death and gambling, or in a brothel satiating his lust. The manâs manners were lacking, his ill fame well-deserved. Always so confrontational, looking for a fight to entertain himself.
Everything Marcus hated culminating in one singular person. The times they had run into each other, Gaius had always been so condescending that Marcus had to rein in the need to gut him right there and then. Antoniusâ younger brother had mocked him for his humble origins, telling Marcus it didnât matter how hard he tried, heâd always be a farmer.
So delivering a womanâany womanâto that shitbag of a man⌠it didnât sit well with him at all. It would be a life sentence for you â because if you didnât die at Gaiusâ hands, you might as well wish for a quick death.
And what was worst, Caesar knew all of this, but still asked anyway.
A true friend wouldnât, Marcus ruminated but drowned such treacherous thought.
âThat would take weeks, General. With all due respect, Iâve got other responsibilities thatââ Marcus started his plea, hoping to be released from such a mission.
âYouâre the only man I trust, Acacius. I wouldnât ask otherwise,â Caesar cut him off, standing up in front of him. One of his friendâs hands landed on his shoulder, gently squeezing. âI confide this assignment to you because I know youâll get it done. Your word, Acacius?â
Marcus was between a rock and a hard place. Fear gripped him tight, his throat running dry with unspent poison pooling on his tongue.
He didnât want to do it. But there was no way out.
âMy word, Caesar,â he husked, slightly bowing his head down.
The agreement that would seal his fate.
âWhy the long face, Acacius?â Antonius taunted him as he bit into the meat gripped between his fingers, the bloody juices running down his wrist and forearm. âYouâll get enough gold to retire after your mission, Caesar always pays.â
Payment was not an incentive for Marcus. Heâd never wished for fortune nor recognition. He had enough money to live comfortably, a modest home where he could wind down and recover from the consequences of war. He didnât fight for money â he fought for conviction, for the glory of Rome, for what he thought was right.
Or, at least, that was what originally had him enrol in the legion. After over two decades of bloodshed, Marcus had had his eyes open, his stance not as clear anymore. War had changed him, for better or worse. He didnât regret his achievements, but the lives he had to saw to get where he now was.
His young self had been blind to the crude reality of war, eager to prove himself a worthy warrior. Now, with a few souls on his back and dirty hands, Marcus saw the events of his life under a different light.
âNot all of us are motivated by coin,â Marcus grunted, leaving the empty goblet on the makeshift table. âSome of us are happy with what weâve got.â
âThatâs the old you speaking, Acacius,â Antonius cackled, palming the wooden table. âYouâre so righteous sometimes, it pains me.â
Marcus didnât reply, chewing his dried bread until his jaw hurt, a dull ache shooting up to his cheeks.
It didnât feel that way sometimes â righteousness seemed to evade him now. Because if he was certain of his own morality, he wouldnât go through with the mission Caesar had bestowed upon him. He wouldnât deliver you like cattle to the slaughter. Your destinyâyour defeat, watching your people perish at the mercy of a Roman swordâseemed punishment enough.
But he truly didnât see this panning out any other way. In the grand scheme of things, Marcus was just another pawn in an intricate plan he was not apprised of. Despite his station, he still had to follow orders. Disobeying themâor worse, interferingâwould have him dead before dawn cracked in the horizon.
Getting killed over a strangerâan enemyâseemed ludicrous. Everything he had worked so hard for, for naught. There was no room for kindness in the midst of war.
âIf youâll excuse me, General, I shall retire to my tent,â Marcus excused himself, getting up off the bench. âVale (farewell), Antonius.â
Marcus made his way through the camp, fires lit with legionnaires around them, sharing old wivesâ tales and anecdotes from battles, their yearnings and hopes for the future. For being late, the encampment was still very much alive, the quiet chatter filtering through the smoke-dense air.
Trudging on, his tired muscles begged him for a break. War was relentless, hard on the body and the mind. But no matter how fatigued he was, Marcus couldnât get a good nightâs sleep. Although the war appeared to have come to an end, the thought of being on his enemyâs backyard was still present on his foremind.
As he walked past the post you were tied to, something caught his attention. Frowning, Marcus came to a halt, head slightly tilted with suspicion â a tingling sensation on his neck alerting of something out of place.
No, not something. Someone. Because when he looked in your direction, you were not there.
Marcus approached the empty spot and kneeled, finding that the ropes that kept you bound had been severed. His hand palmed the poorly lit ground, finding a sharp stone.
âFuck,â he gritted out, standing up and flagging down a passing archer. âGive me that.â
The moment you saw Marcus distractedly saunter towards you, a rush of energy bloomed within you. It was now or never.
No one was coming to rescue you, because there was no one left to pick up the dusty sword of freedom. Waiting was pointless, so you had to take matters into your own hands.
When the last thread of the rope that bound you was cut loose, you crawled through the mud and ran for your life towards the forest. Barefoot, tired and thirsty, lungs burning now, you kept on running without looking back. Branches brushed against your skin, slicing your face, arms and legs. Spikey stones stabbed your soles, but that didnât stop you either.
âHalt!â
The steadfast command almost made you obey the order. But doing so would mean going back to being a hostage at the mercy of men who had higher praise for sheep than women. Death was the least of your worries â and you would not suffer at the hands of cruel tyrants.
A quick glance over your shoulder confirmed that General Acacius was catching up with you, fast as a wolf stalking its prey. Despite the ache, the agony, you pushed forward, dodging trees and bushes in an attempt to lose him. These were your woods, the land you had grown up on, and as such you knew them like the palm of your hand. A few more minutes and you would reach a low cliff overlooking the river Oze. Just as you had done in your youth, you would jump in and let the current take you as far away as possible.
âStop, dammit! Donât make me shoot you an arrow!â
The warning in his now breathless voice made you look back again, realising that Acacius had a bow with him.
Panic started bubbling in your chest, adrenaline taking over your bloodstream like lava. Strained lungs and with your heart pounding in your throat, you focused on the path ahead, your feet rushing under you like thunder.
The whistling hiss of an arrow flew by your ear, kissing your cheek and drawing blood.
But that didnât stop you, running as fast as your feet would take you. Focused on the path ahead, ignoring Acaciusâ warnings, you glimpsed a clearing in the trees. Your freedom was close, just a few yards away the small cliff greeted you like your own personal salvation. So close, you could almost see the darkness spilling over the precipice.
You were going to make it â freedom tasting sweet on your tongue, despite the blood dripping onto your lips from the cut on your cheek.
As you leaped towards the abyss, another buzzing sound flew towards you. This time the arrow found its target, sinking in the back of your right shoulder as you plunged into the void underneath screaming in agony.
Dark water swallowed your body as you plummeted to the riverbed. The current was strong and unforgiving due to the latest torrential rains, battering you around and slamming your body against the hard edges of the rocky bottom. Your back hit a boulder rather harshly, your lungs vacating the little oxygen they held into the stream.
This was how you were going to die after all â not on the battlefield, not at your enemyâs mercy, but taken by the goddess Nantosuelta herself. The blurry lines of your vision began collapsing as your mind drifted away, eyes shutting and limbs limp floating around you.
Something surrounded your waist like a vine, but instead of pushing you further down, it pulled you up until your head breached the surface. The cold air kissed your face, and you coughed to clear your airways, water spilling over your lips in spurts.
âHold onto me!â General Acacius shouted at you, gripping you closer to his broad frame.
You blinked, confused at first. Then it hit you: the Roman General had jumped after you, dragging you out of the bottom of the river. He was trying to save you from drowning, even if that meant dying with you.
Still feeling dizzy, muscles unresponsive, you managed to drape one arm around his neck whilst Acacius battled with the current. It was only ten minutes, but to you it felt like an eternity â you both went under a couple of times, but Acacius never let you go, his arm hugging you tight like a vice.
Finally, General Acacius hauled you out. You both fell to your knees as soon as you reached the shore. Having gulped down at least a pint of water, you heaved and retched until the burning sensation travelling up your throat was unbearable.
Then you dropped to one side, curled up on the riverâs edge. Exhaustion coursed through your body from head to toes while your breathing calmed down. Acacius was besides you, sitting back on his heels with a bewildered look.
âWhy⌠did you⌠save me?â you managed to slur some words together.
His expression softened, running a hand down his tired face.
âI donât know,â he husked out. âI couldnât let you die.â
His features folded as soon as he spoke the last words, avoiding your eyes. He couldnât let you die this way, you assumed he meant, implying he was willing to let you die a different way.
âYouâre bleeding,â he changed subjects, pointing to the arrowhead sticking out just above your clavicle.
âI wonder whose fault that is,â you sneered, sitting up on the ground.
The reality was you didnât feel the pain. Your body had gone into overdrive, focusing your remaining energy on keeping you alive.
âI told you Iâd shoot, and you didnât listen,â Acacius grunted, dragging his knees towards you. âLet me see.â
Not having the mental capacity to retort back, you let him inspect the wound, his wet fingers carefully caressing the bloody skin around the wooden shaft.
âItâs gone through cleanly. Iâm going to snap the arrowhead so you donât hurt yourself. Ready?â He didnât give you much time to process his words, because soon enough he did exactly as he told you.
Through gritted teeth, you hissed in pain, jaw clenching so hard you might break a tooth.
âYou bastard,â you sneered, but your animosity didnât make him flinch.
In any case, he was closer than he was before. His wet silvery curls dripped onto your tilted face as you looked up at him with anger lighting your eyes.
âI need to remove the shaft too but canât do it here, youâll bleed out. I need to stitch you up as soon as itâs out,â Acacius spoke calmly, ignoring the fury simmering in your face.
The walk back to the Roman camp was excruciating. Pain shot from your shoulder in all directions, but you pushed through it. Acacius had a tight grip around your waist as you hugged his shoulders to stand up, keeping you close to him, his hand laced with yours.
Luckily, no one was there to see your rather pathetic entrance. You only crossed paths with a couple of legionnaires who nodded in acknowledgement to Acacius, and soon after that he directed you to a tent.
Once inside, you stood in the middle of it awkwardly. The red textile walls were bright, but the rest of the decoration was spartan. A bed that would barely fit two people, a wooden trunk with a lit candle as a nightstand, a wonky dresser, two chairs and a couple of chests. There was a small cauldron in the middle of the room which had red embers in it, its warmth spilling into the space.
What caught your attention was that there were no personal effects in sight. This could perfectly be the sleeping quarters of a low rank soldier, and you wondered if Acacius had mistaken his tent for someone elseâs.
âTake a seat,â he pointed towards one the chairs.
You were so knackered, you happily obliged, letting yourself fall onto the chair. You were drenched, your leather garments soaked and heavy, but still didnât feel the snappy cold bite your skin.
Your gaze tracked Acacius as he ambled towards one of the chests. But you quickly looked away when he undid the knots that kept his chestplate in place. The clink of metal told you he was getting rid of the top part of his armour.
Despite your efforts, curiosity won. In the corner of your eye, you saw his bare back â his back muscles undulating under his damp skin, shoulders flexing as he pulled the linen shirt over his head. His waist was sculpted, slightly thinner than his chest. Two pronounced dimples on his lower back distracted you from the battle scars dotted around his frame.
Enemy or not, the man was a treat. Youâd have to be blind to say otherwise.
Unfortunately for you, Acacius didnât turn around â just opened the chest, rummaged through it and fished a fresh linen shirt that quickly covered his body. The damp skirt remained though, and you guessed the General was not as comfortable with you in the tent.
Acacius veered towards the dresser, going through the contents of the first drawer and leaving different items on top. When he turned around to face you, he was holding a bottle of wine that he extended towards you.
You blinked at him blankly.
âRemoving the shaft is going to hurt like hell. The alcohol will numb your senses and if youâre lucky enough, you might not feel too much pain,â Acacius explained while you grabbed the bottle, cocking a mighty brow.
âSo, you want me drunk. Here, alone with you,â your words dragged, hinting at your distrust. âItâs only fair if you get drunk too.â
Acacius huffed and puffed, sitting beside you on the empty chair, and stole the bottle from your grasp, the cork stopper flying.
âSo untrusting. If I hurt you while patching you up, then donât complain,â he grunted before bringing the bottle to his lips.
You were momentarily mesmerised by the bobbing of his Adamâs apple. His neck was thick and chiselled, stubble covering his jaw. You wondered if it would be prickly to the touch, your fingers testing the girth of his neck.
To suffocate him, obviously â nothing else.
âIâll take my chances,â you retorted, shrugging. The slight movement of your shoulders made you grimace. âPass me that.â
Minutes went by as you and Acacius shared the wine, taking turns on emptying the bottle. He didnât say a word, and you guessed he wasnât a big talker. You were comfortable with silence, but a doubt nagged at you.
There had to be a reason for his rescuing. Why would he risk his life to save yours otherwise? If he thought you were nothing, no one of relevance, he should have let you drown. But he hadnât, and you doubted it had been out of pure altruism. Acacius didnât know you at all except for the few exchanges you had had in the past. You were even â you hadnât killed him in the woods, and in return he had dug you out of the hole you fell into.
âHas Caesar come to a decision about me?â you blurted out, the only explanation for you to be here right now, alive.
Acacius gave you a long look, his hand quick to rob you of the alcohol. His eyes remained locked with yours as he drank. The void in his orbs was pretty telling, but you needed confirmation from him â confirmation that you had said too much when he mentioned your father. That you fucked up.
âI spoke to your father,â Acacius drawled, studying your expression. There was no point in denying what was obvious, so you didnât interrupt. âHe didnât sell you out, but it was pretty obvious I was onto something when I started talking about you.â
âHave you tortured him?â you voiced your worry, brows pinching.
The General slouched back, almost as if he was offended by your question. You had seen the aftermath of their grilling â broken fingers, dislocated jaws, bent-backwards knees. It wasnât wrong of you to assume the worst of him.
âNo,â he responded flatly, drinking again and passing the bottle. âCaesar has decided a new future for you. You are to be brought to Rome. Youâll come with me.â
Your heart literally stopped beating. If it wasnât for the wine already working its magic, you might have stood up and emptied the bottle on his face. But you didnât â instead, you glanced at him, lips pressed contemptuously.
âAnd what will I be doing there, dare I ask? Are you going to throw me in a cage and parade me around town like an animal so your citizens can look at a savage eye to eye?â you sneered, grabbing the bottle to quench your rage.
If you hadnât closed your eyes, you might have seen the guilt flashing on his eyes. But you didnât, too focused on drowning your mind so you wouldnât think about what the future laid ahead.
âYour father will be going too,â he offered as consolation.
Your eyes did spark up at him, the idea of seeing your father one last time somewhat calming.
âWill he be coming with us?â you ventured, your hopes too quick to rise.
âNo, heâs a bigger risk. A small entourage will accompany him,â he answered, fingers curling in your direction in a silent plea to give him the wine.
âOh,â you didnât hide your disappointment.
You handed him the alcohol and his fingers lingered around yours for a second. Perhaps it was the wine, but you caught sadness in the way his eyes watched you. Pity, probably, conscious of what your life might look like in a few weeksâ time.
âWeâll be going alone. I trust that the thought of your fatherâs wellbeing will deter you from trying to escape. Otherwise, Iâd have to chain you and itâs not something Iâd like to do,â Acacius grumbled, voice slightly slurred.
So your fatherâs life depended on you â on obediently following this man to your enslavement. Life was fucking cruel, but you would never be the reason for your fatherâs death, of that much you were sure. There wasnât much of a decision to make there.
âAlright,â you mumbled back, straightening your back. âWhen are we leaving?â
âTomorrow at the crack of dawn,â Acacius tilted his head towards you, a downcast expression eagerly studying yours.
Silence fell like a blanket again, each of you immersed in your own thoughts. When the bottle finally ran out, Acacius got up and walked towards the dresser, collecting the items heâd placed on top of it. His stance was not as firm anymore â shoulders relaxed, feet slightly wobbly thanks to the alcohol flushing his system.
âAre you ready?â he asked, dragging his chair towards you once he sat back down.
You nodded, stiffening your posture. You prayed the wine worked its miracle.
Marcus could tell how drained you were by the end of it. His hand had not been the most stable, considering the amount of grape juice he had chucked down. He regretted drinking so much, but was able to stitch you up in the end. Not his best work, but it would do, keeping the wound close to avoid infection.
Your head tipped, and Marcus was quick enough to hold your forehead so you wouldnât fall forward. He wasnât sure if you were drowsy because of the alcohol, the pain or because your body finally left its alertness state, or a combination of it all. What he did know though was that you needed some rest.
He wasnât as heartless as you thought â couldnât bring himself up to drag you outside and tie you to the wooden post again. Not when he suspected the two men would come back for payback.
Without many more options, Acacius scooped you up from the chair, careful not to wake you, and laid you down on his bed. You immediately sighed with relief when your frame sank in the straw mattress, engulfing you in its warmth. You nuzzled his pillow, inhaling deeply before your pinched brow smoothed out.
You looked so different when you slept. Your hair covering your face, long eyelashes kissing your cheeks and your mouth slightly agape, taking in soft breaths. Younger too, although Marcus believed you both were around the same age. Perhaps you were older than him, considering how weathered his golden skin had become under the scorching sun for years.
He hated himself for omitting the truth, for not telling you what would be of you once in Rome. Marcus let you believe that you would be a slave, an entertainment to the crowds, but your reality would be much more darker than that. He didnât know you, but could safely bet that you would strongly object to being married off as a war trophy. Anyone would.
Were you married? He scanned your fingers from the distance but saw no wedding band. Perhaps it wasnât common in your culture to wear one.
Marcus frowned â despite having lived on this land for over a lustrum, he didnât really know much about its inhabitants and your customs. Though he wasnât here to make allies, but to destroy the life you and your ancestors had built.
Heâd never thought of it that way, always pushing such logic aside so he could do his job. As Caesar would say, âVeni, vidi, vici.â It was fucking cruel, an injustice really, but his hands were as tied as yours.
Eventually Marcus drifted off to an uncomfortable sleep, almost falling from the chair twice before he hauled over one of the chests to prop his legs up.
Heâd close his eyes for a second, just to recharge for a bit, then would stand guard the rest of the night to assure your safety â and captivity.
âAcacius,â something tugged at the linen of his shirt, and his eyes slowly fluttered open. âItâs dawn.â
The words seemed to come from far away, not registering on his mind. He hmphed and shut his eyes again, knackered from a restless night. Five more minutes, that was all he needed.
âOi, hey!â
A slap on his shoulder startled him awake, sitting up on the chair instantly as he quickly scanned the room â a throbbing headache haunting him.
Then he saw you, sat on his bed with your feet dangling from the edge, an inquisitory glance shot his way.
âFuck,â he groaned, realising heâd fallen asleep for longer than intended. âShouldnât have drunk so much,â he muttered, pinching the bridge of his aquiline nose.
âIf itâs any consolation, Iâm no better,â you hushed, watching him intently. âBut the wound seems to be healing alright.â
Marcus straightened up, pulling his chair closer, hand reaching for your shoulder in unspoken permission. You slid down the neck of your leather garment, showing him the injury. His fingertips teased around the laceration, and under his touch you shivered.
He quickly removed his hand; afraid his caress was doing more harm than good.
âSorry. Itâs a bit inflamed but otherwise seems fine.â
You nodded in mute reply.
At the same time both of you stood up â so close, you bumped into each other. Marcus almost kicked you off your feet and you tumbled back. Before you fell back onto the bed, Marcus grabbed your forearm and pulled, crashing you against his chest.
The sudden proximity brought with it your scent â earthy cinnamon with a floral hint, sweet and musky. Marcus couldnât control the need to inhale, to take you in for a brief instant. He hadnât let himself be close to anyone in a very long while, not when war was at the forefront of his mind. Simply didnât have the time, always busy with battles, training or strategizing for what was next.
Your closeness briefly reminded him of a life he once yearned for. To settle down, to marry, to have a family â his kids waiting for his arrival, hugging his legs while he patted their heads in loving reassurance. But when the opportunity of proving himself worthy knocked at his door, he seized it and parked his other desires, incapable of seeing a way to reconcile those two very different lives.
Why had your mere presence suddenly unearthed those thoughts? He was only curious about you, knew perfectly what his role was â your captor, the one in charge of delivering you like cargo to another man, one he despised.
Marcus forced himself take a step back, avoiding your inquisitive gaze, letting go of your forearm and turning around in haste.
âWeâll only bring whatâs necessary,â he husked out, busy with stuffing the saddlebags.
âUhm, okayâŚâ
Your lower back hurt. Your thighs far stretched over the horseâs back, a stinging pain pooling on your crotch. Your ass was sore due to the gentle yet constant bouncing.
You had been riding for three days. The ascent on horseback to the height of the Alps was draining. Cold, icy air bit your skin, the leather skins Acacius had secured not enough to keep the freezing temperatures away. Last night a blizzard almost wiped you out off the face of the Earth. The temperatures had dropped so much, you couldnât help yourself but curl up against Acacius at night in an attempt to keep your body as warm as possible. Heâd huffed in reply, but didnât push you away.
Today you had only stopped at dusk after Acacius spent at least an hour finding the right spot â away from prying eyes, from a possible ambush. He did well on keeping clear of crowded paths, so well you had not seen another soul in the last seventy-two hours.
If you had a small hope of someone rescuing you, it was now dwindling. And even if that happened, you couldnât just leave your father to his fate. So despite how many times that delusional scene played in your mind, you knew you just couldnât act on it. You had surrendered to your destiny, whatever it was.
âWeâll set up camp here for the night,â Acacius gritted out, the first words he had spoken to you since dawn reddened the sky this morning.
Heâd been given you the silence treatment since your departure three days ago, got even worse since last night. As much as you tried to discern the reason for his taciturnity, your mind ended up going back to the moment he held you close to his chest. To how your body pressed against his as both of you tried to get some rest.
Had he also felt the rushing of blood pumping on his eardrums? Had he also gotten goosebumps? Had his breath also hitched in the back of his throat?
Did he or was it only you? Youâd never know. The man had become an icy wall â one you couldnât penetrate, no matter how much you poked at it. You talked and talked to fill the silence, and his only answers were âhmmâ to show disagreement and âmhmâ to say yes. At one point you grew tired of his muteness and gave up altogether.
It was almost as if Acacius was unhappy to be there, as if you dragged him there when it was all the way around.
âYou know, you couldâve just asked somebody else to take me to Rome. Itâs not like I forced you to be here. Rather the opposite,â you gritted out, huffing and puffing while grabbing one end of the flat tent to start building it.
As expected, he just ignored you, helping out from the other end of the tent as you worked together to erect it. Grabbing a rock, you hammered the last iron spike to the ground, testing the tension of the rope.
âI didnât have a choice,â he gritted out, crouching to go through one of the saddlebags and handed you a piece of dried meat.
You squatted down too and accepted the offering, chewing away and mildly wincing, the saltiness upsetting your tastebuds.
âA Roman General didnât have a choice,â you repeated after him, cocking a brow. âThat sounds ridiculous. I donât have a choice, pretty sure you do.â
âI still follow orders. And when Caesar asks, you canât say no to,â the inflexion on the word made you look his way, slightly tilting your head to one side with curiosity.
âYou canât or you wonât?â
âI canât.â
You hmphed, shaking your head with certain disdain. You knew little of Roman politics, but as far as you could tell, both Acacius and Caesar had the same rank. One submissively accepting orders from the other without rebuttal didnât make sense.
âYouâre his lapdog,â you didnât say it to mock him, it was just an observation based on facts. âWith no freewill, no choice. Sounds like we are both hostages to the same oppressor.â
âItâs not as simple,â Acacius sighed. âThe current political climate in the Republic is⌠complicated.â
âSo, Caesar is in the middle of a political storm back home, but heâs here giving us hell for no reason whatsoever other than showing his power to his rivals. Bet heâs got better things to do then.â When Acacius didnât reply, you pressed, âDonât you have better things to do than warmongering? A business to look after back home? A family, perhaps?â
The last question slipped. You were not prodding, didnât care about what his marital status was, if he had a woman waiting for his safe return. No, nothing like that.
So if you truly didnât, why did you look at him expectant?
He briefly glanced at you, his attention shifting to the wineskin he just pulled out of the saddlebag and then to the two horses tied up nearby. His avoidance made you frown. Had you hit a nerve of some sort?
âI donât. This is all I know, all I ever wanted,â Acacius muttered before leaning his head back to aim the trickle of wine into his mouth.
The way he carefully delivered the words⌠there was a lie hidden between them. You didnât know though which one of the two statements was the deceitful one. Or both, perhaps.
âIf you say so,â you shrugged, conscious that you wouldnât get him to talk any more than what you already had.
You shared the dried meat and the wine in silence. The biting cold sent shivers all over your body, skin bristled and teeth chattering by the time you were done eating. With no fire going to keep you warm, you were dying to retreat back to the tent.
âShould call it a night,â you mumbled, grabbing your saddlebag to bring it in with you.
Acacius grunted his accord, standing up. âIâll check on the horses and Iâll be right back.â
He turned around as you scurried away, the temperature inside the tent as freezing as it was out there. It was going to be a rough night, especially since it seemed to be colder than last. You shuffled around, putting on more layers and rearranging the different animal skins until you were cozily beneath them. Your jaw tightened and let go of a grunt, a cloud of mist forming around your lips. Still you shuddered uncontrollably, a futile attempt to rise your body temperature.
A few minutes later, Acacius entered the tent, and you were no closer to falling asleep. In fact, you were so cold, you were wide awake. In the gloom of night, you barely made out his silhouette as he prepared to lie down beside you. The General quietly buried himself under a pile of skins.
Not a word was crossed, the dead tranquillity of the night broken by your chattering teeth.
âStop that,â Acacius grumbled, half asleep, swatting you gently. âYouâre too loud.â
âItâs not like I can fucking stop it, can I?â you gritted out, frustrated with his ease to drift away. âItâs freezing, dammit.â
The General rumbled and huffed, dragging his body towards you. He lifted the skins off himself, did the same thing with yours and joined you under the blankets, throwing them all over you both. The added weight of the skins, heavy and warm, was most welcomed, but it was Acaciusâ body what made your temperature underneath the covers spike up.
The man was a damn furnace.
Driven by self-preservation, your hands found his forearm and clamped around them.
Acacius hissed.
âYour fingers are like icicles,â he complained, but didnât move away.
âIf you think my hands are freezing, wait to feel my feet,â and with no remorse, you brushed his shin with the sole of one foot. Your engaged muscles started to soften, his warmth pouring into you.
âShit,â Acacius mumbled, his jaw tightening in the darkness, but again remained still. âYou may well be at risk of frostbite.â
You grunted in agreement, unknowingly seeking him as you curled up against his side. His body temperature would be enough to keep the both of you warm through the night. You began to relax, your jaw now slack and teeth quiet. Slowly you fell into a peaceful slumber, the first night you actually got some much-needed rest.
When one of your eyes fluttered open, you were unsure of how many hours had gone by. It was still pitch-black outside, only the chirping of crickets breaking the quietness around you. The breaking of dawn still a few hours away, enough to paint a smile on your face at the realisation that you could sleep some more.
You nuzzled Acaciusâ chest with your nose, inhaling deeply as your eyes slowly shut.
It was then that you noticed that you were almost on top of him: your cheek gently pressed against his sternum, your arm hugging his waist, your leg resting across his with your knee right onâŚ
Your eyes shot open, quickly looking down, your senses flaring alive.
Your knee crammed right on his groin, softly pressing on his manhood as if that was where it belonged. He was hard. Asleep still, but his cock was wide awake. You could feel him pulse against your kneecap.
Your heart picked up a pace while a hot wave washed over you, slick starting to pool between your thighs and your nipples puckering against his ribs. A normal reaction, you told yourself, considering the position you were in.
One you shouldnât be in. Conscious of your own bodily response, you sneakily tried to remove your knee from his growing bulge, biting down your bottom lip as your fingers sank in his right hip. But Acacius didnât let you, his hand wrapping around the back of your knee and pressing it harder on his erection, a raspy grunt hitching somewhere in his throat.
You whimpered inaudibly; afraid he would fully wake. With his hand firmly holding your leg against him, there was no point fighting this need growing within you. His sleepy coercion was enough agreement.
With half-lidded eyes, lips flat in a pout, you began to gently rub your knee against the linen covering his cock, feeling it coming alive with every brush. His broad hand was still grasping around your knee, almost guiding you, showing you how to make him harder.
Acacius groaned above you, and you quickly glanced up at him â his brows pinched, but otherwise still asleep. You pouted in frustration, a thick slick trapped between your pussy lips. Damn you for getting horny right now, it was his fault really.
Gripping his hip, you pressed your body against his, to the point where your hot cunt was rubbing against the side of his thigh. Inevitably but carefully, you humped his thick thigh, your clit catching in your undergarment causing a delicious friction that sent a thunder up your spine.
This felt too good to be sinful. Your clit was writhing, pulsing for release, as you kept on buffing your pussy on him, while your knee kneaded his now throbbing bulge. Your breasts were sensitive, perked up nipples tracing invisible lines on his ribs. Your only regret was that both of you were still clothed â you needed the skin on skin to get off, to let go. Needed to feel him in all his glory, palm him attentively until he would come on your handâŚ
Acacius suddenly squirmed and you swiftly stopped everything, feigning to be asleep when his eyes opened.
Marcus stirred awake, his heartbeat so loud in his eardrums he could barely hear anything else other than the rush of blood. It took him a few seconds to catch on with his own body, to feel his throbbing cock fighting against its enclosure.
He was hard, the morning glory making its presence known. Only then did he realise the actual reason his dick was begging for release: he had grabbed your leg, fingers curled behind your knee, and had pressed it into his bulge until his cock was ready to unload.
Marcus froze in place, ashamed of himself, of using you in such wicked manner. But his stiffened erection clouded his mind, his judgement â he needed to move away from you before he came in his pants like a teenager.
Carefully he undraped your arm from across his waist and lifted your knee up, scooting to one side until he was out from underneath the skins. The cold air bit his bristling skin, a remarkable contrast with the heat on his groin. He looked back at you â peacefully surrendered to your slumber, expression sweet and relaxed, blissfully unaware of how close heâd been to spill.
He ran a hand down his face while the other rearranged his uncomfortable cock. For a moment he fisted himself, digits wrapping around his achy balls, before he decided to walk outside of the tent to get his shit together.
The road to Rome was going to be excruciatingly long, of that much he was sure.
The journey through the Alps took the good part of a week. Its rocky cliffs and treacherous paths needed to be treaded carefully. Acacius relied on you when going up the north face of the mountains, but on the descent he had more experience. You both worked together through the issues that arose, on calming down the horses whenever they got spooked.
Itâd been a draining experience, but with the Alps on your back, you could breathe again. Temperatures had slightly gone up, so the last two nights had been more forgiving. Meaning, the physical gap between Acacius and you when you laid together at night had grown again.
You blamed it on the solitude â for the last ten days, Acacius was the only person you had spoken to, the only person you had seen. Perhaps it wasnât long, but considering how closeknit your tribe was, this had been the longest you had gone without having your people around.
And, truth be told, heâd not been intrinsically bad with you. Yes, heâd hunt you down in the forest and brought you back to camp so you could be the next freak on display for the Roman mob, but from what you gathered, he was being bossed around by Caesar. You wondered what kind of relationship the two had â did Acacius feel indebted to the other man? Was that why he was doing Caesarâs dirty bidding?
You had dismounted your stallion and were guiding him to the nearest river, where Acaciusâ stud was drinking. You left them alone as you walked back the few yards to where the General was setting up a small pyre for a fire.
âIs that wise?â you questioned, the spot you were in rather open.
âWe are almost fifty milia passuum (Roman miles) west of Mediolanum (Milan). This land is ours, has been for more almost two centuries now. We have nothing to worry about here,â he explained matter-of-factly, unsheathing his sword and kneeling.
You watched him intently as he grabbed a quartz stone nearby, tested its weight and shape on his hand. Acacius began striking the steel of his gladius against the sharp edge of the rock with quick, powerful and deliberate downward motions. Sparks flourished, short-lived at first, dying off before landing on the dry tinder.
âCome over here,â he gave you a nod, then pointed to the pyre with his chin when you crouched down in front of him. âThe moment a spark falls into the tinder, blow some light puffs of air onto the bundle.â
You shook your head in agreement and bowed down, ready to do your part. Acacius gave the steel a sharp hit, and a big spark ignited, falling like a feather into the wood. You blew air gently onto the red spot, and the fire slowly turned the wood to embers.
âWhere are you from?â you asked with certain curiosity, hands extended in front of you to warm them up.
Acaciusâ posture stiffened almost unnoticeably as he mindlessly nudged some of the glowing coal with the tip of his sword, eyes transfixed on the flames.
âMy family come from the city of Barium (Bari) in the south. They worked the land,â he shared, scratching his beard. âI left home when I was just a lad, only returned a few times a year to help out with the farming.â
âHow does the son of farmers end up being a renowned General at the head of a Roman legion?â you pressed with interest, a part of you wanting to get to know him, to see the real man behind the General.
âWith blood, sweat and tears,â he retorted snappily, brows knitting together as if he had taken offense in your words.
You frowned, mildly confused by his reaction.
âWhat have I said to upset you?â
Your inquiry took him aback, and you assumed he thought heâd not been so obvious. But you were quick to pick up on peopleâs subtleties.
âNothing,â you instantly cocked a brow. Acacius sighed, âIâm not ashamed of being the son of farmers. My parents were extremely hardworking people. But classism in RomeâŚâ he shrugged, ââŚis ever so present. Some people are not being able to see past that. To them, Iâll always be a terrone. I guess Iâm always on the defensive when the topic surfaces.â
âTerrone?â you asked, befuddled.
Acacius gave you a stern nod.
âItâs a derogatory term some people use to refer to those who work the land, typically in the south of the Republic. Like Barium, where I originally come from,â his dark gaze drifted up, locking with yours while red sparks danced between the two of you.
The intensity in his brown eyes held you down for an instant. He was sharing a piece of him with you, a vulnerability he didnât show often. You could tell Acacius was battling with himself, divided between trusting you and knowing he shouldnât.
You felt the urge to put his mind at ease, to somehow let him know you wouldnât betray this shred of confidence. The Gods knew you didnât owe this man anything â in any case, quite the opposite. But something about him, about his demeanour⌠Acacius wasnât bad, not like the others.
Acacius was just a pawn who had become knight for the greater good, who lately had found himself with more blood on his hands than what his guilt-ridden conscience could handle.
You saw that hint in battle, his blows more defensive than offensiveâŚ
In how heâd spared your life before he knew who you were.
In how he cleaned the spit off your cheek, offered a joke or two to lighten the mood.
In how he stitched you up and let you use his bed while his back suffered on a chair.
In how heâd kept you warm throughout the harshest of nights.
âI didnât mean it that way,â you hushed, eyes averted for a brief moment before you glanced up at him through your long eyelashes. âI am genuinely curious. Itâs not every day that someone breaks the chains of society.â
Even in your culture, roles were profoundly embedded in society. Families born into guilds usually carried on with the legacy of those who preceded them. Rome wouldnât be too different.
âSince a young age I knew I wanted to become a soldier. It always appealed to me, helping the Republic keep our people safe. The training makes you or breaks you, a lot of people drop out because of it. The sons of recognised Generals are trained since birth, and those who arenât are in clear disadvantage. I used the long days in the farm as my training,â he spoke softly, eyes distant as he got lost in his own memories. âA few years into it, I met Gaius Julius Caesar. Took me under his wing, his family too, especially when my parents died and our farm burnt down, and I was orphaned. But I still had to work very hard to prove I was worthy. That every achievement was solely down to me, and not to the people I was associated with.â
You were so invested, you could almost picture a younger Acacius in front of you, warring against the tethers of society, making a name for himself. There was something really evocating, inspiring even, about his story of overcoming. And to lose his family in the blink of an eye, just like that, it had to be the hardest blow of all.
Had the fire not been between you, youâd reach for him and squeeze his forearm. But you didnât, probably for the best.
âIs that why you feel⌠obligated to follow Caesarâs command?â you ventured, hugging your shoulders and rubbing the exposed skin.
âAs I said before, itâs complicated. Heâs the Proconsul, Iâm not. The political climate in Rome is tense. The Senate and the Consuls fear a power grab. With the war with the Gauls coming to an end, Caesar believes that the Senate will rob him of his title and mandate him to disband his army,â he explained. âAnd if anybody knows Caesar as I do, he wonât surrender his power so easily.â
So conquering your land, massacring your people, was just a move from Caesar to seize more power. A pissing contest with the Senate. A game to that fucking bastard.
Was it a game to Acacius too?
âAnd where are you in this mess?â you couldnât stop the question from leaving your tongue.
The General took in a deep breath, his shoulders sinking in his frame, while he poked at the fire with the sword.
âI have a job to do. I volunteered to come the moment Caesar put his proposition forward,â he shrugged, visibly uncomfortable with your prodding.
âDid you also volunteer to take me to Rome?â you lolled your head, eyes squinting.
âNo,â Acacius grimaced. âCaesar asked me to.â
âAsked you? Or ordered you?â
âWhatâs the difference?â
âSo loyalty doesnât beget loyalty. Sounds like youâre just a pawn on his board. Dispensable,â you didnât mean to offend, just state facts. âIt seems to be a one-way relationship that does not really benefit you.â
âWe should rest,â he said abruptly, standing to his feet and stomping out the fire. âTomorrow weâll head towards the Apuan alps so we can get to Florentia (Florence). Itâs a newly founded garrison town. We should be able to find an inn there to spend the night and getting some proper warm food before heading towards Rome.â
You didnât press, knowing that youâd given him enough food for thought. Not that you were going to change the outcome with your discourse, but at least you could make him see that being blindly loyal to someone would only mean his eventual demise.
But were you not blindly loyal to your people, your father? Wasnât loyalty what brought you here?
Well. Fuck.
The word alps was triggering. Just when you thought you were done with rocky mountainsâŚ
âHow long is this whole trip going to take?â
âTo Florentia, I estimate six days. From there to Rome, it should be mostly flat, but still a stretch. Another five days, I wager,â he responded while veering around, heading towards the horses as he did every single night before going to bed. âGo get some sleep.â
âYour wish is my command, General,â you mumbled mockingly, getting up and sauntering towards the tent.
Six days? Six fucking days? Sure. More like fucking ten.
Acacius had been overly positive with his estimate. Although the Apuan alps were not as treacherous as the alps shielding the Republic from the neighbouring nations, it had been one hell of an expedition.
Youâd even been attacked by a pack of hungry wolves. Acaciusâ horse had been injured, then the man himself had taken a bite on his wrist that almost tore his thumb apart in his attempt to rescue his stud. It had been, by far, the most stressful days since you departed from your land over two weeks ago.
But now with the gates just a few yards away, the memory started to fade. The stone path beneath your stallionâs hooves announced your arrival to the guards posted on the front. The palisade was mainly of wood, but they had begun to replace sections of it with rock. The compound was surrounded by a moat, the drawbridge shut.
âQuis es (who are you)?â the sentinel shouted from his position on the palisade.
âSalve,â Acacius stopped in front of you, extending his arm with the palm down in greeting, âI am General Acacius, transporting a hostage to Rome under Caesarâs orders. I seek refuge in your garrison, some provisions and some rest, so we shall leave in the morrow to resume our travels.â
âOrdo (written order)?â
Acacius nodded, one hand rummaging through the saddlebag until he extracted a carefully rolled papyrus scroll.
âLower the drawbridge, let General Acacius in,â the guard announced.
The hinges of the gate creaked horribly until the wooden plank bluntly kissed the ground. Acacius moved forward and you followed quietly, feeling a thousand eyes on you. A few miles back, Acacius had insisted on tying your hands to the saddle just for show, otherwise the legionnaires wouldnât let you in.
The same sentinel had come down the palisade and Acacius handed over the papyrus. The man, with a weathered face and a nose more crooked than Acacius, unrolled the parchment and read it a few times. Once he was satisfied, he handed back the papyrus to Acacius and pointed forward.
âIf you follow this path, youâll find the inn,â then the guard gestured to another man, who quickly appeared in front of you and grabbed the reins of your horse. âThe hostage will be held in the carcer (prison).â
Your widened eyes shot to Acacius in a panic. No way in hell he was going to let you sleep in a cell, right? Surrounded by enemies who would show you no mercy.
Your sights locked, Acaciusâ darkened orbs squinting before he pulled from the reins of his monture until he and his horse shielded you, towering in front of the guard who had come forward to take you away.
âThe hostage will be with me at all times. I am not to lose sight of her,â he almost barked at the sentinels, who quickly withdrew. âThose are my orders.â
A rush of relief coursed through your veins, your heartbeat calming down. When the guards returned to their positions, Acacius looked over his shoulder right at you and gave you a nod as if to ask, âare you alright?â
You ducked your head in reply before Acacius led the way to the inn.
The inn was a small sun-dried brick building with two levels, with a small stable on its side. It wasnât too big, but the noise coming from the inside meant that it was probably packed. Acacius approached the stable lad and when he dismounted, you did the same. Both of you untied the saddlebags of your respective mounts.
âHere,â Acacius said to the boy, handing him two denarii. The boyâs bright eyes widened, looking at the coins in disbelief and then at him again, his cheeks sunk in his face. âTake good care of our horses. Mineâs injured, the wound needs to be taken care of regularly. Feed them, let them drink, give them a good brush. Alright?â
âYes, of course, sir!â the lad almost screamed too enthusiastically, then grabbed the reins of both studs and disappeared inside the stable.
âThat was a lot of money,â you noted as you both walked towards the door, your hands still tied.
âDid you see how thin he was? He didnât look older than ten,â Acacius shrugged as he pushed open the doors and walked inside with you on his heels.
Your stomach twisted for a second â had he gone hungry in his childhood too? Had Acacius seen himself in that emaciated lad? Your heart shrunk a bit at the thought of a little Acacius begging for food on the streets before he decided to take charge of his future.
You couldnât tell now if that had been his reality in the past â his shoulders broad, muscular arms and chiselled back. Heâd done well for himself, even if it had been at the expense of others.
Shaking your head to come out of the trance, your hearing got hit with loud chatter. Wooden floor, adobe on the walls, and the furniture made of oak. The place was brimming with life, and Acacius had to slither through the crowd to reach the counter. He caught the attention of an older woman and exchanged some words you couldnât hear at all. The Romans were fucking savages, so loud it was irritating.
âCome on,â Acacius whispered in your ear as he placed his hands on your shoulders and guided you through the crowd to the back of the inn.
There he opened a door, moved to a side to let you in first, and you walked up the creaky stairs. A minute later, a set of keys clinked on his hand and opened a smaller door. The inside of the room was rudimentary but had all the necessities. A chest of drawers, a fireplace that was already running, an empty wooden bathtub, a couple of chairs and a bed.
One bed. For one person.
You turned around to look at Acacius while he closed the door behind you.
âThereâs only one bed,â you pointed out, brows pinching.
âI know. Itâs the only available room they had left.â
âThe only available room? So⌠we are supposed to share this one room? The both of us? One single bed?â You didnât want to sound astonished, but you definitely were.
Acacius scoffed, taking a few steps forward to throw the saddlebag onto the bed.
âItâs not ideal. But weâll have to make do.â
Perhaps you were unhappy with the situation, but you could tell he was not very excited about the prospect either.
Your sight moved to the bed again, dreading the night. Not because you thought itâd be uncomfortable, but because the night when you almost came humping his thigh was still too fresh in your mind. You were not sure you could spend another one like that, too horny to nod off.
âIâve asked the owner to prepare you a hot bath. Theyâll bring up boiled water in a few minutes,â he grunted, going through the saddlebag to grab some items.
âAnd you?â
âThe River Arno is nearby,â he answered bluntly.
âItâs freezing outside,â you complained, although the idea of a hot bath did sound very appealing after your travels.
âIâll be fine,â he dismissed your concerns, veering around to face you. âIâll wait for the maids to bring over the water and then Iâll lock the door.â
You huffed, rolling your eyes at him. You hadnât even attempted to escape in two weeks, and you were so deep in Roman territory now, it was safer to remain by his side than trying to get back to your land.
âYou heard what I told the sentinels. If they see me without you, theyâll question where you are,â he was quick to explain.
âI suppose that makes sense,â you grumbled, watching him approach you.
Acacius extended his hands toward you, his calloused fingers wrapping around your wrists, sending a shiver down your spine. His touch was hot yet gentle. He was standing so close to you, you could smell him â sweaty and dirty, but so masculine you felt a pulse between your thighs.
You had to focus on taming your bodyâs reaction, pressing your knees together to contain the slick pooling in your pussy. Surely this could only be attributed to the fact that it had been a long time since you laid with a man.
Pouting as he undid the rope binding you, your eyes fixed on how his fingers untwirled the jute. Once freed, Acaciusâ thumbs stroked the dents on your skin, smoothing them out, your hands gently resting on his palms as he soothed the redness away.
Your heart pounded against your chest so loud you wondered if he could hear it. With your mouth slightly parted, you looked up at him, your gazes crossing and locking. And for a moment, the whole world disappeared around you. You could only see his weathered features, the bushy beard and moustache framing those lips after weeks in the wilderness⌠And his eyes, darkened and lustful.
His orbs drifted down to your waiting mouth, heartrate spiking madly now. You were sure he was going to kiss you, the hunger and flickering desire in his irises told you as much.
Then a firm knock on the door snatched the moment away.
âWe bring the water, General,â a soft female voice announced.
The icy water of the Arno should have put out the fire burning within him. But when he emerged from the river, he was still⌠hard.
It felt wrong, extremely wrong. You were his captive; a war prisoner being delivered to another man to do with you as he pleased. And despite how much Marcus hated Antoniusâ brother, his hands were tied. Heâd given his word to Caesar â a bow he could not break, not without fatal consequences for the both of you. Disobeying Caesarâs orders would be classed as treason. And traitors were not tolerated in the Republic.
Desiring you was so fucking wrong. Especially when heâd lied to you about your future in Rome, about what would be expected of you. His omission of the truth had rooted in your brain, brewing for so long now, he just couldnât come up and tell you the truth. Perhaps it was better this way, so you would be at ease for as long as possible.
Brushing his hair back with his fingers, Acacius sighed heavily before bending down to grab his belonging off the ground. He put on a fresh subligaculum and then a simple linen tunic.
When he returned to the inn, he found two bowls with a steaming stew of meat and vegetables, some bread, a jug full of wine and two empty cups on a tray. He took it off the floor and knocked on the door, unsure if you would be clothed.
âCome in,â you shouted from the other end of the door.
Marcus unlocked the door and went in, turning around to put on the latch. When he veered to face you, you had some linen clothing on, the almost translucent fabric still clinging to your wet skin. Your legs were naked from the mid-thighs down, your bare feet tapping the wooden floor as you finished braiding your hair while sitting on a chair by the fire.
He couldnât help himself but taking the sight of you in. You looked gorgeous with the glowing of the fire reflecting on your skin, a natural beauty with a fiery aura dancing around you. It wasnât only that though â what he had seen of you as a person, Marcus liked too. And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
A sudden throb invaded his groin when he realised your nipples were poking through the linen, the outline of your breasts shaped by the fabric stuck to your skin. Reining in the need to do somethingâanythingâMarcus just stared at your silhouette.
âHow was the dunking?â
Marcus shot his eyes to yours, afraid heâd been caught undressing you in his mind, devouring you. You had tilted your head to one side, studying him.
He steeled his posture, shook his head and put the tray down on the dresser.
âGood,â he grunted, an uncomfortable hardness taking over his cock. âYour bath?â
âAmazing,â you sighed with a smirk. âIs that food?â
Marcus nodded, passing you a bowl before he grabbed his and sat down on the other chair.
You ate in silence for the good part of half an hour. When you both were done, Marcus took the empty plates and goblets away, stacking them on top of the dresser. It was pitch-black outside, silent. Everyone had already left the inn.
âRight,â he mumbled. âYou take the bed; Iâll make do with some skins by the fire.â
He was already by the saddlebags, grabbing all the animal skins to fashion a bed on the floor.
âAre you serious?â you groaned, standing up from the chair. âWe can share the bed, Acacius. Itâs not like weâve been sleeping apartâŚâ
When he turned to face you, you briefly bit down your bottom lip, your teeth sinking in the plushness the way he wanted his to dig in your lip. His resolution faltered when you clasped your fingers around his wrist and pulled, guiding him to the bed.
âAre you sure? Itâs very small. We wonât fit,â he reasoned.
âItâ We will fit,â you rasped, sitting on the bed.
He knew this was a bad idea, a really bad one at that, but his brain was numb. So he followed you.
You stirred in your sleep. Miraculously, you had managed to drift away even with Acacius hugging you tight from behind, ignoring the way your body screamed at you for not doing anything about it.
Your brows momentarily pinched in confusion when you sensed that there was no one behind you now, no arms draped over your frame pushing your back into his chest. You patted behind you to find an empty and cold spot.
Mildly disoriented, you sat up on the bed, rubbed your eyes and waited for your vision to adapt to the darkness, since the fire had already died out. Looking around, you found Acacius lying on the floor on top of some skins, facing towards the cold fireplace.
Was this man stupid? Had he waited for you to fall asleep to then go sleep on the fucking floor? He was more stubborn than you were. The sight made you mad, so much so you snatched the pillow your head had been resting on and threw it at him with force.
The moment the feathery pillow hit him, Acacius sat up very quickly, turning around with a bewildered expression.
âI thought we were under attack, dammit!â he growled at you.
âYou are!â you screamed, grabbing the other pillow and tossing it at him.
This time, he dodged it. Infuriated, you gathered the bedlinen and pulled until it untucked from underneath the mattress, and you stood up with everything bunched up on your arms.
âWhat the hell are you doing?â Acacius husked out, visibly confused.
So stupid.
âWell, apparently we are sleeping on the floor now because someone thinks the bed is not good enough,â you grumbled, unceremoniously dropping everything in front of him.
âThe bed is good enough, but I just couldnâtâŚâ Acacius trailed off, and you looked at him with a cocked brow as you sat down in front of him. âI couldnât fall asleep, didnât want to disturb you.â
âWhy?â you inquired, folding your arms below your breasts.
He cleared his throat, his eyes betraying him the moment they landed on your boobs.
Then you realised. Was he hard? Had sleep evaded him because he was too worried it would happen again? That he would unconsciously rub you against him? Because if that was the case⌠well, you had no complains.
âNever mind,â he muttered, jaw tight.
âI do mind,â because why fight what both of you wanted?
You shuffled around, kneeling and sitting back on your heels. Your hand landed on his powerful thigh, his muscles flexing under your touch. Your fingers slid up his inner thigh, dangerously close to his bulge.
âCareful there,â Acacius croaked, his fingers curling around your wrist to stop your advances.
Batting your eyelashes with a knowing grin, you moved your palm further up to where his leg joined his hip, your knuckles brushing the tent on his tunic. You leaned in, mouth hovering over his.
âLetâs stop pretending anymore, shall we?â you whispered, the plumpness of your lips caressing his as you spoke.
Before Acacius could reject you, your tongue prodded at his mouth, swiping his bottom lip. When he groaned, he gave you an opening â the moment his lips parted, you dove in. Your tongue finally met his, fighting one another as you breathed him in.
Acacius let go of your wrist, his hand flying to the back of your neck, holding you close as he plunged in, tasting you. You pushed your knuckles into his growing bulge and the Generalâs chest rumbled with satisfaction. That was your cue to spread your palm over his groin and knead it slowly.
He was big, girthy and hot. Your fingertips traced the shape of his cock over the textile, then cupped his balls and squeezed gently.
âFuck,â Acacius moaned, and your pussy reacted with primal need.
You were drenched, the dampness your thighs harboured for him just grew. Your cunt ached for his touch, for the moment youâd been dreaming about for so long now.
Acacius must have read your mind, because his hands gripped your hips and manhandled you until you were sat on his lap, straddling him. He pushed you down, your clothed cunt stroking him â the outline of his throbbing cock softly pressing against your slit.
Draping your arms around his neck, you kissed him again, your hips swaying back and forth on top of him, causing much needed friction. Acacius palmed your ass, his fingers grabbing the flesh as he guided your moves.
âUndress,â he pleaded, raggedly breathing now.
With no shame, only desire, you leaned back a bit, grabbed the hem of your linen dress, and pulled the whole garment over your head. That was the only piece of clothing you had on, so when you casted it away, you were completely naked on top of him.
âNot even a loincloth on?â Acacius managed to sputter out, tipping his head forward until his face rested between your boobs, kissing your sternum. âAnd you were asking why I couldnât sleepâŚâ
You snickered, palm on the back of his head to press him onto your chest, fingers raking through his greying curls.
When Acacius kissed one of your taut nipples, your head tipped back, a moan bubbling up your throat as he worked your button expertly. At the same time, he pushed your hips back down, your bare pussy leaking and leaving a slick spot right on the linen covering his erection.
Scrubbing your pussy against him, your thudding clit catching on the fabric and his tongue working wonders on your nub, you didnât think youâd last â a thunderous feeling shooting up your spine right from your core. Thighs trembling, you rode him dryly, imprisoning his head with your arms and ramming his face against your bosom.
Until you came. A moan filled your mouth and spilled over your lips, resonating between the adobe walls, as the fire in your drooling pussy reached its highest temperature. Warmth spread in all directions, your energy faltering as your hips stuttered. Acacius took the lead right then by grabbing a handful of your ass cheeks and sliding you back and forth on his lap until you were shivering above him.
âDid that feel good, hm?â he pecked your nipple before looking up at you.
His brown eyes had softened, enticing and indecent. You gave him a mindless nod, still feeling the throbbing of your pussy, as one of his hands left your buttock and navigated over the swell of your globe, reaching down.
His middle finger slipped easily along your glossy seam, from your gushing hole to your clit. Acacius petted it gently, pressing tight yet lazy circles as his palm cupped your cunt.
The fire within you was rising again.
âAcacius,â you groaned, your heart pulsing in your clit under his attention.
âMarcus,â he offered in a hush, lapping at the tip of your breast. âMy name is Marcus. I want to hear you say it when you come again, sweetheart.â
The revelation was an intimate surprise, considering that Romans always referred to themselves by their cognomen, sometimes by their nomen and very rarely by their praenomen. But you didnât dwell for long, his lone finger teasing your slick slit with a calmness you didnât feel.
You pushed your ass back, your back arching and your face resting on the crook of his neck, when that same lonely digit traced the outline of your opening, taunting your faltering resolution as your mind went numb.
âYouâre so wet, mel. So ready, so eagerâŚâ Marcus grunted, the first phalange going in and robbing you of a heavy sigh. âSo tight and warm, welcoming even⌠You want this so badly, donât you?â he asked for your reassurance and when you obliged with a shy nod, his finger buried down to the knuckle. âOh, baby, so needy,â he tutted at you.
Wiggling your hips involuntarily, you forced his finger in and out of your leaking entrance, commending him to get on with it already. The General took the hint and began to finger you rather unhurriedly. The pad of his finger pressed on your inner wall as it slid in and out, picking up a pace.
By the time he inserted a second finger, you were already panting and squirming, throbbing for release. Marcus built up the pace gradually, until the palm of his hand was audibly slapping your perineum, and the squelching noises of your pussy filled the room.
There it was again: the spike in your heartrate, the maddening pulse in your clit and a tongue of lava seeping through his fingers, pooling on his covered cock.
âMarcus, fuck, Iââ you hiccupped, nuzzling his jugular.
Acacius kissed your foreheard, a gentle gesture contrasting the relentless rhythm of his hand. âI know, corculum, I know. Itâs too much for this sweet pussy of yours, isnât it? Let go for me.â
At his command, you did, wailing his name with wanton abandonment while your pussy quivered around his meaty fingers, squeezing them in a tight grip as he curled them, pulling another orgasm from you.
Mind fuzzy, you kissed his pulse point, your fingers grabbing a fistful of the linen covering his chest, scrunching the fabric. Unclenching one hand, you flattened it on his tummy, pushing it down until you cupped his manhood over the tunic.
âFuck me, Marcus,â you pleaded, tone tinged with longing whilst giving him a gentle squeeze.
Acacius growled at your not-so-subtle request, eager to get started. He helped you off his lap, standing up to remove the tunic, his subligaculum quickly following.
And there he was, towering above you, fully naked for the first time. He had several scars dotted around the map of his skin, gifts from the battlefield. But that wasnât what caught your attention the most.
You gazed up at him in awe â his muscles sculpted, hugging him tight. Strong arms, veiny forearms, broad hands. Chiselled pectorals, a tense tummy although no marked abs, and then⌠a hairy trail running down from his belly button in a pronounced V line.
You followed the path of pleasure with your hungry eyes until they landed on his erection. He was as girthy as you had imagined, a good size, a throbbing vein feeding his cock on the underside. Some thick curls framed his dick, drawing your attention to the heavy balls underneath. And then the tip, angrily flushed and leaky with a pearl of precum topping it.
Your mouth watered at the sight in front of you. Still kneeling, pussy bewilderingly aching now, you leaned in for a kiss as one daring hand peeled his skin back completely to marvel at him in all his glory. Your lips pressed against his red mushroom head, fingers curled around his shaft with devotion.
You wanted to suck him off. The little taste on your mouth had you salivating, needy for something to keep you quiet. His musky scent had the world swirling around you, almost as if you were drunk.
Before you could part your lips to house him in your warmth, Marcus extended his left hand to you, palm up, the one that was still wrapped in a bloody linen cloth to protect the wound on his thumb.
With a little pout and some resignation, you took it careful not to inflict pain, springing to your feet. He didnât speak, and neither did you, when he laced his fingers with yours and tugged at your hand. Marcus approached one of the chairs with you in tow, sat down and manspread. You were quick to understand, climbing onto his lap like the floor was lava.
âYou are so beautiful, feel so good,â he muttered, lapping at the flesh of your boob while his hands settled on your hips. âAnd I know youâre going to feel even better riding me, sweetheart. Look even more gorgeous.â
Your cunt gushed at his words, rearing to come. When he aligned his tip with your entrance, you whimpered in need, the intimate kiss on your core driving you mad.
âImpale yourself. Show me how much you want this, mel,â he almost begged, voice throaty.
You didnât need any further persuasion. Grabbing his pulsing shaft, you held him in place whilst sinking slowly. His cockhead slid in easily and the next few inches quickly followed. His dick stretched your walls apart, blessing you with a delightful burning as you buried his cock in your pussy down to the hilt.
You moaned to the heavens once he was fully seated. You felt so full, he was staggeringly omnipresent inside you. All your senses flared alive, so much it was almost overwhelming.
Marcus had tipped his head back â his jaw almost dislocating as he groaned, fingers digging at your hips, leaving his imprint behind. You blinked rapidly to clear your eyes from their glossiness, raked your fingers through his hair and tugged at it so he would open his eyes and look at you.
The moment your sights locked in, a strange warmth spread through your chest. Despite your dire situation, you felt safe with him, at ease. Regardless of what the future held for you, at least you would have this memento to think back to. This brief crack in time, when nothing nor no one else mattered.
âYouâre handsome, Marcus. And very gifted,â you giggled, trying to put behind those thoughts now.
You cradled his face and kissed him exaggeratedly slow, your hips leisurely moving back and forth. Soon enough, you were riding him with all your might, the slapping of skin on skin ricocheting in a sinful cacophony. Up and down, back and forth â your hips didnât miss a spot in your pussy left untouched by Marcusâ cock. You were so wild, you had to grip the arms of the chair until your knuckles ran white.
Acacius held your breasts throughout, pinching your nipples from time to time, latching onto them when your untamed rhythm allowed. Chasing the highest of highs, you felt the climax building up â a pulsating fire growing in your lower belly, your pussy trembling around his girth, swallowing him whole while your juices soaked him.
âIâm so close, s-s-s-o⌠fucking⌠closeâŚâ you mewled, your brows knitting together in concentration.
Marcus jumped into action to help you get there. His right hand darted between your bodies, middle and ring fingers flicking your throbbing clit as you rode him. Then your nub caught between his fingers â the pressure, the friction and the gentle fondling tipping you over the edge of your orgasm.
That was the last straw for your nervous system. You started coming, wailing his name as your whole body quaked above and around him. Your glistening cunt clamped down around him like a vice, squeezing him so tight you thought you would harm him. Your breathing quickened to the point of burning as you crashed down from your climax.
Quietly, you glanced down at him. Marcusâ jaw was so tight, you feared he might break a tooth. His cock was throbbing so hard, you knew he was close to release but didnât want to come yet. You bowed down for a kiss, and the General eagerly reciprocated, his dick still cozily warm and hard inside you.
Some tears had escaped your eyes, wetting your cheeks, due to the intensity of it all. Marcus brushed them away before cupping your ass cheeks and standing up. He held you, pressed against his chest, and you draped your legs around his waist, so the intimate contact of your sexes would not break.
He walked a few steps, and then unceremoniously dropped you on the bed. The wooden plank beneath the feathery mattress squeaked loudly, but you could only focus on him. On his darkened eyes feasting on you.
The cold air nipped at your bare, sweaty body, your nipples perking up. You covered them with your palms, spreading your legs to welcome him again.
That was all confirmation Marcus needed from you â he grabbed your ankles and pulled, your ass on the edge of the mattress, and he dove in your pussy in one energetic thrust. Wrapping your legs around him again, you let him set the pace this time.
Acacius sank his knees on either side of you and blanketed your frame, your chests flush, only your hands in between as you cupped your breasts. He dug his elbows around your head and pumped into you with sharp, deep strokes at first. Every time he slid out and back in, you gasped, eyes shutting in ecstasy. Then the pace picked up and Marcus began railing you like a man possessed on the worn mattress.
He was in so deep, you could feel him nudging your cervix. First painful, but then a welcome kiss every time his thick tip stroked the very centre of your being. Marcus pumped in and out of your spent pussy in quick succession, resting his sweaty forehead on yours, his dampened curls caressing your skin.
It was too much. The feelings, the overstimulation, the constant hammering⌠For a brief second, you looked down and saw his cock plunging in and out, your cunt sheathing him like he belonged⌠like he owned.
âI donât think I can come again,â you stammered, your whole body shaking under him. âMarcus⌠by the Gods I swearâŚâ you sobbed, tears brimming again.
âOf course you can, mel. You will,â the resolution in his hoarse voice left no room for doubt.
The General bit your chin, the sensitive spot on your neck, then your earlobe, all the while fucking into you with renewed vigour. He was everywhere there was to be, a hand slithering down your belly to pet your unattended clit again.
You fell apart even when you thought you couldnât give him one more. You came again, for the fourth time tonight. Creaming around his hard cock, you cried his name, a lewd melody ringing in his ears. If you had looked down, you would have seen the white rings of your pleasure pooling at the base of his manhood, but you were too focused on taming your beating heart.
âFuck, you look so beautiful when you come, so blissed out,â Marcus pecked your wet cheek. âWhere?â
For a heartbeat the question didnât register in your mushy brain, so fucked out into oblivion your limbs felt like putty. His shaft pulsed extremely hard inside you, announcing his imminent orgasm. So he repeated again, this time more aggressively, âWhere?â
âMouth. My mouth,â you barely husked out. âI want to taste you. Fully taste you.â
Before he spilled inside you, Marcus pulled out rather harshly, standing up. You sat up on the bed, still feeling dizzy from your climax, and palmed the back of his thighs to push him towards you.
His cock was soaked, the thick curls all dampened and dripping with your shared arousal. Parting your lips, you welcomed his tip in the warmth of your mouth, just as you had desired not that long ago. You suckled on his palpitating cockhead while he stroked himself. Swat his hand away so you could push his length all the way down in your throat.
He tasted so manly, so musky, your head spiralled out of control as you sloppily slurp around his girth. Saliva, your slick coating him, and precum pooled in your hollowed cheeks until it all overflowed, dripping off the corners of your mouth.
A guttural groan and a hard pulse later, Marcus finally came. His white, warm seed hit the back of your throat in thick ropes, his taste bewildering as he emptied his nuts in your mouth. You milked him dry until the last drop spurted out his slit, and then you kept on going.
In a trance, you sucked him off until his cock softened on your tongue. And only then, you let go of him, gulping down his spent like it was a secret treasure. A trophy.
You fluttered your damp eyelashes to get rid of the tears and glanced up at him shyly.
His warm palm cradled your cheek, and you nuzzled against it, satisfied and content. His right thumb swiped your tears away again before he settled down on the bed, dragging you to rest on his chest.
Neither of you said a word â there was no need to speak after that.
But did he fuck you again?
Yes, he did. Two more times. Until both of you were utterly spent and couldnât thread two thoughts together.
Every night that followed, Marcus spent hugging you and fucking you into oblivion. The dreadful cold nights out in the wilderness again were still relentless, but now they were warmer as long as he had your naked body pressed against his.
It was wrong of him to take advantage of you this way. In the moments of weakness after you blissfully fell asleep, heâd question himself. Told himself he was a monster for letting you believe that your life in Rome was going to be somewhat untroubling.
But he was now so down deep in the lie, he couldnât tell you the truth. Marcus feared youâd curse him to death, that youâd try to escape once you learnt what was expected of you. How youâd question his true intentions if you knew of his rivalry with Gaius Antonius.
Heâd even question himself on that too. Was he losing himself in you every night as a âfuck youâ to Gaius? Because heâd had you before the other man did?
Or did he indulge in the pleasure you offered because⌠he actually liked you? Did he chase another high and did he chase the warmth growing in his heart every time you came apart with him, for him?
Guilt ate at his conscience. He was a damned man either way. Marcus couldnât have you even if he really wanted to take you home with him. He was under oath, heâd promised you to the man he hated most. Going back on such promise would mean treason. And Rome did not tolerate traitors. Caesar would not tolerate traitors. And Marcus well knew what the punishment for such treachery was.
Death.
The word lingered in his mind as he unknowingly embraced your sleepy form tighter. Despite how much he wished and hoped for a different outcome, the truth was his hands were tied before he knew you.
A pawn. That was what you had called him. He truly was a dispensable tool. It didnât matter how far back his history went with Caesar, how hard heâd worked for his station, how many unthinkable acts heâd committed for the glory of Rome.
The truth was⌠he was no one. Especially if he bit and betrayed the hand that fed him.
But⌠were you worth the risk? He would never know. Such leap of faith for someone heâd just met a month ago was too reckless.
And besides, you probably didnât feel that way, just wanting to enjoy your last few days of freedom. He could ask you, Marcus thought, but what was the point of meddling with a perfectly working symbiosis? Why destroy the last remnants of peace you both could have?
Needless to say, sleep evaded him for the rest of the night, his intrusive thoughts haunting him till dawn.
You stirred awake not long after, turning around in his embrace, your face buried in his chest. After pressing a soft kiss on his skin, your eyelashes fluttered, revealing your bright orbs to him. A warm smile promptly took over your lips.
âGood morning,â you whispered, your lips pecking his chin. âDid you sleep well?â
âMorning, beautiful,â he muttered, mouth brushing your forehead. âYes, I did. You?â he lied through his teeth.
âLike a log,â you smirked at him, and then stretched your back with an exaggerated yawn.
âTonight weâll arrive in Rome,â he hated to bring up the subject, especially now when doubt still nagged at him. âBut since itâs quite early and it will only take us a couple of hours on horseback, I was thinking⌠that maybe I could show you something?â
Your worried look quickly transformed into excitement. You threw off the pile of animal skins and blankets that kept you both warm and jumped to your feet, dressing yourself.
âIs that a surprise, Acacius?â you taunted him, the tip of your tongue peeking through your teeth.
âPerhaps,â he couldnât help but grin, your easy demeanour casting away his worries. âLetâs break our fast first and then Iâll show you.â
Soon after that, you were both sharing some wine, cheese and bread that Marcus had bought yesterday when you stopped in Vetus Urbs (Viterbo) for provisions. The birds were chirping nearby, a light breeze weaving through and rustling the leaves of trees. Just a few yards away, the vast Lago di Bracciano (Lake Bracciano) extended to the horizon, with calm and blue waters.
He could tell you were eager to get started with the day, because you finished your food quickly and then scooted over to his side. He checked the wound in your shoulder, the one he himself had inflicted. It still gnawed at him, being responsible for causing you harm. As if to erase his wrongdoing, Marcus bowed down and brushed your now healed lesion with his lips.
You sighed in contentment, ready for your turn.
Marcus let you grab his left hand. For the past few days, every day after breakfast, you would reciprocate and unravel the cloth covering his hand, inspecting the wound. It hadnât festered thanks to your diligent efforts to help him keep it clean. The torn flesh around the injury was healing nicely, although it would leave a scar behind. Not that he minded, another one added to the collection. One to remember your little trip together.
You poured some wine on the wound, then some water from the lake. But when you were about to wrap it with clean linen, Marcus shook his head.
âWe are going in the water, donât want to get it wet,â he explained, standing up to his feet.
âIn the water?â you barked, bunching up your eyebrows. âAre you mad? Do you know how cold it is?â
âI know. But it will be worth it, trust me,â he winked at you, a sly smirk curling the corners of his mouth.
Under your attentive watch, he removed all his clothes, folding the items neatly and putting them down on a rock. The cold air nipped at his skin, but he didnât mind â if anything, Marcus welcomed the bitter cold. Considering how hot heâd burnt last night with you in his arms, he needed to cool down a bit.
Marcus rotated on his heels, gazing you up. Still clothed.
âAre you not coming then? I promise itâll be worth it.â
You huffed and puffed, your lips pouting as you removed your garments. âIt better be.â
Intertwining his fingers with yours, he tugged at you, slamming your bare body against his chest. You felt too good in his arms, soft and warm despite your cold bristling skin. Marcus leaned in for a gentle kiss, almost a puritanical peck, before walking towards the water. He tiptoed on the edge, testing the temperature, and then plunged in. His head disappeared momentarily under the water, and then resurfaced for a gasp of air.
You were on the shore, hugging your shoulders, so beautiful you looked like Venus herself. That was probably a heresy, but Marcus didnât care â you had no comparison in his eyes. Your body was a place of worship, but the caring personality behind the façade was a sacred temple.
So, why was he secretly planning on desecrating his house of worship, you? He was a heartless, selfish bastard.
âCome,â he offered you his hand, which you swiftly accepted, joining him in the water.
You shivered, teeth chattering, and shot him an untrusting glare. âOkay, so here I am. Whatâs the surprise?â
He laughed at your eagerness to get out of the water, shook his head too.
âSo impatient, mel. We have to get there yet,â he pushed you further into the water, following. âYou see that dent in the rock over there? It leads to an underwater cave.â
âDiving? Nuh-uh, youâre trying to kill me!â you shouted in jest, a playful glimmer in your eyes.
âJust follow me, will you?â
With that said, Marcus swam towards the rock that was inaccessible from the shore. He made sure you were right behind him, and when you got to where he was, he grabbed your hand and dove.
The dive only lasted a minute or two, soon reappearing in the underwater cave. It wasnât too big, around fifty square meters. Stalagmites hung from the ceiling, droplets eroding the rock underneath. It was peacefully quiet, only the gurgling of water breaking the silence. A crack in the ceiling allowed a lonely sunray to illuminate the cave. The walls of the cave were covered with colourful seashells and starfish, this little paradise brimming with life despite how isolated it was from the outside world.
Marcus climbed out of the water and helped you up onto the slimy rock.
âCareful, donât slip,â he warned, holding you by your waist.
âGood heavens, itâs steaming in here!â you exclaimed, the thick humid air almost making it impossible to breathe properly.
âThis is what I wanted to show you,â he hugged you to his side, pointing at the two bubbling pools, one deep and one shallow, in the middle of the cave. âItâs a geyser. This lake formed on top of a volcano, which has been inactive for centuries now, but the warmth and lava below ground has created several hot springs around the lake.â
âMarcus, this is beautiful, thank you for taking me here,â you turned around in his half embrace to kiss him, paced and sweet. âLetâs go!â
Marcus almost had a heart attack when he saw you slipping on the edge of the rock, but in the last second you managed to keep your balance before graciously jumping into the water.
When your head emerged, he was able to breathe again. You looked so carefree, enjoying and living in the moment, it tugged at his heart.
âThis is fucking amazing, the waterâs so hot. Come join me, please!â you splashed the water, a small wave coming at him, wetting his feet.
Marcus happily obliged and dove in immediately after.
For two hours, you swam around or perched yourselves on the rocky shore, relishing this precious moment. And when the subtle dance of your bodies became too apparent, you joined each otherâs company on the shallow pool, only a few inches of water lapping at you both. Marcus took you in his arms, nestling you down on the smooth rocks, while he coaxed your thighs apart for him, exposing your core to his attention. Soon enough he was rutting into you, not maddingly but lovingly, showing you how much he wanted this moment to last. How much he wished you both could stay here forever, far away from responsibilities and honour.
You draped your legs around his waist, taking him in as deep as possible, sheathing him tightly. Your hiccups soon turned into full-blown moans, shattering around him, clenching and gushing, while he fucked you through your orgasm. With the last remnant of decency, Marcus managed to pull out of you, his load messily landing on your lower belly.
You giggled, giddy and satisfied, before you both were at it again, working together towards another climax, both of your moans and groans echoing in this tranquil oasis.
When you both were totally spent, you just laid there to gather some strength and return to the real world. It was obvious neither of you wanted to leave, this quiet retreat would be your secret. The places your minds would escape to when your bodies couldnât.
Grudgingly, you dove together and reappeared on the other side, swimming back to shore.
In silence but both smiling, you walked out of the water.
In the dead quiet of the cave, Marcus had made up his mind. He had to say something, explain to you what was going to happen, and how much he regretted not being able to do something about it. You deserved the truth, even though it meant breaking the trust between you. Even if it meant letting you go now. Perhaps youâd forgive him, perhaps youâd understand that he had no say in the matter. Perhaps...youâd see he truly cared for you.
When you were both fully clothed, Marcus turned around to face you, anxiety spiking in his heart and mind to unknown levels, throat closing up with fear.
âListen, mel, I need to tell you somâŚâ
âGeneral Acacius, how great it is to see you,â a grave masculine voice suddenly interrupted him.
With his heart crammed into his throat, Marcus veered around.
Gaius Antonius was standing right in front of him atop a brown horse, one of his men right behind him, with a nasty smile showing his crooked teeth.
The shift in the atmosphere was palpable. Since that man and his guard had interrupted, Marcus had gone quiet. It was pretty obvious from his body language that Acacius didnât stand the man in front of him. His shoulders had squared, neck tense and jaw very clenched. It almost looked like Marcus was going to punch the man with no warning, but thought better of it.
Even after they left, the General didnât dare look in your direction. It didnât matter how much you tried to get him to talk back, he just didnât.
So riding quietly besides him gave you plenty of time to sink in your thoughts and dwell in the little words the two men had exchanged.
âIâm looking forward to get a taste of my gift,â the Roman you came to know as Gaius Antonius had said, his cruel eyes flickering to yours briefly.
Something in his dead orbs sent an unpleasant shiver down your back. His features were not easy to look at and his physique was too imposing, bald, tall and extremely built â he reminded you of the one-eyed monsters the old druidesses of your tribe would talk about to scare the kids away from real danger.
You had felt very uncomfortable in his presence, to the point where you had hidden behind Acacius so Antonius would stop gazing you up.
His words still rang in your ears, a dark omen settling in the pit of your stomach. Why had he looked at you directly when he had said âmy giftâ? Now that the fear was almost forgotten, you just remembered he had also winked at you before licking his lips obscenely.
Your heart jolted in your chest, belly churning at the thought taking form in your head.
No, it canât be. Marcus wouldnât do that, wouldnât bring you to be entertainment for a specific man, not a pastime for a crowd.
Marcus would have told you if that was the case â you two had shared enough time together, built rapport. In the last few weeks, youâd also seen a side of him that was very appealing to you, a version of him you wouldnât mind getting to know better. His kind, playful side, the one that cared for you and your wellbeing. The one, you thought, that perhaps felt for you the same way you did for him.
With how close you two had become, Marcus wouldnât betray you like that, wouldnât sell you out to another man as if you were a plaything he could discard. Heâd said you were going to be paraded around like a savage animal so the townspeople would see an untamed wildling for the first time. And as vile as it sounded, it wasnât the worst-case scenario for someone like you, so even though it wasnât great, youâd accepted the idea.
No, he didnât say that. I did. And he didnât confirm nor deny it. Youâd been too drunk to see it then.
Your eyes widened with horror as your heart climbed up your throat, a landslide of panic coursing through your veins.
âMarcusââ you muttered with a trembling voice, even your hands holding the reins were shaking.
âWeâre here,â he cut you off, still avoiding your sight.
Your eyes darted down the path, a huge gate with columns framing it right in front. It was tall, with men posted to either side of the arch, wearing full, bright armour and helmets.
A frightening feeling of doom, of plain claustrophobia, took hold of your soul. It was as if walls were closing in around you, confining you to a tiny space. Deep breaths were not helping either, if anything they made everything worse.
âMarcus, please, listenââ
âWeâll talk after leaving the horses in the stables. They are really tired and mine needs his wound to be looked after,â again, he interrupted you.
A burning sensation went up your neck, and you could feel the tears threatening to spill. Holding onto the last remnant of hope, you pushed all the emotions down â you still trusted Marcus, despite how distant he felt right now.
Ten minutes later, you both dismounted the stallions, removed the saddles and the bridles. It was dark and it reeked of nature, but you were too anxious to wait any longer.
As Marcus attempted to turn around and leave, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and pulled from him to stop him in his tracks.
âYou said we could talk now. Please,â you almost begged, your low tone almost breaking in the last word.
With a heavy sigh, Marcus faced you. His eyes, bright before, were now of an opaque brown shade. If regret had a colour, it would be exactly the same as his irises. His lips were furrowed into a pout, his brows pinching with loud concern.
And when your eyes finally locked, you knew. You knew you were not overthinking the situation â it was exactly like it seemed.
âNo,â you husked out, letting go of his wrist as if his skin burnt yours, your hand flying to your face to cover your mouth. âNo. Tell me Iâm wrong.â
âWrong about what?â he gritted out, averting his eyes with visible remorse.
Was the bastard really pleading ignorance? Was he such a coward, he wouldnât tell you himself? After everything youâd gone through and shared? After so many long, cold nights spent in his embrace? Did any of that mean anything to him?
Apparently not.
âWhy am I here? Iâm not here to be a hostage kept in a cage, am I?â your voice was barely audible as you tried your best to contain the angry tears.
âNo,â Marcus paused after his whisper. âYouâre here to be married off to Marcus Antoniusâ brother, Gaius. Youâre a gift to the Antonius family, to keep Caesarâs allies happy.â
The explanation fell on you like icy water. Even your heart had stopped beating, your lungs vacating all oxygen within them in a painful exhale.
This couldnât be happening. Acacius couldnât be this heartless and cruel. Had he been faking all along just to gain your trust, to make you feel comfortable in his presence? How could he kiss you, make love to you every night, knowing that to him you were just cargo?
And then, the prospect of bedding that man⌠Vile rose up your throat â you were sure you wouldnât be able to stomach it. He looked like a brute, cruel and dominant. And although you had a strong spirit, even the best soldiers ended up succumbing to the crushing force of bestiality.
âDid you know?â you begged of him, hugging yourself. âDid you know the plan all along?â
Finally, his expression folded â his cloudy eyes were bright with unspent tears, lips pressing into a sad pout. He moved towards you, hands extended to hug you, but you quickly retreated. You couldnât have his hands on you, you needed to focus.
âI did,â he replied, dropping his hands when he read your body language. âI did, and Iâm sorry. I wanted to tell you, I was going to⌠ButâŚâ
âBut what?!â you screamed, the dam holding your tears breaking. A trickle of droplets cascaded down your cheeks, shouting again, âbut what, Marcus?!â
âBut I was afraid youâd leave. Iâve grown fond of you, I really have. I didnât want to lose you, at least not yet. This morning, before Gaius arrived, I was going to tell you, give you a way outâŚâ Marcus combed his unruly curls back with his fingers, obviously desperate for you to understand.
âWere you?â you mocked him with a sneery laugh, sweeping the tears off your cheeks. âSure you were. So why didnât you when they left, huh?â
âWe were being followed, mel. They never left,â he reasoned. âThatâs why I didnât talk to you. Gaius and his henchman were watching us. I didnât want him to think that⌠there is something between us.â
âThere was,â you immediately corrected him, despite the instant hurt showing in his eyes. âThere was something between us, Acacius. Not anymore.â
It broke you saying such a thing, especially when his words had filtered through, making you consider his truth. But even if he wasnât lying, it wouldnât change a thing. You were still here, delivered to a man who would destroy you and your soul.
âYou have every right to feel that way, I understand, but pleaseââ
âNo, Iâm done listening to your lies. Youâre a coward, Acacius. A fucking pawn. The day you realise how dispensable you are to your fucking precious Caesar, youâll have no one by your side. Heâll discard you just like youâre discarding me now, when you become an inconvenience,â you snarled at him, your pain speaking for you.
You wanted him to hurt more than you were right now. If his downcast features were any indication, he probably was. But he deserved every fucking word you threw at him. Heâd betrayed you like no one else had before. You thought he was different, that he was good.
How wrong you were.
âI know, mel. I do know. But please let me explainââ
âGeneral Acacius,â a deep voice interrupted your argument, both of you straightening your backs as if nothing of importance was happening.
Three guards had entered the stables and were right behind you. One of them grabbed your elbow rather harshly, almost tripping you over.
âThe hostage needs to be readied to formally meet Antonius. We are taking her now,â the same man spoke.
A myriad of emotions ran through Marcusâ face, a full range of regret, grief and sadness. If you didnât know any better, you would have thought that he truly cared for you. That this was breaking his heart as much as it was crumbling yours. You felt stupid for holding to a shard of hope, but you forced yourself to let go of the illusion.
General Acacius was like any other man â evil, greedy, heartless.
âHope the gold is worth the pain,â you whispered, almost mouthed the words so only he could listen. âTake me away from here,â you told the guards.
When they hastily turned you around to drag you out of the stables, you didnât look back, didnât put up a fight either.
Only when you were thrown in an unknown, empty room, you allowed yourself to cry your eyes out and bang the walls of your enclosure, damning the man who brought you here.
Heâd been witnessing your spiral into hell for weeks now. How the light abandoned your eyes, dull and devoid of any emotion. How your skin was coloured with fresh bruises every day, the ones around your neck more visible than others. He knew for a fact that Gaius would put a chain around your throat, the atrocious man bragging about it in front of him every chance he got.
How you would avert your eyes, evading his every time he tried to make visual contact with you. As if he was dead to you, rightfully so.
And with every encounter, his resolution faltered, and his heart chipped some more. Marcus blamed himself â for lying to you, for not being brave enough, for not setting you free when he had the chance, for not fighting for you, for not stopping the guards from taking you away from him. He saw in you all the failures heâd done, all the pain heâd caused. And it was eating him alive.
How badly he wished to travel back in time, to prevent all this from happening. But he couldnât change the past. He couldnât mend the harm his inaction had brought about.
Marcus couldnât take it anymore, couldnât stand by, seeing your soul slowly die. He was a fucking coward, you were right â too afraid to lose his station because all the effort and sacrifices would have been for naught.
But at what cost? He couldnât lose you, although deep down he knew he already had. What a sick bastard he was.
âGeneral Acacius,â Marcus Antonius greeted him. âCaesar sends his congratulations, the gold for your successful will be delivered to you tonight.â
Heâd been focused on you for so long, the chatter of the hall had dropped to background noise. The room in the Antonius household was packed as people feasted and drank, celebrating the return of Marcus Antoniusâ legion.
Marcus gave the General a stern nod, bringing the wine cup up to his lips to avoid talking. His throat felt dry with shame. No amount of coin was worth your suffering.
Antonius lingered; some small talk being exchanged although Marcus barely paid any attention to the man. When the other General tired of his unresponsiveness, he moved on to speak to his brother.
His chest burnt at the sight of Gaius. Marcus hated himself but despised Gaius even more so. How could have he delivered you to him despite knowing how brutal he would be with you?
âGo get me some more wine from the cellar, slave,â Gaius snapped at you.
You swiftly left his side, turning the corner into a corridor.
This was his chance.
Marcus slithered through the crowd like a snake ready to bite, leaving his empty cup behind. When he reached the hallway you had disappeared into, Marcus checked over his shoulder before disappearing into the shadows.
A staircase at the end of the corridor spiralled down into the underground, and he walked down the steps, pushed the heavy door and entered the cellar.
The room was lighted by some lit torches on the wall, the sweet scent of wine filling the room. As his eyes adapted to the almost darkness, Marcus scanned the place.
A quiet sob betrayed your presence. Sauntering, he found you in a corner, bloodshot eyes welling up as you hugged yourself.
He stood there, right in front of you, like a scarecrow. Frozen with guilt, unable to decide what to do, what to say, to soothe you. But when you looked up to him through your damp eyelashes, you made the decision for him.
You lurched forward into his chest, and Marcus instantly wrapped his arms around your shoulders, holding you close while you cried your sorrows in the crook of his neck. His heart was pounding so wildly, he feared he might drop dead at any second. Finally, Marcus found his hoarse voice, whispering soothing words while stroking your hair.
The fact that you went to him so eagerly, so uninhibited, broke his heart some more, the edges cracking and collapsing into itself. He didnât deserve to hold you, to calm you, when he was the only reason you had been suffering unimaginably for this long.
âIâm so sorry,â he whispered, throat clamping down, tears threatening to fall. âI am truly sorry for being a coward, for not choosing you when I could. I was so afraid of the repercussions, of losing everything I worked so hard forâŚâ
Marcus forced in a deep breath, the tears falling free at last. You were still sobbing, now more audibly so, and when you unglued your face from his neck to look up at him, Marcusâ breath hitched somewhere in the back of his throat. The state of you, up close, was⌠gut wrenching. Bruises, some fresh lacerations, but what gnawed at him the most was how lifeless you looked, so drained of purpose, of wit.
âI know it means nothing now, but I love you. From the moment I set eyes on you in that forest for the first time. And itâs taken me a shamefully long time to realise that,â because one didnât know what they had, until they lost that one person who brightened their dark days. âYou should have shot me an arrow, kill me on the spot, and you wouldnât have suffered this much because of me.â
It felt like an empty, meaningless confession. No number of words could mend the havoc of his doing, the wounds of your heart. Only actions could.
âI know I have no right to ask, I lost that privilege the moment I lied to you. But⌠if you were to take me back, Iâd take you away tonight, now. Damn, even if you donât take me back, just say the word⌠Iâd make sure youâd leave here tonight,â he husked out, heart in a fist.
You didnât speak for what felt like an eternity. Your eyes studied his face, weighing your options. And he hoped youâd take up his offer, regardless of your feelings for him. Marcus would risk everything to right the wrong heâd caused.
âYou lied to me. You let them take me away,â you sobbed, furrowing your eyebrows. âYou just stood there⌠have been standing there in front of me for weeks⌠and you did nothingâŚâ
It wasnât accusatory, you were just stating the facts. Ones he couldnât and wouldnât fight you back on, because you were right.
âI did. I donât have any excuse to offer for my behaviour other than Iâm just a stupid coward.â
âYou areâŚâ you trailed off, but didnât lean back away from him, staying still in his embrace. âBut youâre here now,â you swept away the tears, some determination returning to your eyes. âYou were too scared, and I was too proud. While I donât condone you lying to me, I can see why you would. Your hands were tied as much as mine. And with Gaius and his henchman following us all the way from Bracciano to Rome⌠there truly wasnât a way out there where both of us left unscathed.â
Marcusâ heart had stopped pumping blood the moment you started talking. He could honestly not believe his ears. He didnât deserve your forgiveness, not after how badly heâd handled everything. It just felt damn wrong.
âWhile it might take some time for me to forgive, if I ever fully can do so, I do understand the situation you were in,â your bottom lip trembled, your words choking out.
âOh, mel,â with tears in his eyes, Marcus dropped his hands from your shoulders. âI donât want you to forgive me, I deserve every ounce of resentment. I deserve your hate.â
âI donât hate you, Marcus. I love you and thatâs whatâs made everything way worse,â a feeble, tiny smile curled your lips whilst your delicate fingers wrap around his wrist. âAnd if you do love me back as you say⌠take me away from here, please. I canât take it anymore. He will⌠he will break me for good if I stay.â
His heart jolted. He truly wasnât deserving of you, of your love. Not after everything heâd done â or didnât do. Closing the gap, Marcus hugged you again, pressing a soft kiss on the crown of your hair, allowing himself to inhale your sweet scent.
âIâm getting you out of here tonight.â
Marcus had kept his promise. Heâd broken you free of the Antoniusâ household that same night through an underground tunnel that connected the cellar to a nearby temple. The religious servants that worshipped Mars had left for the night, so escaping had been relatively easy.
Leaving Rome, however, had been a totally different matter. It was obvious that Gaius had noticed your absence, because the next morning a small entourage of legionnaires accompanied your captor to Marcusâ home. Luckily, Marcus had seen it coming and instead of going home with you, you both stalked out his place from an empty house nearby.
You had to wait till nightfall to flee, grabbing some indispensable belongings and also Marcusâ gladius, bow and arrows. Going northwards to your homeland was out of the question, given that Gaius and his brother would expect exactly that. So with a heavy heart, you accepted that youâd never return to the place you were born. Instead, Marcus had suggested to travel southwards to his hometown, Barium.
It had taken you five days to get there, feet swollen and exhausted from so much walking. Circumventing the town, you had reached Marcusâ family home. The farm had been abandoned, vines growing on the burnt façade of the small two storey farmhouse. The fences were destroyed, thick and lush vegetation taking over the farmland surrounding the building.
When you first landed eyes on the dilapidated house, Marcusâ face had torn with sadness. He didnât speak as he approached cautiously and neither did you, giving him time to process. It had to be really hard seeing his childhood home crumbled down to its foundations, a pool of happy memories long forgotten coming back.
He showed you around, the inside of his home as bad as it looked on the outside. It was obvious people had taken the last possessions of his family, leaving behind the things that were not salvageable after the fire. The walls were still black with soot and ash, some parts of the ceiling had collapsed, the thick wooden beams becoming dust the moment you touched them.
The house was destroyed, the land barren. And Marcus stood there â steadfast, impassible. Or, at least, trying to contain the emotions running wild through his tired features.
Despite his betrayal, his lies⌠you felt for him. The first few days in that cell after the guards had taken you away left you with too much time in your hands. Time to overthink, to analyse, to worry yourself to death. In the end, you had come to realise that, although he could have done things differently, you understood why he couldnât bring himself to be honest with you.
Because truth be told⌠you didnât know what youâd done had the roles been reversed. If the battle after the siege of Alesia had ended in your favour, if you had taken Acacius hostage and brought him to your father⌠Would you have disobeyed your fatherâs orders of executing him? Would you have gone up in arms against your own people for someone you didnât truly know?
Probably not. Definitely not.
So, you could only make peace with what had happened. Never forget but perhaps work towards forgiveness. Because, whether you liked it or not, you loved him. Despite how much you tried to flatly refuse that notion, you did. You fell for him, for the little details, the unspoken care, his easy demeanour. His gentleness. His heart, a bit rough around the edges, but the perfect fit to yours.
It was almost derisory. A trick of fate placed him in your path, an imminent collision of stars. Unavoidable. Final. As if Cathubodua Herself had put Marcus in your path for a reason.
âThis was my room,â Marcusâ low whisper brought you back to the mundane plane.
It was a small, rectangular room. A broken window let the light in, shining on the tiny dust particles floating around. A bed with wooden posts, a wardrobe, and a chest. There was rubble everywhere, but otherwise pretty much intact.
Acacius walked through the debris and knelt in front of the chest. Taking in a deep breath, he lifted the heavy lid. You peeked above his shoulder, getting a glimpse of his past.
He chuckled; a sad gurgling noise stuck in his chest.
âMy mother loved Saturnalia. Itâs a festivity we celebrate in December to honour Saturn. Every year sheâd made a sigillarium for me. She had a theme going on, they were always shaped as soldiers from the Roman army,â he took a terracotta figurine out, his thumb caressing the piece with reverence. âA centurion, a tribune, a legate⌠On my last birthday here, with them, she gifted me this.â
Marcus raised to his feet, handing over the figurine he was holding close to his heart. You took it with extreme care, afraid it would break between your fingers. The perfectly preserved sigillarium was that of a General with a black armour, a golden Medusa on the center of the breastplate. Just like the one Marcus wore in battle.
âExcuse the terrible paint job, I was never born to be an artist,â he joked, but you could see the anguish in his brown, tearful eyes. âI was so obsessed with becoming a General one day, I even wrote my name on the sole of its foot.â
You turned the piece around to inspect it and there it was, his name scrawled by a young hand.
âItâs beautiful,â you muttered, heart up in your throat. âSounds like your mother was an amazing, loving woman.â
And heâd lost her. His father too. How alienating that had to be for a young lad with no other family.
âShe⌠was,â Marcus barely husked out, briefly overtaken by grief. âItâs been a long time since I thought about all of this.â
You put the figurine back in the chest and laced your arms around his waist, hugging him close. He soon enveloped you too, his good hand landing on the back of your head.
Time went by, neither of you too sure for how long you both stood there. Until the hug naturally came to an end and Marcus kissed your forehead.
âRight. Enough reminiscing. Let me clean this room up a bit, weâll spend the night here and decide what weâll do in the morning.â
âI can helpââ
âNo,â he cut you off instantly. âYouâre hurt, mel. You need to rest and recover.â
Gaius had put you through hell, the bruising map of your skin changing colour every single day. However, the worst wounds were not the ones visible to the naked eye, but the fragments of soul youâd lost.
And despite the pain, the emotional toll youâd taken, you were not going to let it get to you. Raised to be strong, to overcome challenges, you wouldnât give up on yourself so easily. Not while there was a reason to keep going. In the last few months, you had lost nothing and everything. But you were ready to get it all back.
Before you could retort, Marcus guided you to a chair and got to work. Hours passed while you talked and shared snippets of your past lives, of family and friends, of childhood memories, while Acacius cleared the room. It was weird how easy it was to talk to him, how the conversation flowed naturally, never running out of topics to discuss.
âYes, blood baths,â you said, the topic at hand having devolved rapidly into some darker matters. âLiteral blood baths.â
âAnd you just⌠what? Soak in it for a while?â his confusion was so evident, you laughed.
âYes, Marcus. Itâs believed it invigorates you before a battle.â
âAnd whose blood is that?â
âUsually animals. Wild boars and the like,â you omitted the fact that some did use human blood, but you were not sure that his righteous mind could take that information and be normal about it.
âUsually?â
Well, he did pick up on it. You just shrugged and couldnât help but cackle when he paled a bit at the realisation.
âIâll stop asking questions now,â he shook his head as he laid the animal skins on the bare mattress, the room finally clean.
âFor your own good, yeah, might as well.â
âLetâs eat something. Something that doesnât bleed, preferably,â he jested, offering you a hand to stand up from the chair.
After picking up some vegetables and fruits from around the farmland, Marcus and you reconvened to show each other your findings. Some fruit trees had survived the fire as well as bushes. There wasnât much though, considering how cold it was outside, but you would make do with what you had.
You dropped a makeshift basket on top of the chest and stepped aside for Marcus to see.
âI see youâve gone for the berries and nuts,â he said, picking up a chestnut. âThese are so sweet, here, try.â
He cracked it open and passed it on. You nibbled it, surprised of how sweet it actually tasted. The ones you had had before were bitterer, drier.
âOh, wow, thatâs amazing,â you ate the rest of it, almost licking your fingertips. âLook how plump these cherries look, Iâve been dying to try them since I picked them!â
Your hand darted forward, grabbing a handful of dark purple cherries â they looked so juicy and shiny. As you brought them to your mouth, Marcusâ fingers wrapped around your wrist, his eyes slightly widened with a sudden fear you didnât comprehend.
âThe bush you picked these from, did it have lilac bell-shaped flowers?â
âYes?â
âDo not eat those,â he stole them from your hand, throwing them back into the basket. âThatâs deadly nightshade. Itâs very poisonous. A few of those berries and you wouldnât live to tell the tale.â
âOh,â you stuttered, your heart pumping wildly as you swiped your hand on your clothing. âI didnât know.â
âLetâs go wash our hands in the stream nearby, then weâll eat. Need to make sure there are no traces of those berries on your palms, okay?â he gently put a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his eyes soft again.
Perhaps it wasnât a feast fit for kings, but it was definitely tasty. Marcus had found some pomegranates, figs and pears, and along with the chestnuts, cranberries and almonds youâd found, you both were full.
Night had fallen with a thick blanket, the stars bright and clear in the sky with a full moon illuminating the farmland around the house. Despite how desolate it all looked, it was tranquil and beautiful. You could see yourself living off the land, growing old, so far apart from humanity no one would bother you.
As you laid in bed with Marcus, you wondered what he would think of that. All his life heâd worked hard to escape this very destiny, and by whims of fate, heâd ended up exactly where heâd started.
âI like it here,â you ventured as he covered you both with the warm animal skins.
Marcus stirred under you, finding a comfortable position, but it was obvious your statement had unsettled him a bit.
âItâs not too bad,â he replied, nuzzling your hair. âI suppose that when youâre a child, everything looks worse than what it actually is. I never realised how much I missed this place until we set foot here this morning. I did have everything I wanted and needed. I wonder what my life would have looked like if I stayed, if Iâd have been able toâŚâ
He trailed off, but you knew what he meant. If he would have been able to save his parents, to put out the fire before it engulfed everything. Your heart squeezed a little â it was hard not to develop feelings for a man like him. Even when heâd let a beast take control of you. At least, he had rectified that.
âItâs never good to dwell in the what ifs, because youâll only hurt yourself with scenarios that might or might have not happened,â you offered him some words of wisdom, kissing his jawline while your thumb traced invisible circles on his sternum. âBesides, if you had never become a General, you wouldnât have met me.â
âAnd wouldnât that have been a good thing?â he blurted out with his eyes glued to the ceiling, his guilt showing again.
A side of you agreed with him. But, at the same time, deep down you knew it wouldnât have changed the outcome. The Romans would have won anyway, your people starved out after a month-long siege. Someone else would have taken Marcusâ place, someone who would have felt no remorse in delivering you to a beast and disposing of you, without giving you a second thought.
âWe will never know,â you nuzzled the crook of his neck, his warmth seeping into your body. âAnd thatâs the point Iâm trying to make. It doesnât matter. I believe in fate, in Cathubodua. She knows the outcome of every warrior in battle. Everything that has happened to me, to my people, was destined to be.â It didnât make it easier though.
Marcus let go of a heavy sigh, his lips brushing your forehead with a gentleness that tugged at your heart. Because as divided as you were, as messy as this all was, your love for him was undeniable. Perhaps it was fated. Perhaps you had to suffer before you could live the life you wanted with the man you loved.
âYour goddess is definitely capricious. But I guess it makes sense,â his hand rubbed your shoulders, soothing your bristled skin.
âShe gives the toughest battles to Her strongest warriors,â you joked, because that was what your father used to say.
âWell, She isnât wrong about that. Youâre the strongest person I know, thatâs for sure,â he rasped, your sights locking in.
When he leaned in for a kiss, you met him halfway. The dance of tongues quickly mutated into something more intimate, more passionate. Every time you playfully retreated, heâd come and find you, dragging your tongue into his mouth. Marcus propped his elbow against the mattress so half his frame would blanket you while you just melted under his touch.
His free hand played with the hem of your shirt, unsure of what to do. The fact that he just didnât assume what you wanted reassured you that he was, indeed, a good man. With your palm against the back of his hand, you slithered both under your garment, and when his fingers finally cupped one of your breasts, you let go.
âAre⌠are you sure? I donât wantâ I donât want you to thinkâ I donât want to hurt you. Iâm happy with just holding you tonight, knowing that youâre here with me,â he confessed with a trembling voice that warmed your heart.
âIâm sure, Marcus,â you peppered kisses on his lips, his chin, his neck â anywhere your mouth would reach. âIâve missed you.â
With a feeble smile, Marcus leaned down again, your lips fitting perfectly as his thumb swiped your nipple gently. The fondling on your breast became more pleasant with every stroke and once your taut button was all worked up, Marcus proceeded to pay the same attention to your other boob.
In no time you were breathing heavily under him, wanting to get rid of the barriers between your bodies. You fought with his shirt, and sensing your desperation, Marcus helped you get rid of it and everything else, until you both were bare in front of each other.
Marcus was kneeling on top of you, his thick thighs to either side of yours. He looked so mighty, so perfect, it was hard to ignore how handsome he was. Built like a god, youâd worship him in his temple every single day if you could. And while you devoured the sight in front of you, his weeping cock ready to take you, his eyes lingered elsewhere.
You were so lost in the moment, youâd forgotten the map of bruises dotted around your whole body. But Marcus hadnât â you could see his irises darkening with every bruise he discovered, every mark on your skin. For the last few days, youâd done your best at covering them, but now it was unavoidable.
Gaius had done a number on you, heâd been relentlessly brutal. Every night youâd fear his mood. When heâd get you out of the crate heâd thrown you in, you knew there would be hell to pay, even though you had nothing to do with it. The month spent with him had been your darkest time, his imprints on your skin ones you wished away every night.
âIâm so sorry,â Marcus ran a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his aquiline nose. âYou didnât deserve this. I should have acted sooner. Damn, I should have told you when we were at Lake Bracciano, give you the oppââ
âMarcus,â you called, gently removing his hand from his face so he would look at you. âWhatâs done is done. Letâs not think about the what ifs now, alright? Iâm here now, wanting you inside me, erasing the imprint ofâŚâ you choked for a second, unable to put it into words. âCreating new memories. Can you do that, please?â
âI swear to the Gods that Iâll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, mel,â Marcus leaned forward again, his chest flush with yours as his fingers caressed your neck. âI love you.â
Even though it was the second time you had heard those three words strung together, this time around it felt⌠warm and hopeful, not desperate and hopeless.
Your hand landed on the back of his neck to push him down, your mouths crashing again.
Marcus painted a love map on your skin, his lips pressing kisses on every bruise he could find, awakening the side of you that had been dormant since the moment you left his side in the stables. Soon enough his kisses travelled south, too far down. When he settled flat between your thighs, nipping below your belly button, one of your hands darted to his head, grabbing a fistful of his curls.
âItâs okay, cor meum (my heart). Let me make you feel good, please,â he cooed, and you couldnât resist.
Freeing his hair, Marcus slithered further down until his mouth kissed your inner thighs. A little shy, you tried hiding your core, but his insistent pecks along with his broad shoulders coaxing your legs apart melted away your last defences.
âSo beautiful,â he mumbled, his warm breath fanning your glistening skin. âYou are so wet already, sweetheart, and I havenât even touched this sweet dripping nook yet.â
Before you could say anything, he lapped at your entire slit in one stroke, leaving you gasping for air and moaning his name. Marcus didnât stop there, urged on by your little whimpers as the tip of his tongue found your hooded clit. He twirled and swirled and latched onto it, your clit throbbing in no time as Marcus ate you out expertly.
Drunk with lust, he nuzzled the tip of his nose on your nub, almost sending you over the edge when he inhaled sharply, feasting on your womanly scent. His mouth soon found your leaking hole and stroked it softly, outlining the circle of your entrance with the tip of his tongue. The moment he dipped it in, you mewled uncontrollably, grabbing onto the animal skins for dear life.
Marcus fucked you with his tongue until the tense coil inside you snapped, a million stars bursting behind your eyelids. Holding onto his hair now, you pressed his face into your pussy, screaming and shaking as you shamelessly came on his mouth. He drank your release eagerly, lapping you clean.
A last kiss on your stimulated kiss, then on your mound, and Marcus finally emerged from in between your legs with a triumphant smile, his moustache and stubble soaked with your cream.
âYou taste so good, want to try?â you almost missed his question, your heart beating so hard it was deafening, but you managed to nod.
Marcus climbed up your body and bowed down for a kiss, which you eagerly reciprocated. He tasted sweet â no, you did.
âI need to be inside you, sweetheart. I canât hold it much longer,â Marcus said almost between gritted teeth.
Gazing down, you saw his throbbing cock resting heavily on your mound. The head was glistening with precum, dripping onto your skin, leaving a beautiful pearl behind. Your cunt gushed at the prospect of housing him, needing him as much as he did you.
Wrapping your legs around his waist and with your heels dug in his buttocks, you pushed him into you. Understanding the unspoken invitation, Marcus aligned his seeping cock with your slick hole and slowly dove in, your walls parting, sheathing him as you were meant to be.
Fully seated now, Marcus kissed the tip of your nose to then rest his forehead against yours. You felt so full, so blissed, there wasnât room in your mind for anything else. His weight on top of you provided an extra layer of warmth and protecting, his forearms framing your head.
Neither of you spoke, but when Marcus pulled out and back in, you both moaned in unison. His pace was cautious, loving, gentle. His hips waved as he softly fucked into you, drinking your moans in a messy kiss. But it wasnât long until his slow rhythm devolved into something more urgent, more primal.
Marcus thrusted in more harshly now, the tip of his cock dragging along your anterior wall, hitting the right spot every time. He was pumping into you so hard now, that your whole body swayed under him, no matter how strong you held onto his shoulders. The slap of skin meeting skin and your shared arousal gurgling every time he hammered into you sent you into overdrive.
You climbed to the top of your pleasure, Marcus helping you get there quickly. With one last push, you finally came crashing down, your pussy juicing around his girth while your inner walls hugged him tight, clenching and pulsing wildly, commending him to follow you into a blissful orgasm.
âYouâre too damn tight, holding onto me like that,â Marcus grumbled, fighting against his own climax now. âMel, please let go, I canâtââ
You shook your head no, digging your heels into his ass cheeks again so he would continue to fuck into you, chasing his own climax. Finding relief within you. You squeezed your walls around him, wanting to milk him.
âShit, are you surâ?â
âMarcus,â you cut him off, eyes hazy with desire, mind numb. âCome inside. Fill me up, warm me up.â
With a strangled moan, Marcusâ head fell in the crook of your neck whilst he rutted into you like a man possessed. His cock pulsed inside you, and you consciously clutched around him at the same time you raked your fingers through his sweaty curls.
Until he finally spilt inside you, his warm seed coating your walls with his pearly white. And when you thought he was done, Marcus surprised you with yet another spurt, his spent filling you up to the brim.
Marcus crumbled on top of you, his softening cock still snug inside your pussy, his whole body weight crushing you. But instead of suffocating, it felt calming, soothing. For a long while you both stayed there â you drawing invisible lines on his back, and him kissing every bruise until you both fell asleep on his tiny childhood bed.
Hooves. A clip-clop sound in the distance, slowly approaching. The wind carried a command, âTheyâre here, find them.â
At first, Marcus thought it a dream. But soon he realised it was no product of his imagination at all. The voices were very real, threatening the peace of his home. Even though he knew who they were, he still needed confirmation.
Getting up from bed, careful not to wake you yet, Marcus peeked through the window. His fear materialised the second he recognised Gaius and three of his goons. They were on foot, although Marcus was sure of what he heard, therefore suspected they had left their horses hidden away somewhere nearby.
You both had to leave. Now. There wasnât much time to do anything about it â chances were not good when you were doubled in number, and you were still recovering from your injuries. He could take some lives with his, but would prefer not to get to swordfight if he could avoid it.
Lurching forth, Marcus tapped your shoulder with urgency, his thumb brushing your cheek as your eyelashes fluttered open.
âMhm?â you mumbled, sleepy, as you rubbed your eye with the side of your hand.
âTheyâve found us. Gaius is here, mel. We need to leave,â he urged you, helping you up when your orbs finally popped open with alarm. âListen to me. Weâre going to be fine. Their horses must be on the back, tied by the river. We get there, being as stealthy as possible, and we leave.â
âMarcus,â you exhaled, panicky, as you stood up.
He could see the memories flooding your mind, your eyes blurry with pain. His heart cried for you, for the harsh times heâd put you through. But you were right, there was no time to dwell on the past, he couldnât change it. But he could protect you now, learn from his mistakes.
âGrab the bow and arrow,â he hurried towards the pile of armour, putting it on as fast as he could.
You gave him a hand, tightening the leather strips to secure the breastplate in place, and then took the weapons, while Marcus seized his gladius. Right behind you, Marcus guided you through the rubble to get to the back of the house. The voices were closer now, prominent as they talked to each other, clearing the rooms theyâd already checked out.
The backdoor connecting the kitchen with the backyard was blocked with debris, so Marcus helped you up the window. When your feet landed on the ground, he perched himself on the windowsill.
âAcacius!â Gaiusâ guttural groan made him turn before he jumped off the window.
The manâs features were distorted by rage, spit flying off his mouth when he repeated his name again. The sight of him made his blood boil, his primal instinct asking him to make him pay for what heâd done to you. But he couldnât risk your safety again. Perhaps one day he could act on it.
With his heart pumping hard, Marcus veered around and jumped off the window. Your widened eyes told him youâd heard your captorâs voice now. The horror they emanated just made his chest swell with regret.
The men were too close, he doubted you both could lose them in a chase. Had he reacted sooner, perhaps you could have escaped the house before they set foot in it. But now, with them on your heels, chances were slim.
If he wanted to give you a fighting chance, to delay these men, he knew what he had to do. And, surprisingly, the decision was easy to make, as easy as breathing really. It was the least he could do for you and if he made it out alive, then heâd make sure to find you afterwards. But the reality was, he knew he wouldnât survive fighting four men on his own.
âNo matter what, you run. You run for those trees and donât look back,â he desperately asked of you. âYou hear me? You keep running.â
âMarcusââ
âYou keep running,â he punctuated every word. âPromise me.â
âI⌠I promise,â you muttered, squeezing his hand in yours. âI love you.â
âI love you too. Now run. Iâll be right behind you,â he pushed your shoulders.
As soon as your feet rushed beneath you, Marcus stopped a few metres behind you. Swirling around on his heels, gladius on hand and standing his ground, Marcus faced the men giving you chase.
If this was how he died, it was a noble way to go.
Running on pure adrenaline, you ran as fast as your feet could take you. Your heart was thudding in your chest, climbing up your throat, your lungs burning. Everything hurt, this strenuous effort not aiding your healing at all.
âMarcusââ
When you turned around, just a few feet away from the forestâs boundary, you realised he was nowhere to be seen. You scanned your surroundings nervously but couldnât locate him. He said heâd be right behind you, so where the fuck was he?
Coming to a complete halt, you looked in the distance and your heart plummeted to the depths of your stomach. Marcus had stayed behind to win you time. To sacrifice himself for your freedom.
âNo, no, no, no,â you chanted as your heartbeat rang anxiously in your eardrums.
Desperation took over you, not being able to come to terms with what was happening. You wouldnât let him do this, not if you could avoid it. Dying for you was not the way to mend your wounds, it would only make them deeper and more painful.
No, you were not letting him do this.
Retracing your steps, you ran back towards them. As you approached the fight, closing in the distance, you saw three bodies peppered around on the ground, unresponsive and bloody. From the distance you couldnât tell who they were, but when your frightened eyes landed on the two figures exchanging blows, you knew they were Marcus and Gaius.
When you were only fifty meters away, a bunch of branches crunched beneath your feet. The noise, which should have gone unnoticed, alerted Marcus of your presence. His focus redirected at you for a second, eyes wide with fear for your safety, opening his flank to Gaius.
âMarcus, no!â you screamed at the top of your lungs, trying to alert him of Gaiusâ next blow.
You shouted too late. Gaius struck Marcus to the floor, your loverâs sword jangling when it landed far from his hand.
Time stilled, everything happening at very slow motion.
Gaius towered behind Marcus, grabbing his hair to have him on his knees.
You stopped right in your tracks, pulling the bow above your head.
Marcusâ eyes locked in with yours, a silent plea for you to keep running, to stay away from this, all while Gaius placed a sword right in front of his neck.
You slotted in the arrow, aim clear, your target Gaiusâ forehead.
Gaius laughed.
You let go of the shaft, the arrow flying fast towards them.
And just in the nick of time, before the arrowhead met Gaiusâ head, your captor sliced Marcusâ throat.
âNO!â you wailed, dropping to your knees, fingers digging in the ground while your heart got obliterated right in front of you.
The arrow kissed Gaiusâ forehead, then he tumbled back and fell backwards, the sound of his bodyweight not being half as satisfying as it should have been. When Gaiusâ fingers let go of Marcusâ head, Acacius dropped to his side, a river of red staining his armour.
As fast as you could, you rose to your feet and skidded through the mud when you got to Marcusâ side.
He was still bleeding but was long gone. Life had abandoned his brown orbs, now dull and opaque. Marcus was still warm as you cradled his battered body close to your chest. For the first few minutes while you held him, you felt nothing. But when his body began to turn cold in your embrace, reality set in.
He was dead. The man who brought you here, the man who lied to you, the man who saw his own weakness and decided to change, the man you loved, the man who sacrificed himself so you could escape.
Perhaps the outcome would have been different had you not alerted him of your presence. What if he hadnât heard you? What if he hadnât been distracted? What if he had won Gaius, had you obeyed his orders? What if his death was your fault after all?
âItâs never good to dwell in the what ifs, because youâll only hurt yourself with scenarios that might or might have not happened,â you had told him not long ago.
There was no point to overanalyse everything that had happened. What was done, was done.
Still hugging him, you cried your sorrows and regrets until the day bled into nightfall. When your eyes finally ran dry, you dragged Marcusâ dead body inside. You managed to lay him on his back on his childhood bed, and took the time to clean the blood off his skin. Sutured the gash on his neck too, changed his clothes for fresh ones, and checked Marcusâ belongings.
He still had some coins in his saddlebag. You found two denarii, which you grabbed before returning to his deathbed. Carefully, you placed the coins over his shut eyes â you knew some of the Roman rites, having seen them being performed after battles. It was payment for the ferryman who would carry Marcusâ soul over to the Underworld.
Then you snatched the sigillarium heâd shown you last nightâthe one his mother gifted him of a General with his name carved in the sole of its bootâand placed it on his chest. You hoped his parents were right there waiting for him, welcoming him with open arms.
You knelt by his side, keeping vigil, while your thumb gently stroked the back of his hand.
Your future was uncertain but clear at the same time. You were deep down in enemyâs territory, with no way of getting back to your homeland. Alone, with no friends and Marcus dead. Your father would probably be paying now for your escape, for Gaiusâ and his menâs deaths.
There werenât many more options at hand.
So you stood up, sauntering towards the baskets with the remaining fruit from last night. The purple berries were still there, and Marcusâ clear words suddenly came back to you.
âA few of those berries and you wouldnât live to tell the tale.â
It was apparent now why you would have picked them. Destiny knew.
With no doubt left stalking you now, you picked ten of them and one by one brought them to your lips. Slowly you chewed them, the rich sweetness of their flavour a welcome taste on your tongue. It was true what they said, that death was sweet.
You returned to the bed where Marcus was lying and climbed on it, you curled up against his side and kissed his cheek one last time. Taking a few deep breaths, you let yourself fall in an eternal slumber.
Perhaps youâd meet him in that underground cave, perhaps heâd be waiting for you.
Perhaps this was how it was all supposed to end, what was fated from the beginning. What was truly meant to be â a loversâ struggle, a loversâ tragedy.
hey kids. we're back, as promised! some of you may remember the angst writing challenge I hosted in the summer and, well... what can I say? I love to suffer. so we're back to celebrate the new year and bring in 2025 with some BIG FEELINGS!
â¤ď¸â𩹠rules
1. đ your fic must include angst, and at least one image OR the quote from your moodboard. how much angst is totally up to you - happy endings are allowed, but feel free rip my heart out, too :,)
2. â be sure to tag your post #almostfoxgloveangst2 when it's done!
note: photos in the moodboards are just for vibes, and aren't intended to be prescriptive / representative of any characters in your piece.đ you are welcome to write in any AU or canon universe you like! as usual, 18+ mdni!
â¤ď¸â𩹠participants & masterlist below the cut!
ALL SPOTS HAVE BEEN CLAIMED!
đ° dave york - if only by @guiltyasdave
âď¸ din djarin - The Mirage of a Goodbye by @sawymredfox
đ din djarin - @djarinmuse
đŚ din djarin - @slimybeth69
đŻ din djarin - long gone by @burntheedges
âď¸âđĽ din djarin - liminal by @saradika
đť ezra - Ghosts in the Static by @morallyinept
đź frankie morales - Begin Again by @toomanystoriessolittletime
âď¸ frankie morales - @amanitacowboy
đť javier peĂąa - @quinnnfabrgay-writes
đž javier peĂąa - Rotten Luck by @milla-frenchy
âď¸ javier peĂąa - Long Distance by @whocaresstillthelouvre
đŹ javier peĂąa - WITHOUT A REWARD by @pedgito
đŞ javier peĂąa - "That Won't Ever Be Me, Bebita" by @iknowisoundcrazy
đł joel miller - @aurorawritestoescape
đ joel miller - what remains of a man by @jolapeno
đŻď¸ joel miller - @gracieheartspedro
đ joel miller - My Paramour, My Evermore by @schnarfer
đ joel miller - The Other Woman by @evolnoomym
đ joel miller - @arcanefox207
đˇ lucien de leon - @gothcsz
đŞ marcus acacius - The Road to Rome by @myownwholewildworld
âď¸ marcus acacius - I can't hear it now by @joelmillerisapunk
đ marcus pike - The Genuine Article by @secretelephanttattoo
𪌠max phillips - I Will Follow You Into the Dark by @jennaispunk
⪠max phillips - @yopossum
đĽ oberyn martell - Of Death and Butterflies by @galway-girlatwork
Here is my story for @almostfoxglove 's angst writing challenge! The moodboard gave me some trouble while I thought about what I could write, but once the ideas came, it was fun to write it, and a little heartbreaking too. It's been a pleasure to participate. I hope anyone who reads it will like it.
@schnarfer, thank you so much for being so wonderful and sharing your thoughts with me! They have been tremendously helpful and appreciated. And to my friends @thundermartini @encasedinobsidian and @joelmillerisapunk for always being so supportive and sweet. Love you all!đŤâĽď¸
Masterlist // AO3 link
pairing: din djarin x fem! able-bodied reader
summary: Forgiveness and healing are heavy words. They come with a price, one that may be life-changing tonight.
word count: 2700
tags/warnings: medieval au, angst, did I say angst?, a good dose of angst, grief, mentions of death, established relationship, eight years gap (if it can be considered an age gap), mentions of pregnancy, reader has no description other than having hair, no use Y/N
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
The sound of the pestle grinding against the mortar, the constant, uninterrupted motion, is almost numbing. A reprieve. Bathed in candlelight as the moon rules the sky, and insomnia is her cruel fellow. Seizing her focus while the food, her maid's last attempt to nourish her, lies forgotten on the table in front of the hearth as she stands in the alcove where her healing tools reside wearing only a nightgown.Â
Her body is cold as ice. It has been since the day he abandoned her, and nothing is powerful enough to warm her.Â
The rotation of her wrist, pulverising, transforming the blend of herbs into a mixture to combat infection, mutes the cacophony in her mind, offering a solace -the safety her chambers haven't been able to provide.Â
It puts a halt to the endless reminiscence in the spare seconds that had invaded her dreams, building in exchange a wall of loneliness sinking its claws around her, tall and wide. Unapproachable. Ripping them beyond recognition as the week-long celebrations for the anniversary of the end of the war became grief and death, turning them into a void shell. The musings of an innocent girl who had yet to experience the world's cruelty in its fullest, not being a mere spectator trying to aid anymore, but proof of how all souls are victims of it.Â
"My lady."Â
The voice is low and gruff, his, with a cadence ingrained in her core; it's impossible not to recognize it the moment it reaches her ears despite the caution infused in it.Â
It doesn't come alone, though. It's accompanied by his hushed steps, tiptoeing into her room, softly sealing the secret door they had discovered many years ago - a covert entrance used countless times to spend time together, seeking privacy and hidden from the outside world.Â
âThe prodigal son has returned.âÂ
She turns to stare at him, at Din, memorizing the details that make him whole. Real. Not the mirage that had been her companion while he was gone, poisoning her mind, experiencing a whirlwind of emotions. Hurting, raging, and mourning in equal amounts. Becoming a raw creature, seething with longing, so much it ached; hating him beyond words, hating herself for trusting him, for hoping she'd be someone's first choice for once. Believing she'd never see him again as the days spanned, becoming weeks, lifetimes of misery and penance. Crippled. Barely surviving the vipers at court, learning a role she had never expected to have bestowed upon her as the loss tried to devour her, paying for a sin she hadn't committed.
He's dressed in dark leather and with no trace of his armour tonight, the obsidian scales embellished with hints of gold she had gifted him after becoming the General of her father's army, of the realm's army.
His frame has not changed. Strong and beautiful, sturdy, flooded with life, luring her with his chestnut curls. Tall and broad as the day he vanished three months ago, as she remembers him under her touch, caressing his soft skin, bronzed and scattered with scars and freckles. Gripping her hips, helping her take her pleasure atop him, encasing her body amidst the sheets, feeling safe. Treasured. His weight, caging her, burning alongside hers, dancing, adoring her with his cock sheathed inside her, splitting her, inebriated by the passion, the ecstasy growing till exploding, claiming her with his seed.
âAre you preparing one of your remedies?â
âIâd say so," she states, cutting, a vicious chuckle ripping her tone, refusing to accept his attempt to break the tension between them, thick enough to leave a bitter metallic taste on her tongue. âWhy? Do you also think it's beneath me to prepare them now? That I shouldn't care?"
The firstborn. The boy. The heir. The future king.Â
Those had been her older brother's titles -pushing her to exist in his shadow since she was born eight years later than him. Sheâd learned to accept it, watch her absent parents cherish her in their own way but do nothing to mask their preference. Favoring him, spoiling him, giving him their attention and praise, whereas she was handed to nursemaids and tutors without an extra thought. Not growing resentful and even becoming grateful, happy and keen, valuing the lack of pressure on her shoulders, the freedom it provided. Allowed to learn and become a healer, to prioritise love over political alliances in a marriage, and not be chained, used as bargaining flesh.
A sentiment she had been sure about. But Dinâs presence only accentuates her doubts, every decision she has made since her future imploded.
Her heart longs to mend, run to him, bury her face on his torso, and breathe his soothing scent -the hints of rosemary from the soap she prefers merged with his musk- feel his arms envelop her, squeeze her hard, and never let go, allow him to ground her like only he knows how to do. But she doesn't surrender, steeling herself, fuelling her anger, folding her forearms over her chest to prevent herself from reaching for him, staring at him in silence, expectant, purposefully making him uncomfortable.
âNo, I⌠I brought you something.â
The tension in his frame bleeds to his words as he approaches her, maintaining his distance. Insecure, hovering around the table as he sets down the bundle he's carrying, shrouded in a thick cloth.
The shape is foreboding, straight, and long, causing a pricking sensation that traverses her from the base of her spine to her neck as she unwraps it, recognising it instantly. A sharp blade black as coal, with an angular hilt carved with an engraving she doesn't require to see to be certain it's there. The will be done. Branding it, bestowing a name almost forgotten, a myth considered lost long ago. The Darksaber. A blade of kings, of worthy rulers blessed by the Gods.
âWhat have you done?â She demands. The pain of his betrayal stabs her, slicing her heart, and making her recoil in disbelief and rage.
âItâs yours.â
âMine?âÂ
âItâs my gift to legitimise your reign," he offers, raising his palm, trying to hold hers. But she moves backward, using the table as a barrier, swatting his attempts, her pain blinding her to the damage her rejection provokes.
âItâs not. This is a curse. TraditionâŚâ
âYouâre breaking tradition. I thoughtâŚâ
âYou thought? How could you? The only way to yield it is by winning it in combat. You know it. Everyone knows the legend. What have I done to deserve this?â
âI only wanted to help,â he implores, failing, interrupted by her reproaches.
âHelp? How? By leaving when I needed you the most?" Her finger points at him accusingly, being both judge and executioner. "The only reason the Lords accept me as their Queen is because Iâm the only option. And you go and bring this? No one would believe Iâd best you. They are going to declare itâs a favor from the Gods.â
âIâŚâ
âIs this your attempt to get the crown without bloodshed? You would have more than enough shore. The Armorer and his cohort still think the crown should have gone to your father, not mine.â
âIâd never do that.â
âColor me surprised," she scoffs, "your actions are speaking quite loudly. Perhaps I should do that, give you the crown, and be free from everything."
âWhat do you want from me.â It's just a murmur, begging, reverberating in the walls like a roar, as intense and dangerous, silencing her
She wishes to curse at him, wound him, scar him as much as he has done to her. Send him away, sentence him, banish him from her presence, enforce the power she has now, the one she's still getting used to, but she doesn't. His solemn countenance, sad, haunted, the lack of sleep in his stare, glassy with unshed tears, the intensity in them, the one perpetually existing in his gaze, make her shudder and lift the veil of her sorrow.
They are one of her earliest memories: his eyes. Brown, filled with kindness and childlike wonderment. Heâs unremarkable to many, low born, easy to forget, to pass over, undeserving of a second glance. The eyes of an orphan, the son of the king's brother-in-arms, who had perished leading the rebellion that had granted her father the throne, adopted by the new king and raised with his children, sharing the age with her brother. She had forever been aware of the truth, conscious of their uniqueness from the beginning.Â
Honest, trustworthy, pools to his soul that matured as he grew and developed new shades. Magnificent. Protective. Always looking at her with respect, sometimes teasing but never mocking, attentive, knowing of her worth independent of her sex, by being herself. Bewitching her, lavishing her with the attention she deserved, allowing her to bask in it as much as she desired, encouraging her to do so, constantly seeking her, falling in love in stolen moments. Infatuated and passionate as they kissed, losing their innocence together, sharing countless nights in the sanctuary of her rooms, asking her to marry, promising to never hurt her or give her motive to doubt his loyalty.
âThe truth.â Two words, simple, easy to voice, yet massive and terrifying to answer to, decisive. âIt was naĂŻve of me to presume you'd still want me, but you left. You looked me in the eyes announcing my father and brotherâs death, kneeled like everybody else, declared me queen, and left.â
âIâve never stopped wanting you. You must believe me, but it was not appropriate for me to approach you. AppearancesâŚâ
âFuck appearances! We were an open secret. People may not have proof of the depth of our connection, but they know what we meant to each other. I had convinced Father. He planned to announce our betrothal that day. Once you returned from the hunt.â
âI tried to later," he admits with remorse embedded in his expression, "but you were talking with Lord Vanth.âÂ
âYou thought Iâd stray?â
âNo. Never, but it made it impossible to ignore my shortcomings.â
âWhat?â
âIâm no politician. I donât understand the court's intrigue. Iâm a warrior. Iâm not good enough for you, a Queen.â
âDonât you think thatâs why youâre the right one? Why I'd choose you over anyone else,â she offers, her tears falling, rolling down her face like rivers, unstoppable. âI know itâs selfish to ask, but the only way I can confront it, not be destroyed by the Crown, is if I have someone as loyal and faithful as you. The warrior you are, who has the armyâs fealty and respect. A shield. A sword. A friend who will see me and not a tool for power, who will not muffle me to aid his own ambition but support me. A Consort I love and who loves me just as fiercely.â
âIâŚâ
âWhy did you leave?â she requests, gentler, still not giving in.
âI got scared. I couldnât breathe, so I went to our tree.â Her hope grows at his confession, loud, taking root in her chest, blooming. "We haven't been there in a long time.â
âOh.âÂ
She stays still as he approaches her, tracking his movements, holding his gaze, gasping at the first contact. His skin grazes hers, grabbing her fingers, restoring the warmth she had been bereft of, infusing her lungs with fresh air.
âI was remembering our moments there and sensed this pull in my gut as if someone were calling me. My fatherâs voice echoed in my mind, urging me to do what we said we'd do as kids. Crack the riddles and find the Darksaber.âÂ
"Why didnât you tell me?"
"Because I wouldnât have been able to leave you." The rawness is proof of his honesty, letting him tug her closer. "It sounds insane, and perhaps it was the fear taking control, but I couldn't ignore it. It took me longer than I intended, but I found it.â His mouth curls at her response, the obvious wish to question for more details. "Iâll tell you everything," he promises, pecking her knuckles slowly, relishing in the action, the privilege. âOnce I touched the hilt, all fell into place. I wasn't scared anymore. I was sure where I was meant to be. Beside you. Always." His lips grace her again, worshiping, resting his other hand on her lower abdomen. "I saw you. I felt so proud. You looked so beautiful. Powerful, holding the saber for everyone to see, with the crown in your head and your belly swollen, carrying our child.â
âWhat?â As soon as he says it, she knows it's true, suddenly remembering how long it has been since she last bled, no longer able to claim that her tiredness came from her lost sleep, from the myriad of tasks she had to face each day, no longer able to assume her nausea was a present from her anxiety, deny what her body had known for weeks, no longer able to restrain her fears.
Her heart gallops against her ribs as her palm lands close to his, not touching, forming a protective barrier with only a few inches between them.
How could she be a good mother when her own had been so lacking? When she barely knows how to reign. Who she is. How to embrace her identity now. When the terrifying prospect of having to do it alone seems so certain at this juncture, and the worry of being pressured to renounce her child for being born out of wedlock looms in her mind.
âWill you forgive me?" His question is a plea, a whisper slipping from his mouth with sorrow infused in his irises as he cradles her cheeks, kissing her forehead, and his thumb caresses her cheekbone. Ensuring her attention and belief in him as he keeps talking. âYouâre not the only option. Youâre the best one, better than your father was, and better than your brother or me could have ever been.â
Itâs easy to believe him. Understand his motives and feelings. Forgive him despite needing time to heal. To picture them together, facing every challenge as a team, turning the Realm into a better place to live, safer and prosperous, raising the child in her womb and any other they would be blessed with, being the parents they never had, growing old, and creating thousands of memories.
âIâm sorry. I tried my best. Don't ever forget that I love you.â
It's a vow sealed with a secret barely contained, with a grievous hue alluding to a deeper significance in his visit. Pushing her to move, raise her hands to his chest to pull him closer and taste his lips, ask what worries him, what he's yet to voice, and share his burden. But a sudden knock on the door distracts her. It opens with urgency before she has time to welcome the intrusion, showing the concerned expression of one of her guards.Â
âYour grace, the General has come back.âÂ
Her jaw opens, ready to state the obvious and acknowledge the man before her. But when she looks, her hands are empty, raised in the air with nothing to grasp. Sheâs standing alone, bewildered, frozen, staring at the void where he had been seconds ago as Ser Mayfeld continues informing her, and dread invades her.
âHe was found unconscious atop his horse in the stables. He has a serious wound on his thigh. The fester has reached his blood, and the healers donât think heâll survive.â
The glint of the blade invading the corner of her eye, lying where Din left it, ensures her sanity. No godsend. Damnation, trying to take her man, demanding a price she's unwilling to pay.
Awakening her from her stupor as the pestle calls for her. Giving a new meaning to the tug she had sensed earlier, not only a seek for comfort in the motions and aromas of the healing herbs anymore but a forewarning of the need for a salve to clean the infection.
She seizes it, feeling its weight on her palms, her mind enumerating what she will need, trembling, almost knocking down the other tonics on the table, grabbing them in a rush to throw them in her satchel. And starts to run.
He deserves to live, to be a father. And her child deserves the father she knows Din would be. Stern only when forced to, gentle, patient, silly in private, fun, dotting, attentive, and loving.
She refuses to yield. It cannot end like this when the future is close enough to graze it.
She won't let him go without a fight. He must survive.
Npt (because there was interest in my WIP Wednesday!) @whocaresstillthelouvre @milla-frenchy @jennaispunk @604to647 @pascalssbabyy
Summary: You finally make the decision to move on from Frankie. Your best friend growing up turned ex husband, who never loved you like you wished he would.
Pairing: (Ex-)Frankie Morales x fem. reader
Rating: G (I think)
Wordcount: 1.1k
Warnings: angst, alcohol, getting married drunk in vegas, weddings, moving on, Frankie is either a dick or oblivious you decide
A/N: This is one of the fic I wrote for @almostfoxglove's angst challenge. I love writing angst and I don't do it enough. Thank you for putting this challenge together đ I should though. I hope you like it! and let me know if I anyone wants to read the second fic I wrote for this moodboard even though I do not like it that much but for you I would post it anyway lol
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Full Masterlist // Frankie Morales Masterlist
You initial reaction when you received the invitation in the mail was to ignore it.Â
But it was glaring at you every time you walked past the little table next to your door, demanding its attention from you. Finally it was a phone call that made you pick up the envelope, your name printed in beautiful silver letters on it.Â
You had known what it was from the moment you picked up the mail, but opening it and reading the names made it real.Â
Frankie was getting married.Â
Again.Â
And being the person that he was he of course invited you. Because how would he know how much you had been hurting?
Frankie and you grown up together. Living on the same street you became fast friends, but you knew pretty early on, even at the tender age of six, that Frankie was the one boy you wanted to marry.Â
And you did.
One drunken night out in Vegas close after you twenty second birthday. He had been home from deployment, all of his army buddies too and he had talked you into coming with them to Vegas, wanting to celebrate your birthday he hadnât been able to celebrate with you earlier that year.Â
It was a typical rom com moment, the morning you woke up, head hurting with a hangover and confused where you were. The first thing you realised was that you were naked, the second was that you were sore. It was then that a groan came from next to you and you screamed bloody murder until you realised it was Frankie who was equally as shocked.
And while the two of you tried to put the last night together you both realised the rings on your fingers.Â
His reaction was different from yours. While you were freaking out, he just looked at you for a long time before he reached for your hands and told you that you should just try it.Â
Youâve been best friends for so long, maybe there could be more?
And for two years there was.Â
You finally had him the way you always dreamed of, as a man, your man, your husband. The switch from friends to newlyweds was fluent, and more than once you asked yourself if you were dreaming.Â
And maybe you had been.Â
Maybe you would have cherished the time you had with him more, if you knew it wouldnât be forever.Â
You would have cherished every kiss, every touch, every moment he had you beneath him as he made you see stars.Â
But one day, after deployment, he came back home and told you that he met someone. And that he felt things for her, that he had never felt for you.Â
And how could you argue with that?
Deep down you knew from the beginning that the only reason you were married, the only reason why you were together was too much alcohol. At least for him.Â
He made that very clear when he told you that he wanted to be with her instead of you, that he thinks that you were better off as friends like you did before this mistake.Â
He called your marriage a mistake.Â
And while it started out like that, you never thought of it this way.Â
Then again you had been in love with Francisco Morales ever since you could remember, but he obviously hadnât been in love with you.
And now you could lash out and be angry and tell him what an asshole he was being right now, but then you would probably lose him for good.Â
And you werenât ready for that.Â
At least not back then.Â
You could still smell the air in the office building where you had gotten divorced not long after, Frankie signing his name without any hesitation, giving you a small smile as he pushed the stack of letters that would separate him from you forever over the table. You gave him a forced smile as you signed your name too, having to concentrate on using your maiden name instead of Morales again.
He went away on deployment soon after, as if nothing had changed.Â
As if he hadnât broken apart the whole future you had imagined for you and him. He even still wrote you letters that you answered less and less until a stack of his letters, unopened and unread, gathered in a cupboard you never opened anymore.
But now you were ready.Â
You were ready to say goodbye to him.Â
So you watched him as he stood at the altar, wearing a elegant suit, white rose in his breast pocket.Â
You watched the way his smile widened as the bride, his new bride, walked up towards him in a beautiful dress, matching white roses in her long hair.Â
You watched him say I do, before the whole crowd cheered as he kissed his new bride.Â
You watched him dance with his bride, as you sat at the beautiful decked table, wishing so much that it would be you.Â
Once the dance floor opened for the whole party you decided that it was enough. That you could now sneak out.Â
Out of the wedding and out of his life.Â
And you had almost made it when you felt a hand in yours, holding you back
âWhere are you going?â Frankie asked and you took a deep breath as you turned towards him. His cheeks were flushed and he looked so happy.Â
It made you want to cry.Â
âHome,â you said, voice quiet and he frowned.Â
âBut we havenât danced yet,â he almost pouted, stepping closer, his hand still in yours. And it was in the moment his familiar scent invaded you, that you felt a tear escape from your eye.Â
You took a step back.
His lips parted, saying you name but you shook your head, puling your hand out of his grasp.Â
âI needed to see this, see you get married, so I could finally move on and say goodbye,â you whispered and he gulped.Â
âWhat⌠What do you mean?â
You just shook your head, smiling sadly as you allowed one last moment to touch him, your hand coming up to rest on his cheek.Â
âI have loved your for a very long time, Francisco Morales. And now that I have seen with my own eyes, that you found someone you love as much as I love you I have to learn how to move on from that. From you,â you said and you could see him frown.Â
âGo back to your bride, Frankie,â you patted his cheek.Â
âBut where will you go?â He asked and you smiled softly at him.Â
âTo find someone who loves me enough to stay.â
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General Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist | Support me |
Summary: You are on cloud nine after enduring a lot of pain. All changes because of Joel Miller. But for how much longer will the dream work?
Rating: 18+ mature content mdni!!!!
Word count: 2.2K
Authors note: This is for Freyaâs @almostfoxglove Angst Writing Challenge. The title is based off of a Lana Del Rey song. Check it out: The other woman. Here I present some self indulgent (Mommy issues đľâđŤ) Joel Miller Angst. Freya also provided the lovely moodboard.đđťđ¤
Hope youâll like this!!!
Warnings: no y/n, F!OC, Moon, loss of father, pre-outbreak, grief, alludes to smut, falling in love quickly, discussion of abuse, description of physical and emotional abuse, body shaming, talks about motherhood, Mommyyyyyyy isssues, alludes to unprotected sex, cream pieâs, talks of a potential pregnancy, theyâre trying to be careful but who knows đŤŁđ, cheating, alcohol consumption, confrontation, angst, threats, Moon hurts him, open ended, post-outbreak, no ages mentioned but in my head thereâs a 20 year gap. If I missed anything please let me know đđť
Shoutout to @saradika-graphics & @cafekitsune for the dividers and to @joelmillerisapunk & @always-andromeda for beta reading đ¤
Disclaimer: Okay what I describe here happening to Moon is taken entirely out of my own time growing up. Yes my mom sucks. Anyway English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that. Iâm totally here for constructive criticism or feedback on how to improve. In general I appreciate comments, likes and reblogs greatly đŤśđť
You met Joel 6 months ago, right after moving to Austin. It was a rushed decision Your Dad had passed a few weeks prior and you wanted nothing more than to be as far away as possible. So you packed everything up and left your hometown.
Your neighbor, Dani, invited you to go to a bar nearby. After arriving she gave you the drink orders and sent you on your way to the bar. Thatâs where you met Joel, ordering his own drink. You quickly got to talking and a few drinks later you made yet another rushed decision by taking him home with you.
He gave you the best night of your life and too many orgasms to count. It was so unlike you, to have a one night stand, but Joel seemed different.
Around the third date he asked you to be his girlfriend and you foolishly accepted instantly. You two clicked and so you didnât mind how quickly everything moved.
In the last 6 months Joel had made your life so much better. Heâs like the sun on a warm beach day. Colors seem brighter, the air fresher, and the bad voices quiet. With him around itâs finally peaceful.
He asks you about your parents one day after you had breakfast with him at your place.
âYa know, we never talked boutâ your parents. How are they?â Joel canât possibly know what this simple question unleashes.
âWell my Dad passed away before I moved here. He was a drinker and that cost him everything in the end. And my- my mom sheâŚâ
âSheâŚshe was not a good one. Always angry, it was like walking on eggshells. Anything would set her off. Her unhappiness is what led to the hitting and screaming.â You sigh. This hurts.
âShe insulted me all my life, about how I look and behave, who I am. She ordered diet pills and forbade wheat because it makes you fat. I think she hated me but only because she hates herself so much and Iâm an extension of herself.â You look at Joel. He looks visibly sick at the revelations.
âPrincess, I am so sorry, I know I canât change what happened but ya never have to go back there and ya never have to feel like that.â
âWhenever her voice got louder, or when her steps got quicker I always had a buzzing behind my eyes. Because I knew in a moment it could all go boom.â Opening up about how she abused you is something you never expected to do again, but you trust Joel.
âI think the worst part was when she would chase me, I had to learn how to quickly get to my room, shut the door and lock the door. âOtherwise..â It only happened once but the memory still makes you wince. âShe would hurt me.â
âYou wanna tell me what happened?â He carefully asks.
âShe would usually try to break the door in but if the door was locked it never worked. However, one time I was not fast enough. I was just getting my plate of bolognese from the kitchen when she started blowing up. I stood right behind my door trying to close it when she rammed into it, the door slammed against me and I was knocked over. The red sauce was all over me and my white carpet. I was crying hysterically, in pain and shock, but my mom had nothing better to do than belittle me about what had happened. She made it out to be my fault. Letâs not even get started on how many times she told me I would fail in life, how she couldnât wait to see it happen.â You whisper the last part.
âShe told me Iâd regret moving to AustinâŚthat I would fail.â
âBullshit, ya wonât fail,â he reassured.
âShe also told me that will be a horrible mother. She always said that she wishes a child for me that is just as difficult as I was.â Your own mother was always hoping for your downfall.
âBaby, you will be the best damn mom, you are fiercely protective and full of kindness. You wouldnât repeat what she did.â Joelâs hands grab your face to tilt it up.
âYou really think so?â
âI do, youâd be a wonderful mommy.â He reaffirms.
He soothed you until the tears stopped.
A couple weekâs later, in bed, after one of many times that he had fucked you for hours before shooting his load deep inside you, you started talked about having babies, thatâs how serious you took this relationship.
âJoel?â
âYes, princess?â
âHave you ever thought about having kids?â You make that important question sound like the easiest thing ever.
âWhy you askinâ?â He laughs softly.
âI donât know. I mean we try to be careful but you come inside me all the time. Maybe one of these times we mess up and what then?â You wonder. What would it be like having his baby?
âWe would do whatever ya want, baby. Iâm there whatever you decide.â He assures while rubbing your shoulder.
âI love you Joel.â You mean it. Heâs the love of your life, the perfect man.
âI love you too, Princess.â And you think he means it.
It took some time to voice what you were feeling.
But Joel was always straight forward, taking what he desired. It showed in the way he had you wrapped around his finger in no time, how he wormed his way into your brain. Whatever it was spread through you like a disease, overtaking each and every cell until nothing was left. Youâd figured that this unidentified thing was love. Your love for Joel was overwhelming, dizzying, and terrifying. Never before had you felt so loved.
Itâs Wednesday evening and you felt like treating yourself to a little drink at your favorite bar, the one where you met Joel.
Though you never made it further than the entrance. What you see through the glass stops you dead in your tracks. The visual shoots through you like electricity. Joel with another woman. Close, sheâs snuggled into his side and his arm is around her waist. Sheâs closer to his age.
As you stare at Joelâs figure and the mystery woman next to him, you can feel the telltale buzzing behind your eyes again. Because you know in a moment it can all go boom.
And it does, he kisses her, right on the lips, no way of mistaking it for a failed cheek kiss. Your heart feels like itâs shutting down; there it is, the final beat.
You remembered all those nights before you met Joel, ones spent crying and screaming at the sky. You told yourself again and again, one more heartbreak and thatâs it. You canât handle hurting that way again and yet here you were staring as your boyfriend kissed someone else. It gets worse. Your eyes trace their hands and surely enough thereâs a ring on both their hands.
Heâs married. And he lied about everything.
You truly donât know how you got back home, you must have walked on autopilot. Your hand shakes when you push the key into the lock. You stumble into the kitchen and just stand there and think about all those weird coincidences that start to add up.
He never invited you to his home, you never met any of his family, he mostly came over at odd times that he explained away with his hectic work schedule. On top of that, he only took you on dates to spots that were a little further out. In retrospect, itâs so obvious but you really wanted it to be real.
Maybe hours pass, maybe not, you donât know but you know that what happens now will not end happily. The click of the door knob indicates his arrival, then his cologne envelopes you and you know heâs close.
âHey, Princess.â His belly connects with your back and his arms slide around your waist, itâs how he touched her.
âHow are you, had a good night?â You feel like puking at his sweet tone, even more when he nuzzles himself into your neck, kissing towards your shoulder. Those lips you used to love only hurt now and each press of them send more images of how he probably does the same to his wife in their bed.
You push his hands off and turn around; itâs now or never.
Apparently you look pretty fucked up, judging by how concerned he is.
âJesus, baby, what happened, did someone hurt ya?â How ironic of him to ask that.
His hands are reaching up to touch your face but you smack them away harshly.
You stare at each other, both of your chests heaving with panic for different reasons. Yours out of anger, his out of fear. Joel has never seen you in such a state and heâs terrified.
âI know,â you whisper.
âWhat?â
âEverything, I know it all, Joel.â
âI donât understand?â
âOh, please,â you get louder, âyou are marriedâŚI saw you, with-with her.â you wave your hands around and struggle with hiding your disgust.
âYou fucking lied to me, after I trusted you, Joel.â You get close and jab your finger in his chest. âAfter everything I told you, what is wrong with you? Youâre able to lie to my face without any remorse. I donât want to see you right now. Get out.â You start pushing him.
âMoon, listen,â Joel tries to reason with you.
But you cut that short.
âNo, shut up and get out.â You urge.
The door slamming shut behind him echoes in your head for hours afterward.
For the next 2 weeks you donât respond to his constant messages and phone calls. Joel drives by your house almost every other day. He even dares to knock but you donât open and keep all the curtains drawn.
One night after drinking too much vodka you have the glorious idea to visit Joelâs construction company. The wooden bat helps you force your way into his office. You walk to his table, which has a bunch of framed pictures on top. Joel and his wife. Joel and his brother, you assume. When you see the last frame you get the stomach turning feeling of betrayal yet again. Thereâs Joel and a girl around 13 years old who looks a lot like a mixture of him and his wife. He has a fucking kid all while pretending to be childless and open to having one with you. It makes you angry.
He knew how to hurt you and without missing a beat he did something so detrimental.
You hate him, the love of your love.
His second life laid out right in front of you and you pick up the bat and start swinging. His computer screen, the pictures and some trinkets fall victim to your outburst.
With all the noise from things breaking you donât hear someone approach and so the shock is evident when someone grabs your shoulder and turns you around. Itâs Joel who rips the bat out of your grasp and throws it away.
âWhat the fuck are you doinâ here?â He quizzes angrily before pushing you against the nearest wall.
âWhat the fuck do you think Iâm doing? You break something of mine and I break something of yours. Fair is fair, right?â you spit at him.
Then you double down.
âAlthough nothing you did was ever fair, you lied to me from the beginning. We talked about having babies. How fucked up for you to pretend all this way to not be a father.â
Before he can respond you jam your knee into his groin. Of course Joel goes down screaming in pain and holding onto his crotch. Serves him right.
You grab the bat and continue trashing his office.
Joel doesnât even try to get up. He just watches you demolish his office. You break all of the windows, one by one, with that bat of yours. Once youâre done, you turn around and head towards him. Joel is actually convinced you might kill him with how much anger is radiating off of you.
âBaby, please letâs just talk âbout it, just give me a chance to explain?â he pleads with you.
You whisper, âListen, you dumb motherfucker, you will never ever see me again. And if you donât stay the fuck away Iâm gonna ruin your fucking life.â You lean in further and almost yell at him, âYou hear me? Iâm gonna end you, Joel Miller. sincerely hope your wife and daughter figure out what piece of shit you are. I hope that they both will despise your guts for ruining all our lives with your selfishness and I hope youâll be miserable until youâre dead.â
Afterwards you get up and walk away, leaving him there on the ground wallowing in self-pity.
A couple weeks later he goes to your house expecting you to be there, but the property is abandoned and surrounded by mesh wire.
Joel wanders past your residence for the first time since the world ended. Since his wife and daughter died back on the night of the outbreak. He stares at your house wondering if you really cursed him and the rest of the population with those last words you spat at him. He wonders if youâre still alive wandering just like him, content with yourself because your wish came true and he lost everything.
ÂŠď¸ evolnoomym 2025. Please donât repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!
Summary: Max tries to help you the only way he knows how.
Pairing: Max Phillips x f!reader
Rating: M
Word Count: 4.4k
Tags: angst, love, tw: blood, tw: illness, brief oral (f!receiving), allusions to smut, I canât tag much more without spoilers, no physical description of reader, reader can be picked up by Max but is a vampire so heâs ridiculously strong.
A/N: This was written for @almostfoxglove âLets Get Angstyâ challenge. Iâm sorry itâs so late, Freya!! This is my attempt to give Max a bit of a backstory to explain why he became what we see in Bloodsucking Bastards. I hope you enjoy it. The title comes from a song by Death Cab for Cutie.
Thank you so much @jolapeno for letting me bend your ear about this. Your kindness and friendship are such a blessing.
The moodboard was not my creation, it was all the lovely genius of @almostfoxglove.
Dividers and banner by @saradika-graphics
It all happened so fastâŚ.
Since the moment you met Max, everything seemed to move so fast, like those Japanese bullet trains you read about, hurling you toward your destination at breakneck speeds as the rest of the world went by in a blur.
The day you met Max would be forever engrained in your memory. You were in a hurry to meet your friends at a bar and the road was slick with rain. You slipped when your heel got stuck in the trolley tracks and you hit the pavement. In a flash, he was there, and before you realized what was happening, he was lifting you off the pavement with ease. You would never forget the way his eyes shimmered in the streetlights.
Falling in love was never part of the plan. It was just supposed to be fun, with no strings attached. Somehow, you found yourself ensnared by his crooked grin and effortless charm. Those eyes pulled you in; sparking pools of chocolate that pulled you in and refused to let go.
Pushing him away was the hardest thing youâd ever done. He told you he loved you; he all but begged you not to go, but you walked out anyway. You didnât have a choice. They had given you a death sentence, and you wouldnât let him watch you slowly slip away. It was better this way, at least thatâs what you told yourself, but the ache in your heart reminded you of how much of a lie that was.
Life wasnât fair. How could the universe be so damn cruel to give you this death sentence after you finally found the love of your life? The two of you were supposed to have years together, maybe even eternity. You wish you could live in blissful ignorance of this disease and believe that you had the best years of your life ahead of you with the man you loved. Now, you had to face your mortality alone.
He never thought he would find love after being turned, but you had wormed your way into his heart without even trying. Your blood called to him like a siren song, your scent like honeysuckle and strawberries. He tried like hell to fight it, but he knew the second he saw you that the two of you were meant for each other.
He knows he shouldnât be here; you asked him to stay away. He should respect your wishes, but he canât.
The slight pressure of his knuckles against the door causes it to creak open. His brow furrows: It isnât like you to leave your door unlocked, let alone open. The soft click of his against the hardwood floor echoes through the empty room. The apartment is too quiet. You always have the television or music on in the background. The little hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He calls out your name once, then twice, and gets no response.
His eyes go wide as he finds you curled up on the bathroom floor. Immediately, he drops to his knees and scoops you into his arms. Your skin is clammy, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. Something is wrong, and heâs thankful he showed up when he did.
âBabyâŚare you okay? Whatâs wrong?â
It sounded as if he were talking underwater, his voice muffled. You blink a few times, trying to clear your blurry vision before giving up and closing them again. How did he get in here? You thought you locked the door, but you donât even remember closing it.
âI-Iâm fine.â
Like an idiot, you forgot your pills this morning. You thought youâd be home before your headache got too bad. Obviously, you were wrong.
The ringing in your ears is subsiding, the world slowly coming back to you. You push away from Max and rest against the bathroom wall. His pity is the last thing you need.
âYouâre not fine.â
Maxâs eyes roam over your body and settle on the angry, raised bump on your forehead.
âI said Iâm fine.â you snap.
âYouâre not fine,â he snaps back. âIâm taking you to the hospital.â
Your head jerks up to look at him. Bile rises in the back of your throat, and you clamp your eyes closed. Maybe your medication hasnât kicked in yet.
âNo.â
âDamn it! Why are you being so stubborn?â
You release a shaky breath. Why couldnât he just stay away?
âThe hospital wonât to help me.â
His fists clench at his sides. Why wonât you just let him help you?
âWhat? What wouldnât the hospital be able to help you?â
You swallow hard. The truth was bound to come out eventually and now that heâs seen you like this; you know he wonât stop until you tell him the truth.
âI-Iâm dying, Max.â
Your voice echoed off the tiles. That was the first time you said those words out loud. The devastation you felt when you got the diagnosis comes rushing back.
You didnât think you had any more tears left to cry, but once again, your cheeks were wet. Your tears blurred his beautiful features. You could barely make out his mocha eyes and his pouty lips.
Strong arms wrap around you. His left hand snakes into your hair, cupping the back of your head and cradling you to his chest. He was at a loss for words. He could feel all your painâŚall your heartbreak. For the first time since he turned, he felt powerless. He hated the feeling.
âHow long?â
His voice was so quiet, you almost didnât hear him.
âSix months.â you mumble. âBut the doctor said thereâs no way to know for sure.â
The rage he felt made his fangs itch. He wanted to tear the entire world apart for doing this to you. You were a beautiful, vibrant woman in the prime of her life. You didnât deserve this.
The silence between you buzzed in your ears. The universe must be punishing you for what you were doing. Maybe God was real, and this was the consequence of dancing with the devil.
Max loosens his grip on you and tucked a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. Even your tears didnât dampen how beautiful you looked.
He knew there was something he could do to fix this, but it was the one thing he dreaded most. His eyes bored into yours and his Adamâs apple bobbed. He wouldnât suggest this if there was any other way.
âI could save you,â he whispers. âI could take this all away.â
Your eyes went wide, knowing exactly what heâs suggesting.
âAre you offering to make me like you?â
The last time you brought it up, he flat out refused. He shut you down without even discussing it. He said he would never hurt you by making you a vampire and made you swear to never bring it up again. You kept that promise.
âYes.â
The word felt like acid in his throat. He swore he would never turn you into a monster, and now here he was offering to do exactly that.
He had never turned anyone before. He wasnât even sure exactly how it worked. There was no one he could turn to for help; heâd have to figure it out on his own.
âI thought you didnât want me to be like you.â
He never wanted this life for you, but things had changed. Losing you wasnât an option. Keeping you with him was his only priority.
âThings are different now.â
His eyes darkened as he looked at you. Would you be different once you turned? Would his sweet girl disappear? A million other questions ran through his mind, but he couldnât think about all that now. He had to save you, no matter the cost.
âYou donât have to do this, you know? I know what this will cost you.â
He crushes you against his chest and slants his lips on yours. He kisses you hard, his tongue pushing past your lips to taste you. Thereâs nothing sweet about what heâs doing; itâs rough and passionate. He pulls back, leaving you panting for air.
âYes, I do.â
The conviction in that statement made everything real. Your heart pounded in your chest. It couldnât be that easy, could it? This wasnât just a little taste, he would have to drink more of your blood than he ever had before. He had always been so careful with you, but would the temptation of be too much for him? The risk you were taking was huge, but then again what was the alternative? Wasting away, becoming weaker until your body finally gave up?
There was no doubt in his mind that he would do whatever it took to keep you. He spent so many years feeling like he didnât deserve love, and you changed all that. He wasnât about to let you slip through his fingers.
He kisses you once more. This time, itâs soft and sweet. He gently nibbles on your bottom lip before his tongue slips inside. His tongue languidly explores your mouth for the briefest of moments.
Your mouth chases his as he pulls away, but he stops you by pressing his forehead against yours.
âI love you.â
You feel a rush of air against your face and open your eyes to find heâs already gone.
âI love you, too.â
Max scoured the notes and journals heâd acquired, looking for anything that might help him. There had to be something in these old papers that would help him do this right. The few journal entries about turning a human were vague at best, leaving him with more questions than answers. For the first time in a very long time, he wished his maker were here so he could tell him what to do. This had to work; the alternative was unthinkable.
Time was not on your side. If he was going to turn you, he had to do it sooner rather than later, or you would be too weak to survive the transformation.
He hated that he even had to do this. He was supposed to spare you from pain, not cause it. This wouldnât be easy on you, not by a long shot. All he could do was hope that he was doing the right thing.
You both decided his place is where it would happen. His apartment was soundproof, so no one could hear you if you scream. He tried to prepare you the best that he could. He explained what he would do and how you would feel. It would be painful, but that pain would subside into a peaceful sleep and when you woke up, youâd be his forever. The two of you would be forever bonded by blood and you would feel a connection unlike any you ever felt before.
You put on a brave face, but you were scared. Max sugarcoated the process, you were sure of it. He was trying to keep you from getting too scared to go through with it and you loved him for it. Before stepping into the bedroom, you sneak into his study and slip a note into the desk drawer. Itâs a note you hope he never has to read.
Max set up his bedroom like something out of a romance novel. There were dozens of candles lit, giving the room an ethereal glow. He made the bed using the softest cotton sheets in your favorite color, adding pillows and warm blankets. This should be the most special night of your life. You were taking a risk and trusting him to do something that might kill you. He had to make this everything you dreamed of.
Everything about the room was perfect. He filled the room with all your favorites: your favorite colors, your favorite scents, and your favorite sounds. It was beautiful. You wanted to remember this moment. Tonight was the last night of your life as you knew it. You hug yourself as the reality of whatâs about to happen hits you.
âDo you like it?â
The touch of his hand on your shoulder makes you jump.
âItâs beautiful.â
You walk to the bed and run your fingers over the sheets. This was really happening; You were about to let him turn you into a vampire.
He gently grasps your shoulders and turns you to face him. His eyes are softer than youâve ever seen them. He swallows hard and smiles.
âDo you want another minute?â
Your lips press into a thin line. Your throat is so dry that you can barely get the words out.
âNoâŚIâm ready.â
Maxâs hand trails down your arm and takes your hand in his. He hopes you canât see how scared he is. If this doesnât go well, heâll never forgive himself. He has to try though, itâs worth the risk. He canât lose you.
He guides you to the bed, helping you to lie down. The scent of your blood is driving him crazy; making it hard to think straight. Watching the bounce of your carotid is mesmerizing. He could just bite down and take his fill. He knows you would let him, but youâre not just a meal. You are the love of his life. You are the one that loved him for who he really was, not the monster heâd become.
He crawls over you and slants his mouth on yours. His tongue dances with yours as he pushes up the hem of your dress and caresses your thigh. The monster within him wants to ravage you. He wants to take you rough and fast, devouring every inch of you until you are completely his for eternity. The man he wants to be is trying to do the exact opposite.
He pulls back and turns his face away from you. The war within himself is raging. He didnât want you to see his darkness; He wanted to be strong for you and be the man you deserve.
You reach up and touch his cheek, trying to turn his face back toward you. You can see the tendons in his neck strain. The muscles of his jaw twitch. Was he having second thoughts?
âWhatâs wrong?â you pant softly.
His eyes are closed so tightly that he sees white. He has to get control of himself for your sake. This isnât supposed to be a terrifying experience for you.
âNothing.â He says through gritted teeth. âI just need aâŚa minute.â
The tingle in his fangs grows stronger; the blood lust is taking over. He runs his tongue over his teeth to buy some time.
You stare up at him. He looks like heâs in pain. This isnât what you want for him; you donât want him putting himself through this just for you.
âItâs okay, baby.â you whisper. âI trust you.â
His jaw goes slack. Your trust is the greatest gift you could give. He looks down at you, his mocha irises have taken on a maroon hue. He knows what he has to do. The monster canât win.
He doesnât respond, he just kisses you again. He wants you to get lost in the feeling and let all your worries go.
Nimble fingers ghost over your skin as they follow the trail of open-mouthed kisses down your body. A gentle nip against one thigh, and then the other before he descends upon your center. Your hips twitch as his lush lips suction over your sensitive bundle of nerves. The sensation zings through your body and you know your orgasm is only seconds away. The delicious tension in your lower abdomen is enough to make your eyes water and your first tightens in his hair. He draws his tongue in tight circles, and waves of pleasure wash over you as you cry out his name.Â
âMaxâŚâ you breathe. âBite me, please.â
âNot yet.â he murmurs into your skin. âNot yet.â
His lips find every spot on your body that makes you shiver, marking them as his. You are an addiction for him; the one that he canât get enough of. His world is so much brighter with you in it. You believe heâs saving you, yet youâre the one giving his life purpose.
Every kiss, every ragged breath, draws you further into him. Heâs the only thing that exists for you now; heâs your second chance at life. LifeâŚwhat a funny word. How ironic that the one thing that will allow you to live is death.
 He makes love to you slowly and gently, making you fall apart for him, ringing every bit of pleasure from you until you're exhausted and sweaty.
He kisses you one more time. His eyes are even more red now, but youâre not afraid. You want this; you want him, more than anything.
âJust try to relax, okay? Itâs going to hurt for a minute, but then it will feel amazing, I promise.â
You smile weakly and nod your head. If this is how it ends, itâs worth it. Dying in the arms of the man you love is the way you want to go.Â
âI love you.â
Your whispered words float to his ears like a gentle breeze, and the corner of his mouth lifts into a crooked smile.
âI love you, too.â
His fangs glisten in the candlelight and then sink into your neck. Thereâs a slight pinch and then your body feels as if itâs on fire. The heat spreads from your neck, radiating out to your arms, down your torso and all the way to your toes. Your fingers dig into his shoulders and a scream ripples from your throat. The intense sensation becomes even stronger, like youâre burning from the inside out. Your back arches off the bed as he drinks from you. All you can feel is painâŚand then itâs gone.
Max moans as your blood touches his tongue. Itâs the sweetest thing heâs ever tasted, better than the finest wine or richest chocolate. He could drink from you forever; itâs as though every bit of goodness from you is a part of him now. All your love and compassion are just as much his now as they are yours. Your essence flows through him, making him feel whole again.
You feel lighter than you ever have, like youâre floating on the fluffiest cloud. It doesnât hurt anymore, and youâre at peace. Your mind drifts and you imagine yourself in a beautiful open meadow; birds are chirping and the sun is warming your face. Max is beside you as wade through the tall grass. Itâs euphoric, like the best high you ever had. This feels like heaven.
Max drinks deeper. He should stop soon, but you taste so good that a little more wonât hurt. You feebly push at his shoulder, but he canât pull away. He keeps taking and taking; drinking in your essence.
Darkness descends on your meadow. The vibrant colors of the flowers and the sky become muted. Looking down at your hand, you see itâs become almost transparent. You're fading away and youâre powerless to stop it. You grasp for Max, but he slips through your fingers. Little by little, your body is disappearing until you completely fade away.
He doesnât have the strength to pull away. In the back of his mind, he can feel your breathing become more shallow. âJust a bit moreâŚitâs okayâ he tells himself. The monster inside him wonât let him stop.
Your hand slips from his shoulder as your final breath leaves your body. Thereâs just nothing now, just endless black all around.Â
Max pulls away and wipes the blood from his chin. He feels more alive than he ever has. He looks down at your still form. You look so peaceful, like a beautiful angel sent to earth just for him. You made him believe in love again, and now you were his for eternity. He kisses your parted lips and tears himself away from you.
As he waits, he wipes the blood from your neck with a soft cloth. His mind races. What will you say when you open your eyes again? Will you feel scared or angry? Will you regret letting him do this?
Each tick of the clock feels like an eternity. It could take several hours for you to complete the transition and become your new self, but he doesnât want to leave you alone; the worst thing that could happen to a new vampire is to wake up alone.
Time is crawling. He paces the floor in front of the bed, waiting for a sign that this worked. He prayed for it; something he hadnât even thought about since he was a little boy when his mother forced him to attend church every Sunday. The silver cross his mother wore around her porcelain neck is permanently etched into his memory.
Looking down at the dried blood crusted on his chest, he felt his skin tighten. He should clean up, so you donât panic when you see him. The red tinged water cascaded down his body and into the drain, washing away the brutality of his actions. This was a new start for the both of you, a chance to go anywhere and do anything. You would be free of pain and the two of you could spend forever together.
He sat down on the bed and took your limp hand in his. Little droplets of water ran down the back of his neck. You should be awake by now; it had been hours. He ran his hand through his hair as the panic set in. Maybe he just needed to give it more time. There wasnât an instruction manual for turning humans into vampires.
The hours ticked by and he couldnât take it anymore. This was taking too long. Something was wrong.Â
He sat at your side, never moving as the sunâs rays slipped past the blinds. When he shook you gently and you didnât respond; he shook you harder, your body jerking with the motion.
âNo, no, no.â he whispers.
He tapped your cheek, but you didnât move. A feeling of dread washed over him. This wasnât how it was supposed to be. You should be awake right now, looking at him with tired, beautiful eyes. You were his.
He gathers you into his arms and holds your limp body to his chest. He slowly rocks you as tears stream down his cheeks. Youâre goneâŚand youâre not coming back.
Rage fills his body, and he gently lowers you back to the bed. He paces, raking his fingers through his hair. This was supposed to save you, not end your life. He canât help but think of all the things heâs stolen from you, from the both of you.
Max pulls the journals off the shelves, furiously flipping the pages. There must be something that he missedâŚbut thereâs nothing. There are no magic words, no spells or potions that can take back what heâs done. Heâs killed the thing he loved most in this world. The desk landed on its side with a loud thud, sending the books and papers flying.
Something caught his eye in all that mess. An envelope with his name on it, the handwriting was yours; he could recognize it anywhere.
Max,Â
If youâre reading this, it means Iâm gone. I want you to know I fought so hard to stay with you. I wanted that forever so badly.Â
Whatever you do, promise me you wonât blame yourself. I donât. You did the best you could for me. It just wasnât meant to be.Â
There is so much good in you, my love. Iâve seen it with my own eyes. Please donât lose that. Fight the darkness inside you.Â
I love you with all my heart. If there is something after this, I will find you again. I swear. Weâll have the things weâve always dreamed of.Â
His head tilts back, and he howls, screaming to the heavens and cursing anything and everything for taking you from him. He chucks a lamp across the room, watching it shatter against the wall. Heâs blinded by hatred for himself as he tears the room apart, the crashing and banging doing nothing to absolve him of his guilt.
You lie splayed across the bed, and he moves to you once more, the mattress creaking softly beneath his weight. His fingers caress your cold cheek as he murmurs his apologies into your temple.
âIâm so sorryâŚIâm so sorry, babyâŚ.â
Heâs not sure how long he holds you like this, but his voice is hoarse and heâs hungry. He needs to feed again. The thought disgusts him, but he canât deny the need for blood. That monster inside him is calling to him once again, the monster that he could only keep in check because of you. There wasnât any need to fight that monster anymore.
Under the cover of night, he takes your wrapped body to your favorite place. You loved stargazing, and it only seemed right for you to be where you had the best view of the stars.
âPlease forgive me, my love.â
Those whispered words would be the last he ever said to you. He hoped he hadnât dammed you to some horrible afterlife by doing what heâd done.
He pulled his motherâs silver cross from his pocket. He hissed in pain as he laid it on your chest. His skin sizzles and thin wisps of smoke rise into the air. The wound will heal soon enough, but he wishes it wouldnât. The pain was a small price to pay. He deserved to suffer for his mistake, to burn for eternity for harming the most precious thing in the world.
He looks to the full moon, shining down on the freshly packed dirt that covered your body. Never again would he let someone in; he wasnât worthy of someoneâs love.
The hunger gnawed at him again. The monster called out, and this time, he didnât fight it. It started with a hallow feeling in the pit of his stomach, shadows wrapping their dark, wispy tendrils around what used to be his heart. He let the darkness consume himâŚand then he was gone.
NPT (because there was interest on my wip wednesday post): @sawymredfox @letsgobarbs @maggiemayhemnj @bitchesuntitled @mermaidgirl30 @jessthebaker @pedges-world @vichons
Okay...It's here. It took a while because I wanted it just right. I played around with a lot of mythology on this. If this is not your shot of whisky, scroll on by. As a talented, wise woman has said, âI write for me and share with you.â
Rating:Â Mature-There is angst, angst, smut, teeny tiny fluff.
WARNING: Talk of death and blood.
Central Characters:Â Oberyn, Lilith and Death
Central Relationship:Â Oberyn and Lilith (Original Female Character)
Word Count: 7,979
AO3
Please do not copy my work. If you liked it, please re-blog and tag me. Please do not steal the mood board, it was a gift by the lovely Freya. Stealing is just WRONG. I do not give permission to copy, translate, or post my work to any other platform.
This is for Freyaâs Letâs Get Angsty writing challenge.
Freya, I had such a gut-wrenching time writing this. Thank you for letting me partake. I utterly adore you.
Jana, Thank you for your encouragement and telling me you loved it when it was just a baby.
Bre, Ryan and Carole, thank you for the support.
Love you guys
Music Inspiration:
I Will Find You-The Phantoms
Love The Way You Lie-Rihanna
Rescue-Lauren Daigle
River-Bishop Briggs
Whispers In the Dark-Skillet
Summary:
Everyoneâs heard the stories of Lilith. Of how she came to be. But are the stories true? Is she really a demon or something else? She was not born of angels but created by Death himself. To walk between the land of the living and dead. But what happens when The Fates intervene and present her soulmate? Countless lives and re-incarnations have been lived and lost. Will Oberyn remember before another life slips between their fingers like sand?
Standing at the doorway, tracing the infinity tattoo on her wrist, the bright yellow glow a sharp contrast to pale skin. Remembering her father telling her that it was a symbol of her refusal to let go of him, the deep ache settling in her chest as she watched the man who didnât remember her.
Time stood still as she remembered her past, his always elusive. Sheâd been hidden in a small town, unlike anyone else, skin pale as moonlight, with eyes that saw both past and future, she had moved through her life with an unsettling grace. Rumors always swirled around her, like the mists at midnight. Whispers of how she was the daughter of death but those were merely tales, werenât they? Surely, she had to have been adopted, a stray taken in by Death, out of pity perhaps or some twisted dark humor. Suspend reality for a moment, how could Death have a daughter?
Truth be told, she couldnât remember any of her earlier years. All she knew was that Death himself had raised her, taught her to read from ancient books and walk silently across any surface. He had shown her kindnesses too, in his own dark way. On birthdays, there would be a single black rose waiting by her bedside. On difficult nights, he would wrap his cloak around her like the worldâs heaviest blanket, dark but oddly comforting.
He never behaved like other parents. He was distant but watchful, a presence that filled rooms even when he stood outside them, his scythe never far, for he was both a guardian and a reminder of what she was, of what she could become. Until him. Until his soul called to her darkness, his vibrancy a contradiction to her darkness. Of course she made her decision known to her father, wanting to claim humanity for this man. Oh but there would be consequences to this.
âSome things,â he murmured, âare better left unknown, child.â
âWhat would they be Father?â
âOnce you know, thereâs no going back. Knowledge is a door; once you open it, you cannot close it.â
She felt a shiver creep down her spine but nodded, unwavering. âI know this.â
Death took a slow breath, though he didnât need to breathe, as if gathering his thoughts.
âYou are my own,â he finally said. âBut if you choose this path to humanity, he will never remember you when he passes and is reborn. You will be destined to live with him and then without him until you find him again. Until he can fully remember, without any of your powers, this is how it will be.â
âWhat? Why would you give such conditions? That is torture Father, harsh, even for you.âÂ
âYou were born from a fragment of my own essence, a piece of my soul given life. I carved you from the fabric of eternity itself. You areâŚmy legacy, my beginning, and my end.â
His words filled her with awe and dread. She was not just Deathâs child; she was a part of Death himself, as eternal and unyielding as he was. She was made from the very stuff that shaped the boundaries of life and death.
Death watched her closely, his gaze softer now, almostâŚhuman. âIt will not be an easy existence, but it is yours. Itâs my hope,â he added, âthat one day, you will understand the power and the burden that comes with it and forget him.â
For the first time in her existence, she hated him. She understood her destiny but she desperately wanted to bend and create her own. Belonging to both the world of the living and the domain of the dead, a bridge between the realms, was a treacherous path, one she was unsure she could navigate. But then she looked up, seeing him step into the room, sharp features illuminated by golden light, spilling in from the high windows, devastatingly handsome as he had always been in every life before this that she could remember. His roguish smile, combined with a piercing gaze, she knew she had no choice. To him, she was a stranger, just another woman who had stepped into his world. A woman whoâd been looking for years to find him.
âYouâve been watching me,â his voice smooth but edged with curiosity. A tilt to his head, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. âDo I know you?â
Her heart clenched, her fatherâs cruel conditions, leaving her stranded in this moment, faced with the impossible task of rekindling memories buried by the sands of time. She forced a smile, though it didnât reach her eyes. âNot yet,â she replied, her voice soft but steady.
Stepping closer, movements deliberate, predatory. âThen tell me, why do you look at me as if we share a history?â
Because we do, she wanted to scream. Instead, fists were clenched, nails biting into her palms. The succubus living inside her soul surged within her, whispering of the easy pathâseduce him, ensnare him, make him yours, but she couldnât. Oberyn deserved more than manipulation; he deserved to remember on his own.
âPerhaps itâs just curiosity,â she said instead, voice laced with a false confidence sheâd mastered over centuries.
âCuriosity can be dangerous,â he murmured, eyes narrowing. âEspecially with someone like me.â
âAnd yet,â she said, stepping closer, âI find myself drawn to the danger.â
For a fleeting moment, she saw something in his gazeâa flicker of recognition, a shadow of the man he had been, but it vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving her with only the ghost of hope.
That night, sitting by the fire in her chambers, mind replaying every interaction she had with him that day. She had tried to spark something, anything, that might awaken his memories, but it was as if the thread of their past had been severed beyond repair. Her fatherâs voice echoed in her mind, his cryptic warning: He will not remember, and it is up to you to make him.
âWhy?â she whispered into the silence. The infinity tattoo burned on her wrist, the pain a cruel reminder of her fate. She had been destined for greatness, her father had said, not to be tied to a man. But what was greatness without love? Without him? Without the other half of her soul?
A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts, wiping her face, she moved to open it, finding him on the other side, his expression unreadable.
âYou haunt me,â he said simply, his voice raw. âI do not know why, but I cannot stop thinking of you.â When they had parted ways earlier in the day, he assumed she would be like every other woman that crossed his path, a body to use, she refused him, someone that was just a passing desire but he found that her presence lingered in the recesses of his mind, causing him to seek her out.
âPerhaps itâs destiny,â she offered, voice trembling slightly.
âDestiny,â he echoed, stepping closer, a hand brushing hers, and for a moment, the yellow glow of her tattoo illuminated his face, eyes widening, a flicker of something deeper sparking within them. âWhat are you to me?â
Brows furrowed as he looked at her, his usual confidence wavering. âWhy does it feel like Iâve heard those words before? As if theyâre a whisper in the back of my mind, something I cannot quite grasp.â
âBecause they are,â stepping back, wrapping her arms around herself, voice barely audible. âYou donât remember me, but I remember you. I remember everything.â
âThen tell me,â He urged, tone more desperate now. âTell me who you are, who I was to you.â
She wanted to tell him, wanted to spill every memory, every detail of the love they had shared, of every life before this but she knew it wouldnât be enough. Words alone couldnât reignite the fire that burned between them in every time before this.
âIt doesnât work that way,â she whispered. âYou have to remember on your own.â
His frustration was palpable, reaching out, cupping her face in his hands. âThen help me. Show me. I can feel itâthis pull toward you. Itâs maddening, like Iâve lost something vital and youâre the key to finding it.â
She could feel tears welling in her eyes, delicate hands wrapping around his wrists. âItâs not fair, that I remember and you canâtâ she said, voice shaking. âThis task is mine alone. One day, in another lifetime, you will remember, I swear.â
His thumb brushed away a tear that slipped down her cheek, bringing it to his mouth, he could taste the salt in it but there was something more, something tugging at him, like his soul wanting his mind to remember. âThen let us make new memories,â he said softly. âIf I cannot reclaim the past, then give me the present. Give me you.â
âYou donât understand. If you donât remember, weâll never truly be whole. I canât⌠I canât lose you again.â
âAgain?â His gaze hardened with determination. âI do not understand but I will remember. Even if it takes a lifetime, I will find the pieces. But you must promise me one thing.â
âWhat?â she asked.
âDonât leave,â he said. âWhatever it takes, stay here with me. Let me prove to you that Iâm worth remembering.â
She hesitated, the weight of her fatherâs warning heavy on her shoulders but as she looked into his eyes, she saw a spark of the man she had loved, the man she still loved, would always love.
âI will stay,â she said at last, voice firm despite the turmoil in her heart. âBut you have to promise me something too.â
âAnything butterfly,â he said.
She gasped as he called her by the pet name heâd given her two lifetimes ago. Sheâd found it humorous since anyone who came near her felt nothing but darkness. âPromise me youâll fight. No matter how hard it gets, no matter how much it hurts.â
He took her hand, pressing a kiss to her wrist, where the infinity tattoo glowed brighter than ever. âAlways.â
Days turned to weeks, Lilith staying by his side, trying to guide him through the labyrinth of forgotten memories. Some nights, he would wake in a cold sweat, fragments of their past flashing through his dreams. Other nights, they would sit under the stars, her voice weaving stories of the life they had shared but just as he would remember, they would slip through his fingers like sand. Then there were nights she was above and below him, the sex so incredible, he swore he saw colors but when dawn came, some fragments stayed, others vanishing like the stars but he knew she clung to hope, like a life line, praying he would remember not just who she was but what they were together.
âWhen the sun rises tomorrow,â he said, his voice thick with determination, âI will announce our union to the court.â
âOberyn, they will not accept me. I am nothing to them.â
âBut you are everything to me.â
A hand gently cupped his cheek, palm brushing against the prickly stubble of his beard, as strong arms enveloped her. âAs you are to me, love. But tread carefully and remember your promiseâ
She knew what was going to happen before it did but she could not warn him, it would go against the rules just as the succubus within was demanding she claim him, forcing him to remember. It was primal, tearing at her, knowing when he died, theyâd have to wait another lifetime to find him.
The next day, she awoke to chaos. Screams and shouts, piercing and echoing off stone walls, one of the maids bursting into their chambers, telling her to hurry. He had been found lifeless in the palace gardens and upon seeing his body, throat slit from ear to ear, it felt as if she was being flayed alive. Being the daughter of Death, revenge was swift and oh so sweet, finding those that would take him from her, their blood soaking her skin as the ferryman approached, hand outstretched for payment. âYou will get no payment from me nor them. Let them wander the shores, I care not.â
Returning home, devastated once more, her path a wake of destruction, she found her father, sharpening his scythe, the click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth in disapproval.
âFather why has this happened, you need to fix this, now. It is the closest Iâve been to him remembering. I canât take this constant crushing hurt. We were so close.â
âI cannot. You know this. All the lives youâve led with him will end the same, until he remembers. My child, you wanted your humanity for this man, this is the price you must pay for it.â
He watched his child collapse on the cold stone floor, great sobs wrenched from her soul, hating to see her in this kind of pain. Enveloping her within the folds of his cloak, shielding her from prying eyes, trying to give comfort as best he could. âLilith, I must ask, is this man worth what you have gone through? What you will continue to go through?â
âAlways father.â
Centuries later, the hum of modern London filled her ears as she sat in her corner office, typing away, stopping mid-sentence to adjust the cuffs of the blazer she was wearing. Modern clothes were so restrictive and quite frankly hideous. She missed the days of wearing flowing gowns, of feeling a breeze tease the fabric against her legs. Now the only time she wore them was on weekends. She would never understand the modern world and all the rules but she followed them like a bitch in heat, strung at the end of a leash.
Finger tips absently running over the tattoo, the soft yellow glow vibrating with her pulse. She knew he was here, his company on the cusp of going public. Sighing, pinching the bridge of her nose, knowing that they would have to start all over in this life. So many lifetimes that sheâd almost lost count. Almost. In everyone they always got close but then he would be taken and sheâd have to start over. In all the centuries his soul had started over in, none had come as close as the fourth one, when he had remembered the nickname, heâd given her. The butterfly, wings of vibrant yellow and earthy browns, decorated her other wrist, her father displeased with the defiance.
The intercom buzzed. âMiss Scott, Mr. Martel is here to discuss the merger.â
âSend him in.â
She rose, smoothing the black skirt, walking around her desk, nerves making her edgy and temperamental. As the door opened, he entered, his presence still commanding and familiar. For a moment, neither spoke but the handshake they shared felt electric, a jolt that sent flashes of another life racing through their minds. She let the handshake linger for another second or two, seeing the flash of recognition before it was gone. Her succubus, recognizing his soul, roared to life, clawing at heart and lungs, wanting to consume him. Inhaling a deep breath, holding for a count of five before slowly releasing it, she motioned to the chair in front of her desk.
âMr. Martel, please have a seat.â
He had no idea what had just happened, the whole thing throwing him off balance. When they shook hands, flashes of memories, seared themselves into his sub-conscious. He saw her in a simple gown, smile radiant beneath the sun. Of endless nights beneath the brightness of stars. Of limbs and tongues tangled together, whispered words of love and lust, vibrant colors exploding behind eyelids as she came, his cock buried deep within her body.
âDo I know you?â His voice unsteady.
âNot yet.â
Heâd heard those words before. More than once. He was so sure of it but it couldnât be, could it?
She wanted to scream, let lose all of the rage and frustration. She wanted to rip her father apart for the endless loop of her life. Of finding him only to lose him again. She swore his determination at this game was more of a test than anything. Sitting down, fists clenched in her lap, those nails biting into her palms, forcing herself to remain composed when she actually wanted to slaughter the world. The weight of lifetimes pressed against her heart as she looked down. âSo, letâs discuss the merger of your company with the one you are looking to buy.â
She could see the confusion etched into his features, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his lips parted as if he was about to say something more. But the conversation never switched from business to personal. Two hours later, all papers were signed and documented. âWell Mr. Martel, now that everything is in order,â Sliding a business card across her desk, a single black nail tapping the paper, âShould you need anything else before next week, please let me know.â Standing, she rounded the corner of the barrier between them and went to open the door. Suddenly large warm hands, wrapped around her upper arms, pinning her to the wall.
âI cannot shake this feeling that I know you but I donât. Iâve never met you before todayâŚâ The urge to kiss her, to bury himself within her depths was primal, almost animalistic, mind flooding with images from somewhere in his sub-conscious. Her name rolled off his lips before he kissed her, mind and body coming alive almost as if they had been reanimated, the heat between them so intense, it could scorch the earth.
She was the one who broke the kiss, despite the desperate screams of the succubus, needing to breath. He was always so consuming when passion flared between them. âOberyn.â She could hear her fatherâs voice, echoing in her mind, a cruel reminder of their fate. Â
âMy name from you sounds as if you have said a thousand times before today.â
âBecause I have.â
He tilted his head slightly, studying her with a mix of curiosity and wariness. âWhat is that supposed to mean?â
âExactly what it sounds like,â she replied, taking a step back.
Before he could respond, she turned and walked back to her side of the desk, heart heavy with the knowledge of what lay ahead. She couldnât stop the cycle, couldnât break free of itânot without him. But the question that haunted her more than any other was simple: Would this time be different?
âGood day Mr. Martel.â She was dismissing him, as if the kiss had never happened, knowing it would only be a matter of time before he found her. He was nothing if not persistent. This time, it only took two days.
The heavy wooden door rattled under his fist as he pounded against it again. The narrow street, cloaked in twilight, leaving the small village bathed in shadow. His chest heaved with barely contained anger and confusion as he stared at the intricate carvings on the doorâsymbols he didnât recognize but felt unnervingly familiar. When the door creaked open, she stood there, eyes widening slightly before narrowing in a mixture of sorrow and resignation, the flowing black robe clinging to her frame like shadows, tattoo glowing faintly against the dusky light.
âOberyn,â she said, voice a careful balance of warmth and caution.
âYou knew it was me, didnât you?â he growled, stepping forward until he was close enough to see the faint pulse at her neck, noticing that she didnât flinch. âI need answers. Why do I keep dreaming of you? Of us? Iâve seen thingsâa life I canât remember but feel like I lived. Tell me the truth.â
She sighed, stepping aside, gesturing for him to enter. Her home was small, dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of hydrangeaâs and something darker, more ancient. Candles flickered on every available surface, their flames casting shadows across the walls. Here, in this place, she didnât have to hide behind a façade, didnât have to pretend to blend in with the modernness around her.
âYou always were persistent,â she murmured, closing the door behind him, turning to face him, her expression softer now but tinged with a subtle anguish. âThere are rules, Oberyn. Rules I cannot break.â
He stepped closer, dark eyes blazing. âEnough with the riddles. Youâve been in my head. Faces, places, emotions I canât explain, youâre always there. Why?â
Lips pressed into a thin line as she turned away, walking to the small table in the corner, fingers tracing its edge. âBecause youâre meant to remember, all I can tell you are stories of the lives weâve shared, the love we had. The memories of them, the feelings behind them? Itâs all inside you but you have to unlock it yourself. That was the deal.â
âWhat deal? With who?â
âMy father.â
 âYour father? This makes no sense Lilith. You speak in such riddles.â
âFrustrating, isnât it? I can tell you everything,â she said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. âBut if I force the memories, the cycle will never end.â
He stared at her, the weight of her words crashing down on him. âThe cycle?â
She nodded, expression grim. âWeâve been here before, Oberyn. Many, many times. Each life, I find you. Each life, you remember too late, or not at all. And thenâŚâ Hesitating, voice breaking. âThen weâre torn apart again.â
âAnd what happens if I do remember? If I break this⌠cycle?â
Her gaze bored into his, fierce and unyielding. âThen weâre free. You and I. Free of the cycle that binds us. But the risk is yours to take. I cannot guide you, Oberyn. I can only share and hope.â
Stepping closer, his hands balling into fists at his sides. âI donât care about rules or deals or your father. I care about you when I know I shouldnât. Iâm not leaving until I understand everything.â
Lips curved into a sad smile. âYouâve always been so stubborn, persistent, demanding. Things I love most about you. But this path, itâs yours to walk.â
For a moment, they stood in silence, the air thick with unspoken words, before he reached out, fingers twinning with hers. âIf you remember everything, then tell me one thing only I would know.â
Hesitating, before leaning closer, voice a soft murmur against his ear. âYou once told me that the stars reminded you of me. Because no matter how far away they seemed, they were always there, lighting your way.â
His breath hitched as the memory, dim and distant, flickered to life in his mind. A warm night, a sea of stars, and her laughter blending with the wind. His grip on her hand tightened for just a second or two before he let her go. Â
She saw it, the flicker of something in his eyes, pupils dilating, the pause in breath. âDo you know how hard it is to have hope after so many centuries? I want to believe, to have faith but I donât know if I can.â
âTe amo, Lilith.â Those words escaping his lips, without hesitation, without pause. It felt as normal for him to say it as breathing.
âAnd I you.â Those words had been spoken so many times, in so many different languages, Spanish being the last one.
The blackout curtains in her room blurred the line between night and day, casting the space in a perpetual twilight that made time feel irrelevant. Leaning against the headboard, the cool wood grounding him as his gaze stayed fixed on her, her breath, soft and steady, he couldnât help but replay every moment they had shared. The weight of what had unfolded between them settled deep in his chest, equal parts exhilaration and disbelief.
When their lips met, it was more than a kiss, it was a spark igniting something primal and consuming within them. The intensity of it coursed through his veins, a heady rush that felt like fire and ecstasy all at once. She wasnât just a fleeting distraction; she was an addiction, a pull so strong he doubted heâd ever be free of it. Laying back down, he gently traced her features with his fingertips, memorizing every detail, as if she might disappear the moment he looked away. The soft glow of the infinity symbol on her wrist, mesmerizing.
âHasnât anyone told you itâs rude to stare?â Eyes blinking open, his face inches from hers.
âIs it staring or admiring beauty?â
âI swear you have the tongue of a viper.â
âI am not being deceitful; I am being truthful.â
Moving, body now covering his, bare breasts crushed against the warmth of his skin. âSuch a way with words. Tis no wonder woman threw themselves at you.â There wasnât any hint of jealousy in her voice when she spoke, knowing there had been so many before she found him.
âLetâs go.â
âGo where?â
âAnywhere, I care not where, just as long as it is you and I.â
âOberyn we canât just run away.â Although she was wondering why they couldnât. The job she had? A façade because she knew he would be here, in this time and place.
âIt is really running away or is it wanting to be together?â
âHow can I argue with such logic?â
âYou canât but first.â Flipping her over so that she was now beneath him, hands spread thighs apart, lips tracing a path down her neck, over the skin of a shoulder, feeling her shiver as his mouth suckled at the skin just above her breast before they wrapped around a nipple, teeth pulling at it until he could feel the hardness against his tongue.
A loud moan bubbled out of her as her back arched off the bed, enjoying the sensations that coursed through her. The demon within roared to life with the promise of him, needing the high only his soul could give them. He always left her breathless, needing more. Reaching down between them, she wrapped fingers around the hardness of him, feeling the warmth of his cock, using long strokes to tease him, feeling the vibration of his groan against her skin, hips thrusting into her hand. With each stroke, she could feel him growing harder and more eager. Increasing the pace, using faster strokes to bring him closer to release and just when it seemed like he was about to explode, she slowed down, teasing him with gentle touches that left him gasping for breath.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of foreplay, he pushed inside her with one swift motion, filling her completely with hard thick flesh, holding himself still for a moment, feeling her cunt spasm around him. Strokes were slow at first, wanting to drag out the pleasure for both of them but the way she gripped him, limbs wrapped his body, his pace became deeper and harder until her cries of pleasure echoed in his head.
Their bodies moved together in perfect sync, each thrust pushing them closer to release. Sweat dripped from his brows onto the sheets below, hearts pounding to the same rhythm. In end it wasn't possible tell whose moans were louder, whose body shook more violently but didn't matter because both knew exactly what other needed. She could feel the pad of his thumb brush against her clit, the orgasm so intense it threatened to drown them both as it fed her succubus, who would never get enough of the man above her. Power seeped from her pores as he came, seed scalding her womb, walls clenching around his cock, as he covered her with his body, warmth and weight seeping into her skin.
He didnât know how long they laid that way before he rolled off of her, gathering her close, lips at her ear. âSuch passion butterfly.â
Sitting up, she looked down at him, eyes wide before she leaned in, brushing her lips along his, body curling around him.
âWhat is wrong?â
âThe nicknameâŚButterfly. Youâve said it before.â
âThere is still something about you I cannot place, something that feelsâŚancient. It is something that tickled at the back of my mind. Is that why you have the tattoo on your wrist?â
Nodding against his chest, unable to form words, eyes drifting shut, remembering the past times heâs uttered the name. She wasnât sure how much more of this she could take, of losing him, finding him. How many more lifetimes would she put herself through this before she simply gave up and claimed her birthright, heart heavy with the weight of truths. Wouldnât it just be easier to simply let him go? She was tired, so very tired of the crushing pain every time he was ripped away from her.
Fingers found the hollow of jawbone beneath her chin, tilting her head back, seeing cheeks wet, he kissed the tip of her nose. âWhere did you go butterfly?â
Shaking her head, she got up, wrapping silk around her, belt knotted tightly at her waist. âIt matters not. If you want to go somewhere then letâs go. Anywhere. Spain, Italy, France.â She could feel it, the darkness edging around them, letting her know his time was coming. It could be weeks, could be months but however long they had, she didnât want it to be here.
Theyâd been together two weeks, racing across Europe, desperately trying to shove as many memories into this life time as they could. Standing at the edge of the cliff, sun setting on the horizon, the edge of darkness was closing in faster than she wanted, knowing there was nothing she could do. Her father would soon come for him, the details, something she didnât want to know. Be it natural or taken by force, his death would be her undoing and she would bath in blood, letting it soak her skin as she grieved yet another lifetime. Again, she wondered how many lives she could go through, how many times would she mourn before she stopped, finally letting him go.
Feeling the warmth of him against her back, arms winding their way around her waist, a faint smile given despite the crushing weight of what was to come.
âHello lil butterfly. Where is your mind?â
âEverywhere.â Turning within his embrace, a palm resting on his chest. âOberyn perhaps it is time for me to stop. To stop chasing something I shouldnât have. Itâs not fair to you. To constantly have my presence in your life. If I just let go, perhaps your soul could find peace instead of being tormented.â She could feel muscles tense beneath her hand, the way his expression darkened, feeling the shift of power between them. Sheâd been selfish, thinking she could be what she was and have some type of humanity but watching him die, over and over, with the hint of what could be, wasnât fair to him. âFate could give you what I cannot.â
The arm encircling her waist tightened as fingers curled possessively against the small of her back, his free hand came up to cradle her chin, tilting her face up so her gaze could meet his. âDo you think fate holds sway over me, Lilith?â voice low and steady. âDo you really believe that anyone could offer me something greater than you? You speak as if I am the victim but you, giving up, I do believe that would be the cruelest twist of said fate.â Thumb brushed against her jaw as he stepped closer, bodies almost flush, lips curled into a faint smirk. âYouâve told yourself a thousand times, havenât you? That you are unworthy of what we are? You want to speak of everywhere? That is where you are. In my thoughts, dreams, every heartbeat.â
She hesitated for a moment, warmth spreading from her touch. âI love you more than my existence. Itâs why I need to let you go. Human life is so much shorter. You need to live a full life, one where you grow to be a hundred, to have babies, to have all the things that are always taken from you because of me.â
âLilith, none of that matters if it is not with you. Why can you not you understand that? I would rather go through a thousand lifetimes with glimpses of you, than one in which I never feel the way I do right now. I love you more than my soul. I care not how much time I have in any life as long as you are in it.â
As he slept that night, she grew restless, slipping from the bed, trying not to wake him, she opened door of their room and stepped into another that was foreign to her. Shock rooted her to the spot, and when she turned to go back, the doorway was gone. True she walked the land of the dead and the living but ending up someplace elseâŚYea that was new. The room was impossibly quiet, the kind of silence that stole your breath and in front of her was a spinning loom, threads weaving images of lives long gone and those yet to come. An almost ethereal figure sat at the loom, she was neither young nor old, eyes shining with smile.
âCome closer child.â
âI think I am fine where I am thank you.â
âDo you know why you are here? It is because Death thought himself clever but even, he cannot rewrite the destiny of another without consequence.â
âYouâre one of the fates, arenât you? What do you mean by consequence?â
âSuch a clever child.â Hands hovered over the loom, tugging at a golden thread that pulsed, tangled with one that was inky black. âHis soul is tethered to yours, always has been. But your father, severed his memories to spare you the constant pain of loss when in reality, your pain cries out to the old gods when he is taken from you. It was not Deathâs choice to make.â
âI donât understand. Why would he do such a thing? Why take from me what is mine?â
âBecause Oberynâs love for you would bind you to the mortal realm and you have a destiny far greater than being his lover, his wife. You are meant to take your fathers place when the time comes.â
Stepping forward, voice laced with determination. âThat is not my choice nor my path.â
The Fate, shook her head, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. âIt has always been your path my child but we are not without mercy. There is a way to restore all to Oberyn, every life, every love, every moment shared with you but it comes with a price.â
âDoesnât everything?â
âTrue. When Oberyn passes in this lifetime, you will have to be the one to guide him to the afterlife. Then you will take your fatherâs place as Death itself. You will become all that he is. The ferryman, the reaper, the shepherd of souls and you will no longer walk among the living. It is of course your choice to make. Just know that if you choose a different path, the cycle will never be broken. The bond between you both will weaken and eventually his soul will be lost to you forever.â
The weight of Fateâs words carved their way into her heart. âWhat if I just let it all go now, what would come to pass?â
âHis soul would be taken, never to come back into a body. We are offering you this life, children to be born of the union. Children that were taken from you both, many lives ago. Human children that were destined for great things. Hence the knot of threads.â
She thought about every life theyâd had together. How his was always cut so short because of her. How every time he passed, it destroyed a little piece of her. Now? They could have a full life. Together. They could chase every sunrise, exist under the stars and never have the fear of that darkness edging around their lives. Voice steady despite the storm raging inside her at what would come to pass after. "Do it. Give him his memories back. And when the time comes, Iâll take my fatherâs place."
The Fate nodded; her expression inscrutable. "So, mote it be."
She watched in awe as with a wave of her hand, the loom began to turn, the golden thread untangling and rejoining the black strands.
âWhen he awakens, he will remember all. Past and present. The mark on your wrist will fade by morning. That is when you must face Death. Love fierce and free my child.â
As Fate disappeared, the weight of her decision settled over her. The darkness that was edging around them now gone from her sight and on the morrow, they could begin anew.
She was jerked awake by the dream sheâd had. It had to have been a dream, right? In all the years of her existence, sheâd never met any of the Fates, remembering that there were those who believed they were even more powerful than the Gods themselves, at least that is what sheâd been told. Shaking her head, cursing imagination gone wild, she got up, the robe wrapped around her, she stepped out onto the balcony that joined their room, watching oranges blend into blues as the sun rose over the ocean.
The dreams were relentless, like a montage of things from lives that belonged to him but didnât. Chambers were bathed in soft orange light from a dawn so many lives ago, its vividness lingering like the scent of flowers after a storm. Silk sheets were pooled at his waist and he could see her, Lilith, eyes focused on him, her laugh soft but lethal, teasing the edges of his mind. Her touch was warm like the sun, setting his skin on fire when he touched her, always yearning for her. But the dreams werenât what unnerved him the most, it was the memories that flooded him of them. He had been a Prince, sheâd been nothing. Sheâd been a scholar, heâd been passing through the land, seeking shelter. Heâd been a bloodied warrior; sheâd been his bride. In every life, sheâd found him, memories now cascading over him like an unrelenting tide but each one ended the same. Pain, loss, the ache of separation. Over and over, their fates intertwined, his memories, long buried under layers of mortal existence, came rushing back. Waking with a sharp inhale of breath, heart pounding like war drums echoing in his chest, he looked to the empty space next to him, panic causing him to scramble from bed, her name called out. âLilith?â
Stepping back into the room, seeing him standing there, brows knitted together in fear. âIâm here,â she said quietly, voice a gentle balm against his panic. Walking towards him, she palmed his cheek, eyes searching his. âWhatâs wrong?â
âI remember.â
âWhat?â
âI remember. All of it. Spain. That was the last time before now. Every life, you find me. Every life you lose me. How could you endure it?â Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close. âButterfly, I do not understand but I remember everything.â
Voice barely a whisper, knees almost giving out at the shock. âIt was real. All of it. I thought it a dream.â
âWhat dream?â
Stepping out of his embrace, she sat on the edge of the bed and told him about the Fates, the loom, the yellow and black threads, the tangled mess they had weaved. How The Allotter had been angry for her father defying them, making his own destiny for her, that they would grant them mercy and allow him to remember. However, she left out the choice sheâd made, that when this life was over, she would become what she was meant to be and he would, again, never remember her. Sheâd decided in that moment, to never let him know, that it would be her secret to keep. She watched as he came to his knees in front of her, arms wrapping around her waist. She didnât realize she was shaking with the implications of what had actually happened. Heart pounding behind bone. Doubt, like vines, creeped through ribs, threatening to strangle. âTell me something you remember.â
âA palace. A night beneath the stars. You told me stories of other lives before that one. A knight. A traveler. I was a Prince; you said you were nothing. Egypt. Italy. Spain. I remember all.â He held her close as he stood, nose rubbing against the skin below her ear, feeling the erratic pulse against her throat. âDo not question the how or the why, Butterfly. Just exist in this moment with me.â Lips dragged along the column of her throat, before teeth nipped at her earlobe. âI love you.â
The glow of the infinity tattoo had drawn Death himself to their moment of clarity, and as Oberyn and Lilith stood entwined, the air grew cold, shadows creeping around them until the room was plunged into darkness, words whispered against his lips before she turned, hand holding his. âDo not let go, no matter what.â
A figure emerged from the voidâtall, imposing, and cloaked in an aura of eternal stillness.
Deathâs presence was undeniable, commanding reverence and fear, yet she held her ground.
âFather,â she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her heart.
Deathâs hollow eyes, void of emotion, turned to her. âYouâve defied me, Lilith.â His voice was like the rustling of ancient leaves, cold and unrelenting. âYouâve chosen to squander your destiny for a fleeting mortal love.â
Stepping forward, shielding Oberyn as if her defiance could protect them both. âItâs not fleeting, Father. You know this. Have known this. For hundreds of years. Oberyn was my destiny. You kept it from me.â
âBecause you were meant for greater things,â Death replied, his tone sharp. âThe daughter of Death is not meant to linger in humanityâs frailty. You are power, Lilith, eternal and untouchable. Yet you throw it away for him.â He cast an icy glance at Oberyn, who stood firm, unbowed, his gaze boring into Oberyn, as though weighing the mortalâs soul. âHe cannot fathom it. I could unmake him with a thought.â
âThe Fates will not allow it and you know this. How many children, human children were lost to us? Human children, Father. The Allotter told me everything. They were destined for great things but you took them from me. From us. You had no right.â
For a long moment, Death said nothing. The silence oppressive, heavy with the weight of millennia. Finally, he took his childâs hand. âYou disappoint me,â he said quietly, though the words cut deeper than any shout. âYouâve chosen humanity, knowing it will strip you of what you are. You will age, weaken, and die, like all mortals. And yet, you stand here, unrepentant.â
Lifting her chin, tears brimming in her eyes, holding tight to both hands. One tethering her to her past, the other anchoring to her future. Â âI choose this because he is the other half of my soul. The soul you gifted to me when you created me. You made me what I am, someone who could walk both worlds. It is my choice.â
Deathâs form seemed to flicker, the edges of his presence blurring. For the first time, a glimmer of something softer passed through his eternal visageâregret, perhaps, or sorrow.
âSo be it,â he said, his voice carrying the weight of finality. âFrom this day forward, you are no longer my daughter. You are mortal, bound to the same laws of time and death as the man youâve chosen.â
The tattoo dimmed completely, fading into her skin until it was no more. She felt the shift instantlyâher powers, the divine connection sheâd always known, slipped away like sand through her fingers. âI will see you again, Father,â she said softly, watching as he simply vanished, leaving them alone, the heat of the rising sun bringing warmth and light back to the room. Turning to Oberyn, a now mortal heart racing in her chest, head tilted slightly, waiting for something, judgement perhaps, fear but his features showed none of it. Instead, he cupped her face, his lips pressing against her forehead. Eyes closed as she let out a shuddering breath before pressing herself to him, needing to feel, to have him close, wanting to climb into his skin and curl up beneath his heart, knowing they would only have this one last lifetime together. âI love you.â
âAnd I you Butterfly.â
Turning her, pressing his front to her back, lips finding the muscle of her shoulder, he pushed her forward, until she fell onto the bed, positioning himself on top of her. Fingers finding their way to her clit, gently pressing against it, already feeling her wetness, while a hand slipped around her throat, grip firm but not constricting, feeling her press against the raging hard on he had. âSo beautiful.â
His weight was like the sun, warmth sinking into her skin, settling deep in the marrow of her bones. She could feel the orgasm already building, feeling his hardness against her folds, sent shivers down her spine, causing her to arc her back slightly, a silent plea for him to continue. His hand around her throat only added to the intensity of the moment, a gentle reminder that she was surrendering control to him. His movements were slow, deliberate, fingers teasing every ounce of pleasure from her, soft moans muffled by the pillow, his grip tightened slightly. She could feel herself getting closer and closer and when the orgasm ripped through her, he buried himself within her, cock twitching as she clenched around him.
âBeautiful butterfly, coming apart underneath me.â God she was so tight, her slick soaking the sheets as she rode out her orgasm around her. It took every ounce of strength he had to not come, as he kissed along her shoulder, feeling how supple she was, he pulled out just until the head of him was inside before he drove his hips forward. He could feel deep connection he had with her. This wasnât just about the physical act, it was how trusting she was of him, of how she laid her self vulnerable to him. How her soul had claimed his. Movements became harder, faster, needing to feel her again, an edge of desperation seeping from him.
His name came from slightly parted lips as she came again, feeling the flutter of her walls as he drove into one more time before she felt the pulsing of his cock as he came, his heart pounding against her back, teeth finding her shoulder, the pressure of the hand around her throat, instantly slack, holding her to him. Despite the choice she made, knowing that when this life was over, sheâd have to let him go, she knew she was exactly where she wanted to be-under him, surrounded by his strength, his love and his passion.
Rolling to his side, taking her with him, bodies still connected, tongue soothed the spot where he bit her, feeling the indentations of teeth marks. âForgive me. Tis a sin to mare such beauty.â He groaned when she moved, feeling himself, somehow still semi-hard, leave the warmth of her body. Her lips were at the base of his throat, kissing and suckling at sweaty skin. âMarry me, Butterfly. Then we will go anywhere you choose. Just tell me where, where would you like to go?â
Slightly pulling back, head tilted up, eyes finding his. âEverywhere.â