novaawayne

[novaawayne]

THUNDERBOLTS*, 2025 | Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes

[novaawayne]

Why is there no fanfiction for Joaquin???

[novaawayne]

Anyone else feel like their mutuals are way out of their league? Like they follow you back and you’re just like

[novaawayne]

Agape

Pairing: Lucius x Reader

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

Part 2 of 2 (Masterlist)

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

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

Word Count: 16.4k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How you hated crying; and crying and crying.

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

“You would be dead if they did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You furrowed your brow. “What?”

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

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

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

“So, you want to share a room?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Where exactly do you intend to work?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucius fell asleep the second he laid on the hay.

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

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

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

You stopped asking.

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

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

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

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

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

Hebrew.

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

One of the men began to yell, and you rushed over, speaking to the patriarch of the family.

“What’s going on?” You asked quickly.

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

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

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

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

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

When you moved a few, it read ‘3’.

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

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

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

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

He rose his brows. “Is that a fact?”

“Yes, yes it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you not well?” Isidorus questioned.

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

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

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

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

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

“What has your luck been?”

“Nothing.”

Isidorus hummed. “I could change that.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything to help a woman of the people.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucius nodded. “I’ll accompany you.”

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

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

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

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

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

Lucius stood there the whole hour you had proved yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Away with you, woman.”

You only laughed as the sun was starting to set.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was too fast for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“-Then he’ll be happy to see you.”

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

His said nothing.

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

“-Your shoulder cannot carry-.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither of you spoke to the other for days after that.

It was one morning, not even when the sun was out, as you tried to tiptoe around him, did he ask from his makeshift bed.

“Do you remember where the house is?”

You nearly fell off the ledge of the hayloft. “What is wrong with you?!”

“Do you remember?”

“Yes!” you whispered, afraid to wake the whole farm. “Why?”

“We made the water pump, and the walls and floors are finished. We’ll be able to sleep there now.”

“I don’t see the appeal in sleeping in a house with no roof.”

“I’ll put half of it on today. Tell your foreman too that you won’t be able to work for the next week.”

You furrowed your brow. “Why?”

“I’m teaching you how to tend to a farm.” He wrapped his blankets tighter around him and turned his back to you.

And you continued on your way; making the long trek to the city, which would only be longer when you moved to the house.

When your work was over, you walked and walked. You took a short break at the farmer’s house, making your final goodbyes to the children, and gathering what little belongings you owned.

As you tried to leave, Diana stopped you. She was leading one of the horses, a berber, behind her.

“Take her,” she handed you the reins. “you shouldn’t have to walk so far.”

You shook your head. “I simply cannot-.”

“-I insist.” She smiled. “She’s yours now. Think of it as payment for helping me with the little beasts that are my children.”

Smiling politely, it soon faded. She took notice. “What is it?”

“…I’ve only ever ridden once, and I was a child.”

She sighed yet was still kind. “Come on, my husband’s horse is at your farm. I’ll ride back with him.”

Despite your inexperience, it was actually nice riding a horse. It was perhaps the closest you could ever come to flying in your lifetime; maybe that’s why you enjoyed it. As you were nearing your soon-to-be home, you saw a familiar silhouette along with some others.

Atop the house, against the setting sun, you watched as Lucius continued to add tiles to the unfinished roof. His shirt was off, and even with night beginning to set in with the cold air, he was still breaking a sweat from the rigorous work. You would be a liar if you say that you didn’t catch yourself staring, and it was Diana who had to take the reins.

“What a fine home!” She broke you out of your trance, and when Lucius looked in your direction, you snapped your gaze away.

Lucius nodded. “All that needs to be done is the roof.” He jumped onto the ground just as you were sliding off the horse. He gave you his hand as you were, and you took it.

“Thank you.”

Atticus and the other workers went to a lone tree where their horses were tied. Atticus then approached both you and Lucius.

“Well,” he smiled. “it was lovely hosting the both of you. Please come back as often as you can; I’m sure the children will miss you.”

You all exchanged your final goodbyes, and it when everyone rode off away from you, did you realize something. This was the first time in a while you were alone with Lucius that wasn’t when going to sleep or waking up.

“Do you have a name for the horse?” Lucius asked.

Turning over your shoulder, you led the steed to the tree, petting her as you began to tie her up. “Not at the moment. She’s yours too, do you have any?”

“You’ll be with her more; you should name her.”

Humming you looked at him when you finished securing the horse. “You asked them to give her to me, didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “They asked how they could repay you for taking care of their children, I mentioned how it would be a longer journey to the city once we moved here. That’s all I did.”

…He was better at asking for forgiveness than for permission; that was another thing you learned about him. Still, you nodded your appreciation, inspecting the area around you. It was quite beautiful even with its plainness. The fields stretched on for miles, and there were no tall buildings to cover the night sky. Even the unfinished house brought a sense of happiness to you.

Something that was, at least partially, your own.

“Where will the barn and chicken coop go?” You questioned.

A hint of a smile played on his mouth, but in Lucius fashion, did his best to hide it. “You were complaining about not having a roof, and now you wonder about things for the animals?”

“Perhaps I’m more interested in farming that you are.”

“I’ll teach you.” he led you into the house. “Come on.”

 The front living space was large, and in the corner of it had an oven, so that was where the kitchen would be. Lucius showed you the two rooms as well; each having a single pillow and a blanket.

“We’ll begin planting tomorrow.” he announced. “I don’t think I’ll have to wake you up.”

“You won’t.” You nodded. “Goodnight, Lucius.”

“Goodnight.” He said your name.

You didn’t think you’d ever get over the sound of your own name from his lips.

You named the horse after your mother. Well…not the exact same name, but a similar one. It was quite a scene too when confessing to Lucius you could exactly remember how to ride a horse by yourself.

He didn’t laugh at you, that was what greatly surprised you. He spent an hour teaching you, and you were able to ride her on your own.

Farming was more difficult than you thought it would be, but not so horrible either. Yes, where Lucius was patient with you for the first few days, he made a few snide comments as time passed. Nothing outright mean, but still enough to get under your skin.

Still, you managed to pick it up within the few weeks after that.

He had even let you help him finish the roof of the house; something you didn’t expect him to do. After living in the house for a month, both of you managed to buy actual beds for your rooms, among other luxuries like a few tables and chairs for the main living area, and utensils both for cooking and for eating.

The bathroom was completely bare. Having spent all the money on everything else, it would take time for the both of you to buy a bathtub. Bathing wasn’t a problem back on Atticus and Diana’s farm, but now being away from them, you would be forced to rely on the public baths in the city…

Even with some bathhouses having baths only for women, that did not stop men from forcing their way into them.

You didn’t mind being dirty for weeks on end.

The two of you fell into another pattern of life; you going into the city and spending hours translating foreign dialogue, and Lucius working on the farm for most days, sometimes accompanying you.

There was…something else strange as well.

It was always a coin toss on what weeks Lucius would speak to you or not.

Yes, he was always a man of few words, but this was different. There were some days when you asked him about his day, he would tell you what boring tasks he did. Than, on others, it was just one word: “Good.”

Never “Bad”, never “Just okay”; only “Good”. Even when you knew it wasn’t, that’s all he would say.

And you could endure it.

It had already been a little over half a year since the two of you started living together. In the eyes of Rome (as mere Plebians), you would be married once a year passed.

This was perhaps the best marriage you could as for as a Roman woman. Still…every day that Lucius would not speak to you only brought more dread upon your shoulders.

When he stopped even looking at you, that was when you went to Diana one day.

“It’s so lovely to see you.” She smiled, setting down two cups of wine and sitting. “It’s felt like ages!”

With her youngest baby on your lap, you chuckled, taking a sip of your drink. “You honestly didn’t need to get the wine out.”

“Nonsense!” She waved her hand. “It’s a celebration just to be in your presence. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you as well.”

“How’s the farm? Lucius?”

“Well,” you took another sip, setting your cup down. “the farm has been alright. I know at least how to properly water crops and know when they’re ready to harvest or not. I help Lucius sometimes, but…he likes things his own way. He was a farmer too, I understand.”

She hummed. “And as a betrothed? I hope having your own home would help; to me, you two treated each other more like acquaintances than anything else.”

All you could do was avoid eye contact and bounce the giggling baby on your knee.

“Ah.” She sighed. “So not much has changed?”

“We both talk more than we had at your far, but somehow, less at the same time.” You explained.

Diana reached over and held your hand, asking softly. “When was the last time you were intimate?”

As if she were a man, you tore your hand from hers. “What?”

“I do not wish anything to be forced upon you,” she stated first. “especially with what has happened to you. But…it is still important, especially to your future marriage.”

“We…we haven’t done anything in…months.” You were not going to tell her you hadn’t even seen him naked. You were not going to tell her you hadn’t done you “duty” as a woman.

She nodded. “There must be something plaguing his mind terribly.”

“I know that!” You cried. “He just won’t tell me.”

“Men do not like talking,” Diana sighed. “I have been married to Atticus for fifteen years, and even after ten children, there are parts of his past I still do not know of. What Lucius frets over is important though. You must dig your heels into the ground and let him know you are not doing anything until he tells you what he has issue with.”

The baby on your lap cooed as you held her, reaching for parts of your clothing. Diana took her from you once the baby started fussing, and you offered her a grateful smile.

“I’ll try my best with him.”

She squeezed your shoulder. “He will come to his senses. If not, then he truly hit his head too hard in the Colosseum.”

Except, you couldn’t confront him when you got home. Even though the sun was only beginning to set, when you arrived, the house was silent. You peeked into his bedroom and saw that he was already fast asleep.

With a sigh, you finished your nightly activities, and when the sun went down, you were in your own bed.

The nightmare was unlike any you had before.

Hands from all around you reached out to you. Some grabbed clumps of your hair, stuck their fingers into your mouth, caressed the most intimate parts of your body, or even tear your skin off.

You blinked and then you were in the palace, surrounded by cloaked figures. Someone forced you onto your back, and you looked up and saw Geta, raising a knife high above his head before diving it into your stomach. He carved it out before digging his hands into the opening he made and pulled out your womb.

After sitting up in bed, you had thought you awoken. When you opened your bedroom door, you were welcomed to a field of reeds, seeing nothing for miles. All but a silhouette in the distance. You could not make out it to be a man or a woman; all you knew was that you needed to run to them.

Yet, even as you dashed through the fields, calling out a name you do not even remember, your feet sank into the ground with each step.

The earth swallowed you whole before you could even reach them.

You didn’t awake with a scream; you didn’t even awake with a cry. You did awake in a sweat. Sitting up, you slowly pulled the blanket away from your body. Your stomach was unwounded, and nothing had happened.

Without knowing why, you rose from your bed and slipped on your sandals. Not even putting on a robe, you walked out of the house into the cold, night air. Numbly, you treaded through the tall grass away from the house and stopped.

The stars above you watched as you fell to your knees, and the past finally had the last laugh.

You wept for your mother (whose touch you never felt).

You wept for your father (who you had to take care of the same way he took care of you).

You wept for Marcus (the first man outside of your father to ever see you as a person).

You wept for Lucilla (the woman who saved you in more ways than one).

You wept for the innocence you lost to the twin emperors (and how you mercilessly killed them).

You wept and wept, until you felt bile claw its way up your throat and out of your mouth.

The tears did not stop even after you were finished.

Two hands grabbed your shoulders from behind, and you tried to tear yourself away with a sharp cry. You were turned around, and even though your tears blinded you, you could see that it was Lucius.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his eyes grown.

You couldn’t speak clearly, only shaking your head and saying ‘No’ over and over. Lucius led you to the water pump and sat you down by it. Cranking the handle until the water flowed freely, he cupped his hand to catch some of it before gently washing your face.

The cool water grounded you, and your sobs began to slow. Once you were only left with shallow breathing and a stuffed nose, Lucius finally sat beside you.

“What happened?” He asked again, although, returning to his normal, straight-toned self.

“Bad dream.” Was all you said.

He said nothing at first. Then, looking down at the grass beneath him, he said. “Would talking about it help you?”

It was meant to be a helpful question, but it only angered you. “You ask that now? After I run out into the night screaming?”

Lucius squinted his eyes. “Why does that bother you?”

“I know you have nightmares too.” You scoffed. “I have asked you dozens of times if you wish to talk to me about them, and you have always said no. You’ve never once asked me about mine, so how dare you expect me to tell you about it now when you cannot even share yours with me!”

“That’s not fair.” He shook his head.

You stood up, walking back to the house. “You’re right, it isn’t fair.”

He jumped to his feet. “You can’t walk away without telling me why this is troubling you.”

“You first.”

“What?”

You turned to face him. “We are to be married in less than a year, at least ‘In the eyes of Rome’ as you say, yet you do not even look at me anymore!”

His shoulders fell, and he shook his head. “I am looking at you-.”

“-I ask you how you are these days, and you lie to me every time.” You interrupted. “The few instances you allow me to work beside you, you criticize every little thing I do. I understand that I am the farthest thing you wanted for as a wife-.”

 It was that word that struck a chord. Despite saying it every so often those past few months…it was only then it occurred to you that where Lucius was your first husband…you were not his first wife.

He tore his gaze away from yours, as if he knew you had figured it out. You sighed. “Gods above…I’m sorry for what has happened to her, and I will never know the loss of a love like that…but I cannot be viewed as her replacement-.”

“-Who told you that you were?” He sharpened his tone.

You swallowed, knowing that this would all end in tears no matter what you said. “You do not tell me anything. I will never ask you to care for me the way you cared for her, but she is gone-.”

“-I couldn’t do anything after she died but weep and watch her body float into the ocean.” He hissed. “I vowed to kill the man that slaughtered her, and I didn’t. It had been perhaps just a month since her death, did I promise myself to another woman. I have dishonored her memory three times.”

“I do not know how long you need me to apologize for something I could not control, but I will if that means you will stop hating me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“You hate that I will be your wife!” Your voice was growing hoarse. “I don’t understand it at all. I will be whatever it is you wish me to be in few months’ time, because you will own me. Even if you wish me to be dead, it shall be done because what I want will not matter-.”

“-Must you make everything about yourself?!” He finally yelled. “Would it soothe you if I said I despised every part of you? That if Jupiter himself came down and offered me my old life in exchange for you, I would give you up to him?! Would it give you any peace of mind if I told you I would have rather died in the arena than live a thousand years with you?”

You had expected him to at least pause after he made his confession. To at least have the courage to look you in the eye and watch as the words sunk into your being. Yet, as soon as he finished, he stomped back to the house; and you were alone outside again.

The tears upon your face glimmered from the light in the sky above you, for all you could do was stare at the little farmhouse Lucius had built for you.

How strange that something you once saw as a sign of devotion, was now revealed to be one of complicity.

He had admitted his disdain for your future marriage. You knew that it would be loveless (you would never escape that), but you wished at least for respect. Seeing as how you were not even going to have that, you dragged your feet over to the tree where your horse was tied up.  Mounting her with nothing but the clothes on your back, you raced down the pathway.

For the first day, you had stayed at Diana and Atticus’ farm. You said nothing about Lucius, and tried to spend the most time with the children to avoid any questions.

On the second day, you finally went back to the city. Even though the man in charge of you yelled louder than Lucius had at you, it did not phase you. You merely nodded and returned to work. With what money they paid you for the day, you spent it on a room at the safest inn you could find. You had another nightmare that night. Not as horrible as the one two days prior, but awful enough for you to lay awake until the sun rose.

The third day seemed to be ordinary, until you finished your job, and you were promenading along the market. As you eyed the fruit at Isidorus’ stand, a man came to stand beside you.

“Good sir,” you heard Lucius’ voice. “do you have a wife?”

Isidorus nodded. “I do.”

“What from your stand would you give her if she was angry at you?”

He eyed you before smiling at Lucius. “My ears to listen.”

You turned, promptly walking away. Of course, Lucius followed.

“I didn’t know you confided into strangers about our qualms.”

“He’s not a stranger.” you kept trying to lose him. “And gifts will not suffice for an apology this time.”

He got in front of you, uttering your name. You stopped, sighing. “What else have you come to say to me?”

“That I am a fool.”

Although you weren’t necessarily expecting him to admit it, you only nodded. “You very much are.”

He began. “For my entire life, I was not allowed to be entirely truthful with others. Whether it was how I felt in the moment, or even my own name. I’m not used to the freedom of being candid with one another. And I have been mistreating you; I have provided a home, but I haven’t provided your wellbeing. Ari-.” Lucius paused, breathing through his nose. “Arishat and I lived on a farm, that was all I knew while being a husband. I will love her until the end of my days, but that does not give me the right to neglect you. I will…I will try with all my being to share my thoughts with you.”

You stared at him, feeling as if you would blink, and you would awaken from another dream. Yet once you did and saw that he was still in front of you, you said.

“I didn’t mean to insult your memory of her.”

He shook his head. “I believe she would hit me if she were here and saw how I treated you.”

“Thank you.” You nodded. “Truly, for everything. I…it’s not only you, I don’t know if I will ever feel like myself after…everything.”

Lucius already knew. Still, looking around himself, he then said. “Where is your horse?”

“The inn I’ve been staying at has a stable. You walked the whole way here?”

“It’s what I deserved.”

“You smell horrible.” You mustered a shy grin.

He mirrored you, looking away. “I have for a while.”

“I do as well. I was…I was going to brave the baths; would you like to join me?”

Your offer took him by surprise. Usually, a question like that would be an invitation to more salacious activities to take place. Still, what took him aback more was how you were initially so afraid of the public baths, yet there you were.

“I shall.” He agreed.

Thus, the two of you walked beside one another. There were many baths in Rome, yet it would be challenging to find one that had a separate bath for women and one for men. By the time you reached the third bathhouse, you sighed.

“This will do.”

Lucius shook his head. “I’ll ask the workers at this one if they know-.”

“-No.” You stopped him. “It’s fine. I wish to speak more with you.”

He was still hesitant, but gave in. The two of you entered and drifted off to the separate changing rooms. It was strange that the bathhouse had rooms for the different sex to disrobe, but not baths itself.

After locking your clothes away, you ventured out into the main pool. You were welcomed to an array of naked bodies. You weren’t entirely innocent of course, even before everything. You were never to see any of these people again; it was Lucius you would live with.

Quickly, you disappeared half of your body under the surface of the water and clung to the wall of the large bath. Other people around you laughed and socialized, only putting you more in the eyes of men who only came to the baths for one thing.

Yet, before you could take a moment to worry, your eyes fell to Lucius who entered. You soon averted them and felt the water shift beside you as he entered. You turned to look at him, leveling yourself with the side of the pool, essentially shoulder to shoulder with him. The hear radiating off of his body onto yours reminded you too much of that night months ago; the one where you whispered your name into his ear.

“What were you like as a boy?” You questioned in an attempt to hide how flustered you were.

He hummed. “Why do you ask?”

“If you wish to be more honest with me, than I think it should be best to stary with something minor.”

“I understand. I was spoiled growing up in the palace. Still, I wished nothing more than for adventure. All my life, the mere thought of war and battles were taught as a way to bring glory to the empire; pride for one’s family. I had gotten my foolish wish when Maximus died, and my mother sent me away from Rome.” He paused momentarily, before continuing. “I ran all across the land until I was thirteen, where I finally settled in Numidia. I had changed my named too many times to count and settled upon Hanno.”

Your attention did not waver for a moment. When he was finished you asked. “How old were you when you left?”

“Eight…” There was a sad silence between the two of you. A silence held in almost reverence for all the troubles he had been through. “What about you?”

Even with your uneasiness to answer your starkly different childhood, you did so; also have been promising to be honest with him. You spoke of your father, your past friends, the house you grew up in. He never once looked upon you with envy or hatred.

“Your father sounded like a good man.” He said.

“He was.” You nodded, feeling a weight settle in your chest. "I think he would have liked you.”

“I can only hope.”

The conversation halted after that, unknown if you should wait for him to ask a question, or for you to ask another. Both of your eyes drifted around the bath house as people filtered in and out. When your gaze fell back onto Lucius’ you watched his eyes flicker to something behind you. Before you could utter a word, he placed his hand upon your bare back, bringing his lips to the space between your ear and your jaw.

It all happened so fast you had no time to react, and your body shivered upon the feel of him being so close to you.

“There’s a man eyeing you from behind.” He whispered into your skin. “Don’t look at him, just keep looking at me. I’m sorry.”

You pulled away slightly, doing as he told. He traced circles on your back with his thumb, staring intently at you. Even as you shrunk under his eyes, they did not frighten you.

Deciding to play along, you trailed your hand up his bare arm until resting on his shoulder. You felt his skin erupt into goosebumps and he took a sharp intake of breath.

“Okay?” You asked.

He nodded. “Yes, it’s just…it’s been a while.”

Anyone with any sense knew that meant more than one thing. It had been a while since he felt anyone’s touch; nonetheless, a naked woman’s.

From behind him, you saw a small group of girls all looking at you. They all looked a little younger than you, and acted like so, giggling loudly and talking without a care in the world. It was only then that you noticed they were looking at Lucius.

“Is there someone eyeing me now?” He attempted to tease you when he noticed your gaze.

You nodded, no hint of humor behind your voice. “A good few of them.”

“Is that so?”

You removed your hand. “I wouldn’t mind, you know.”

“Wouldn’t mind what?” He pinched his eyebrows together.

“…Getting your release from a woman that isn’t me.” You were puzzled by his seeming ignorance. “You’re a man, I understand-.”

He said your name with somewhat of gasp. You didn’t listen one bit.

“No, I mean it. I will not be more selfish than I already have been, expecting you to remain celibate because I don’t think I will-.”

Lucius said your name again and you stopped. Even when you did, he said it a third time as if to know he had your attention. He continued to run his fingers up and down your back.

“I will not dishonor you-.”

“-I have been dishonored several times before, it does not matter-.”

“-Listen to me.” He said softly yet firmly. “Even if I desired someone carnally, it is not selfish of you to want my loyalty. I’m not a boy who wishes to bed anything that breathes. I don’t think I can do so with someone I do not have any deep feelings for. You are my wife, and I will not treat you less.”

He didn’t call you his ‘betrothed’. As if, the moment you accepted his apology, you were already his other half. To hear him speak with so much certainty after neither of you knowing what any day would bring…it brought an astonishing comfort you never knew you needed.

“Thank you.” You felt like your heart could beat again.

“You don’t-.”

“-No but I do. I don’t…I don’t think I could give you anything of myself if you wanted it. It’s still…I remember a lot of what Geta did to me, and I forgot it at the same time. It doesn’t happen a lot in my nightmares, but it still does. That one night you found me he…he cut out my womb and held it in his hands. I thought I woke up, but I didn’t, and I think I was in Elysian Fields, but I only saw a shadow. I don’t know what any of that means.”

Lucius let you finish all of the anxiety you had thrown onto him. Still, releasing a shallow breath, he said.

“You die in most of my dreams.” He clarified. “The bad ones, I mean. A lot of people do, but you’ve been in them the most. There are times I see both you and Arishat, or my mother, or all three of you and…those are the worst. The night I found you outside, I couldn’t…I had a horrible dream that I couldn’t even see your face, but I knew it was you when I found you hanging in the Colosseum.”

If the both of you weren’t naked and, in the bathhouse, you would have embraced him. Yet, with the most understanding look in your eyes, you brought your hand to the base of his neck, his loose curls between your fingers. You swore you felt him relax into your touch for just a moment.

“I’ve known everyone to have their own beliefs of dreams.” You whispered. “They’re meant to predict the future, they reflect the past, they are punishments, they are blessings, and they mean nothing. I wonder if it’s possible they are all of them.”

He nodded. “I don’t know what I believe in anymore.”

“I do.” Lucius unknowingly leaned into you just ever so slightly. You grinned from ear to ear, pulling your hand away from him. “I believe you need to cut your hair.”

He chortled. “I’m not spending anything on cutting it. It’s fine.”

“I’ll cut it then.”

“I would rather be stabbed.”

“Oh, quit being dramatic.” you playfully swatted him. “There’s a reason I would’ve been a better hairdresser than tailor.”

The two of you teased one another for a minute longer after that. Than, even though the conversation died, it was not in vain. There was a quiet gentleness and protectiveness as you both shared a short distance between each other while bathing. Lucius kept his eye on you more than you did him, knowing that it was always possible a man could try to take advantage of you.

When all was said and done, you got your horse from the stable at the inn, and the two of you rode back to the farm with a newfound understanding of each other.

More than a year and a half have passed since the fall of the Roman Empire and its subsequent birth of the Republic. Your strange marriage with Lucius grew into a friendship of respect and understanding. You both talked more than you had when you were first betrothed, even if your busy schedules remained the same.

The farm had improved after its first harvest, even raising enough money to build a chicken coop and house a few chickens. The house itself was more furnished, and the two of you managed to purchase a bathtub, no longer needing to use the public ones in the city.

Both of you had changed as well. Even with what minimal farm work you did, it built both your strength and stamina. Lucius had begun to grow out his facial hair; not much for it to be an actual beard, but more so just under his nose. You’d joke about it looking like a caterpillar, to which he would lightly shove you away.

After the intimate discussion the two of you shared, it was only then you both realized you still didn’t know much about each other. Most importantly, the little things that made each of you a person.

So, you’d take time to get to know one another.

You were helping Lucius pull weeds around the crops when you found out he had ripped a monkey’s throat out with his teeth during his very first gladiator fight.

You were reading a collection of poetry one night when Lucius told you that you mouth the words of whatever you’re reading if you find it most interesting.

During supper one night, Lucius ate the entirety of the plate only to then eat whatever else you hadn’t. That was when your theory was proven right; he does forget to eat sometimes.

Both of you had tried to keep the housework to an equal amount; if he cooked one night, you’d clean the kitchen and vice versa. Yet, some remained stagnant; you always cut his hair, yet he always changed the horses’ shoes.

Cutting his hair was perhaps your favorite way to speak with him.

“Remember to clean your sandals before coming in next time.” He reminded you as he sat on a tree trunk outside. “You tracked in mud.”

Standing behind him while trimming small hairs, you shook your head. “My apologies, master of the house; it was downpouring and I was freezing.”

“Serves you right, I’d say.”

You placed the tip of the shears against his neck. “What else do you have to say?”

He snickered. “That you’re an astonishing woman who I am blessed to have.”

“Wrong answer, all lies.” You pretended to stab him, only to bring the shears back to his hair.

“I’m not lying!” Lucius laughed.

You only gave him a ‘tsk’ before continuing. “Are you sleeping any better?”

He said nothing at first. Your eyes drifted down to his hands and saw him pull on his tunic; another telltale sign of his nervousness.

“I keep seeing my mother’s face.” He admitted. “Only her face, nothing else.”

“It was the third night last night, right?”

“Yes.”

You sighed. “Would you want to hear a dream I had a few days ago to make you feel better?”

“Better because it was happy, or because you think I’ll feel happy I wasn’t you?”

“The latter.”

“Tell me.”

You turned his head to the side gently, continuing your work. “I stood in front of the entire senate of Rome, and they were all laughing at me. I don’t even know what I said, they only laughed and laughed.”

“Is that not what happened to you in the waking day?”

“No, they listened…I think.” You shook our head. “It more so angers me that, in the waking life, I presented logic to them, and they still chose Macrinus who showed nothing of the sort.”

“Some men like to speak of only desiring logic yet run away with their emotions once it is presented.” Lucius stated. “What had you told them?”

“That all of Rome would continue to riot if they killed Lucilla.” You said grimly. “I still don’t understand; they had their proof of the rage Rome’s children could feel when their general was killed, the only reason the city did not fall was because Macrinus was slain. I’m done.”

You set your shears down and Lucius stood, shaking the fallen hair off his clothes. He turned to you.

“If it matters at all, I think the only reason this house hasn’t fallen is because of you.”

Grinning from ear to ear, you shoved him playfully. “Away with you, you’re just as much of the reason as I am.”

“I do all that I can.”

There were moments like this where you would not speak of childhood memories or events of your day. These moments were reserved for the days where it felt like time slowed down just to give you two the grace to speak about them in more detail.

With only a single candle between the two of you one quiet night, you told him how you have to walk a different path in the city sometimes simply to avoid brothels; hating the sounds you would hear from inside, the stench of cheap perfume and sweating bodies burning your nose, the men who would brag to their friends about the women they had.

At breakfast one day, before the sun had even rose, Lucius told you about a time when he was ten, still on the run. He had gone into a man’s house with the promise of food, only to then be hit the head with something so heavy, he was knocked out. He had awoken in a dark room, but managed to find a curtained window, and escaped. He never knew what would have happened to him if he had woken up just a minute later.

There was tenderness you shared with him that you had never shared with anyone in your life.You sht

That was only more apparent on one fateful day.

The first bad omen for the day that morning was when you had run out of sugar for breakfast that morning. The second was when your horse was extra stubborn as you rode her into the city; it was so out of the ordinary, you wondered if you did something to make her hate you.

Still, everything was fine once you went to work. At least it was for the first half of the day.

There were aggressive people from across the land coming into the city you certainly had to deal with, but the worst was when a man twice your size bluffed you with a slap. Even so, the other men you worked with had yelled and sent her away.

That day though…there was a woman with a look in her eyes.

You thought you had seen pure rage when you had been with Geta. Yet, that day was a lesson to you; wrath had many faces.

She mumbled in Greek, but you did not know what she said at first. Then, she attempted to speak Latin. You politely told her you could speak Greek, and so with exhaustion, she told you that she was going to visit her mother.

When asked for her mother’s name, she didn’t say it. After asking again, she became enraged, yelling at you that she should just be able to be let in. When you resisted, she grabbed your bad arm, yanking it to pull you closer to her.

The pain shot through your shoulder like a bolt of lightning, and you cried out. She tugged on your hair as the men beside you tried to pry her away from you. Luckily, she didn’t manage to yank any of it out once the men forced her away from you. Tears fell freely over your face as you cradled yourself, unable to stop the sobs from leaving your lips.

They let you leave early yet paid you as if you were there the whole day.

The ride back to the farm wasn’t any better, but at least your steed took notice of your heartache and was more merciful to you. When you made it home, you slowed her down when you saw Lucius limping towards the house.

You both stopped where you were, staring at one another as if you weren’t supposed to be seeing the other.

“Why are you back so early?” He asked first.

“Why are you dragging your foot?” You asked second.

Lucius took a deep breath, and you saw tears in his eyes. “I fell.”

The only time you had seen him cry was when burying Lucilla; it wouldn’t be from simply falling. You slowly pulled yourself off your horse but did so quick enough before he could rush to help you. You wished nothing more than to pull him into the warmth of the house, to sit him down and tend to his wound to distract you from your own.

Yet, the moment you took his hand, he began to weep.

“Oh Lucius.” You whispered, bringing your hand up to cradle his face. He wrapped both of his arms around you, bringing you onto the ground with him. You yelped a little when he squeezed your bad shoulder too tight, and he pulled away.

“What happened?” He asked.

You shook your head. “You need-.”

“-What happened?!”

Knowing he wouldn’t stop asking, you told him. “Someone at the gate attacked me. Pulled on my bad arm, my hair…it wasn’t as bad as you’d think-.”

“-Where is he?” He lowered his tone and his demeanor.

Your jaw dropped into a surprised huff. “She is long gone by now, and even if she wasn’t then as my husband, you should stay with me instead of wandering the streets of Rome hoping to find someone to be your anger’s victim!”

Though he still wore that rage upon his face, it soon fell once he saw your own tears fall from your eyes like dewdrops on flowers. Lucius laid himself flat on the dirt, and you sat above him.

“I have been married to you longer than I had been to Arishat.” He confessed. “I knew her for longer, but-but not as deeply; no, I-I knew her more than…I don’t…It’s been long since her death, yet there are moments I think of her, and I cannot stop crying.”

You never knew this was in his heart. You knew to never speak of Arishat, only listen whenever he would bring her up (even so, it was once in a blue moon).

“I’m sorry.” He sniffled, trying to pull himself together. “I know she is gone, and I shouldn’t be-.”

“-You shouldn’t what?” You interrupted. “Remember her? You think I wish for you to forget the woman you so loved?”

He shook his head. “No, but it’s selfish of me to-.”

You were the one to make him lose his words this time. With both hesitation certainty, you placed his head into your lap. It was too late for you to stop once you did, and you felt your own body tense. Then, upon taking a look at his body battered from rigorous work, and another at his face, which relaxed with his eyes fully shut, you ran your fingers through his hair.

“Lucius,” you sighed. “never will I think you are a horrible man for mourning her. You missing her shows just how much you adored her, and how she was a treasure to you. In another life, above all, I wish I could have met her. You are not in the wrong for wanting to see her again. I know you do not love me-.”

“-I do love you.” He opened his eyes upon saying it.

Your heart felt as if it was going to beat itself out of your chest and run away when he said those four words. To preserve your sanity, you took it a different way and smiled sadly.

“Not in the way you loved her.” You said softly. “But what else more can I ask for in a husband than one who treats me with a gentleness I did not know was possible? One who has been there to protect me even before we were married?”

Lucius took a deep breath, rubbing his face to clear away his tears. “You’re too good to me.”

“Gods above,” you groaned tiredly. “we can go back and forth on who deserves each other. Let us just go back into the house, have supper, and sleep.”

“I would like that.” He hissed as he went to stand.

Helping him, once he was on his best foot, you said. “You never told me what you did to your leg.”

He looked behind him at the field. “There was a snake and a rock.”

You gave him a look. “And what happened with them?”

“I don’t wish to speak of it.” He said grimly.

In any other instance, you would have laughed. Yet, as his eyes were still heavy from crying, you just nodded. The both of you helped each other into the house, and you sat him down on one of the several cushions in the living area.

“Your arm,” he asked. “how bad is it?”

You shook your head. “Just really sore. I think she might have left a nasty bruise or two somewhere, but I won’t know yet.”

“Put one of the cloths in the pot with water and put it over the fire.” He told. “Take it out after a few minutes, let it rest for another, then put it on your shoulder. It should help.”

“Thank you.” You stood, doing so, saying. “I swore we had bandages somewhere. I’ll make something for you to drink too; I bought some herbs just last week.”

He nodded, not taking his eyes off of you as you worked. If it were any other man, you would have felt unsafe; yet, it was only Lucius.

Little by little that night, both of you helped heal one another.

Half a year passed since that night, and you and Lucius had only grown closer. Perhaps as close as you could be with a man who was not your husband by choice.

Not much on the farm had changed; you two were living comfortably, and happily, almost making all the turmoil from the first year worth it. The both of you decided to make more visits to Atticus and Diana’s home, realizing just how much you both missed having someone to talk to outside of each other; but that did not mean you had to keep things hidden of course.

If anything, you shared everything with each other.

So much so, that when Lucius asked you why you held onto him longer when he embraced you on your birthday, you told him the truth.

“I don’t want every time we touch to be when it is in turmoil.” You explained, growing meeker. “And I…I’ve missed the feeling of it when it has not been forced upon me.”

Lucius stared at you with a look you had never seen from him. He had been gentle with you many a times, but they way his eyes fell into yours…

He took a step closer to you, and when you showed no sign of discomfort, he took your face into his hands. Your eyes shut at the feeling of him, and he pressed his head against yours. Never in your life had someone’s breath upon your skin feel so immaculate.

From there on out, it always seemed like you had to have a hand on each other one way or another.

It started with holding hands whenever walking through the city together. He used to ‘lead’ you through the crowds in the past, but more so with a hand hovering over your back. No, him holding your hand meant he would have to go where you would go if anything were to happen.

Alongside this, he’d reach over and hold it at Atticus and Diana’s house; whether it was during dinner, or simply just talking. The eldest child had said what the rest of the household had been thinking.

“They’re finally acting like they’re married!”

Because even when there were no other eyes besides yours, he would still hold your hand. You wonder if it ever became a way for Lucius to ground himself; because it certainly did for you.

You hugged him more often as well. Those used to be for ‘substantial’ occasions; those being celebrations or heartbreaks. Now, they were incorporated into greetings and goodbyes. Of course, it only took a few weeks before they were than made into simple desires.

He would be cooking dinner, and you would come beside him to embrace him. You would be gathering eggs from the chickens, and he would wait for you to set the basket down before tossing his arms around you.

At night, it was normal for you both to trade spots as one of you would read a story, and the other would have their head in the other’s lap.

This happened on so many occasions, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise for what Lucius proposed next, but it did.

“If you don’t favor the question I’m about to ask you, then you are allowed to never speak to me again.” He said, his feet hanging off the arm of the lecti couch you both bought that year.

“Well,” you scoffed, sitting on the end of it. “I will have to speak to you again because we live together.”

“Would you want to sleep in my room tonight?” Never in your life had you thought that would have been his question. When you didn’t speak right away, he backtracked. “I don’t expect you to. I understand if-.”

“-The nights are growing colder.” You stated, no visible uneasiness. “I’ve noticed it, and I don’t think any number of blankets could warm me.”

He swallowed thickly, and this was perhaps one of the first times you’d ever seen him like this. “Yes…it’s cold.”

You nodded, and another beat of silence fell between you two. Standing up, you tugged at the seams of your dress. “I-I’ll go change.”

“Yes,” he sat up. “I shall as well.”

Disappearing into your room, you tossed your day clothes off then slipped on a nightdress. After pacing around the floor for a few moments, you gathered the courage to go out into the hall and knock on Lucius’ door.

It was opened as if he was standing right behind it.

He wore just a plain, tattered tunic, and said nothing; yet, you caught his eyes run down you before immediately bringing them back to your face. You were not even in his room yet, and already your body grew warmer.

“May I come in?” You asked.

“Yes, of course.” He stepped aside and you entered.

Somehow, you were no longer man and wife; you were two people who had just discovered a strange, yet burning, feeling that you both held for one another. A feeling that you were both afraid to say aloud…because then it would be real.

The only light in his room was from the moon just peeking through the curtain of his one window. Looking around, you saw that it was still just the bare minimum; a bed, a small table beside it with a lamp, and a dresser. The only others things of note were his sword leaning against the wall, and just a few dirty clothes on the floor.

“I-I tried to clean before you came.” He mentioned.

“Is the rest under the bed?” You asked.

He chuckled. “Yes.”

Before you could change your mind, you pulled the covers off one side of the bed and slid under them. Glancing behind at Lucius, you saw him wear a look where you knew he wanted to say something.

“What is it?” You asked.

“That’s usually the side I sleep on but-.”

You rolled over to the other side. “Are you content now?”

He wheezed, moving to his designated side, slipping under the covers. “Very.”

“Good.” You smiled up at him.

His own mouth lowered as you could see him thinking. He then said. “I don’t expect us to do anything.”

You watched as his eyes dropped from you, as if it was too invasive just to merely look. Thinking from only your heart, you scooted closer, resting your hand on his arm. You ran your fingers up and down his muscles, but then guided his arm to wrap around your waist.

“Okay?”

He hummed, pulling you just a little closer. “Yes.”

“And we’ll just lay together?” You whispered. “Nothing else?”

“Nothing else.”

And that’s what you did. The compete truth was that you would caress him only to remind yourself that it was Lucius and not Geta. His arms, his back, his face…he was nothing like him.

After a few more nights, you told him that as you both lay awake, unable to sleep. He had pulled you on top of him that night, saying that you could see his face better in the moonlight. You only giggled, hiding your face in his chest; even that was too much for you.

It was easier to tell each other things in the darkness. You always knew that, but with being in the same bed (you had not gone back to your room for a week), the words flowed out of both your mouths.

“After my father died,” you said one night as you laid on your side facing him. “I would stroke my own hair or even my arms and pretend they were someone else’s. Even when I was with Geta.”

Lucius stared at you, then immediately began to caress your cheek. You shut your eyes, sighing at the feeling.

“I never thought I’d be able to sleep next to another woman again.” He whispered.

“And now?” You looked into his eyes.

He stopped his movements, but did not remove his hand. You watched every part of him. How his chest heaved shallowly, his arms tensing ever so slightly, but his eyes…gods his eyes. They were heavy as they looked at you; a look that made your heart flutter and not shutter.

Swallowing your fear, you sat up and inched closer to him. Your face hovered above his, and your breath heated his skin. His hand continued to trace shapes about your cheek, and shutting your eyes, you placed your lips upon his.

It was the gentlest kiss you ever shared with a man.

You had pulled away, dreading to see how he felt. When your eyes befell his gentle smile, and his other hand came up to cup your face, you kissed him again.

And again, and again, and again.

You climbed upon his lap without pulling your lips away from him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He sat up, his own arm encircling your waist and drawing you impossibly closer.

Lucius parted from you, and as you whined at the loss of his lips, they soon settled upon your cheek, and then your jaw, and then your chin. Your heavy pants turned to soft grunts as he kissed down your neck, his mustache scratching your skin in just the right way.

Your hands settled into his hair the lower he traveled, moving your night gown off your shoulder to kiss your collarbone. You felt yourself becoming intoxicated from him, and only then noticed you had been for a while.

Oh, how you wished you could bottle up his laugh, his strength, his stubbornness, and get drunk every night. His kisses only added fuel to the fire that was your desire for him.

He sunk his teeth into your skin, and your body, once enflamed, ran cold.

“No!” You tore yourself from his lap, nearly falling off the bed.

Lucius said your name, leaning forward on instinct but soon stopped once he saw you crawl away. “I’m sorry.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. All you knew was that you needed to go, so you did. Cradling yourself in your arms, you got up from his bed, rushing out of his room and into yours.

You half expected him to knock on the door, then, when you wouldn’t answer, him yell and curse you before breaking it down. Yet nothing of the sort happened. You heard his own door open, and you saw his shadow on the other side, but he did not touch your door. He left after a moment of waiting.

When his own door shut, did you finally cry.

You told yourself that night, you would wake up far earlier than Lucius would so you simply wouldn’t have to see him.

When you awoke, you did the exact opposite. You laid in your bed, trying to return to sleep, only to be forced to lie in the dark. The sun rose into your room, and you heard Lucius’ door open. Still, you did not get up.

It was quite comedic, actually. With your door still shut, he knew you were still home. How he tried his best to keep quiet for you, yet his footsteps had always been heavy, the front door had always creaked, and you could always hear him cursing under his breath every time.

When you knew he had left the house, that was when you stood from your bed, slipping on your sandals. You didn’t bother changing out of your nightdress, leaving your room, and then the house.

Lucius was amongst the chickens when he saw you. He didn’t bother hiding the surprise upon his face at the sight of you. You walked to him until there was little space between you.

“Last night-.”

You took his hand from his side, placing it upon your face. He rubbed your cheek with his thumb as if it was natural. Kissing the palm of his hand, you trailed it down to your clothed breast. He breathed your name with hesitance, but you shushed him. You held his hand there, not taking your eyes off him.

“I will show you, one day.” You told him. “I will show you the mark Geta had made. The one where I myself can scarcely see it, yet I know that it haunts me. But now…” You brought your other hand up to his face, tracing your thumb over his lip. “I just want you to understand.”

He kissed the pad of your thumb, nodding. You embraced him, and he held you with both gentleness and ferocity. The rest of the day carried on as normal, yet you aided him with the chores on the farm.

You went to bed with him that night, but it was the first time he did not entrap you in his arms. You knew he was still afraid of hurting you, but you would be a liar if you said you weren’t thankful for the space.

Still, he would feel your touch every day; whether it was something as small as brushing his hand, or as substantial as kissing his cheek.

As the both of you lay awake one night, you played with the sleeve of his tunic.

“Could I lie on top of you?” You asked.

Lucius looked over at you, nodding. “You never need to ask.”

“I want to.” You climbed on top of him, straddling his lap. “I never want to force you to do anything.”

His eyes fell to your hips before returning them to your face. “I’ll tell you if I wish to not do something. I hope you know you can as well.”

“I do. Would you like to touch me?”

“Where do you want me to touch you?”

You moved his hands to your hips, which he held firmly, yet not enough to hurt you. You leaned down so your lips touched his.

“No teeth.” You said.

“No teeth.” He repeated.

Lucius sighed into your mouth as you kissed. Despite how you were on top of him, the kiss was sweet, shy even. When you pulled away, you trailed your lips from his cheek to his ear.

“Do you dream about me?” You rasped.

He said nothing, and you continued to kiss every part of his face besides his lips.

“It’s okay.” You kissed his Adam’s Apple. “I want you too.”

“Yes.” His breath hitched.

“What was I doing in your favorite one?” You kissed his pulse point.

“You,” he breathed sharply through his nose. “you’re touching yourself.”

“Would that please you?” You sat up in somewhat surprise, resting your hands on his chest. “To watch me do so?”

He shook his head. “I want to do what pleases you.”

It felt foreign to hear someone say they want you to feel good. Instead of cowering from it, you faced it head on. You kneeled for a moment, hiking your gown up to your hips before sitting back on your ankles,  exposing yourself to him. Lucius’ jaw clenched at the sight of your naked center, and he drew his hands away from your hips, falling them into fists upon the mattress.

“I wish to watch you as you watch me.”

Without looking away from you, he drew his hand down to his cock, pulling it out from under his tunic. Your eyes grew just a hint. There was no doubt upon him being more well-endowed than others, but it was still different from how you imagined.

Shutting your eyes, you trailed your fingers over your cunt, your thumb playing with your clit. The sounds of Lucius’ smothered grunts, and the skin of his cock on his fingers only added to your pleasure. Digging deeper and moving faster, you felt a coil within your stomach tighten when you opened your eyes and saw as Lucius’ gaze bore into yours.

Light moans escaped your lips as your hips moved with a mind of their own, watching the man beneath you take pleasure from his own hand. It was him chanting your name like a prayer that sent you over the edge. With your eyes shut, the coil within you snapped, and pleasure filled your veins.

Not long after, you felt a warmth coat your nightdress. Opening your eyes, you looked down and saw the white-hot residue of Lucius’ release. Your gaze drew to his cock, still clutched in his hand, yet red with droplets of white running over his knuckles.

You don’t know what possessed you to, but you lowered your mouth down to clean him with your tongue.

“Gods be good!” He huffed, laughing your name.

“What?” You wiped your mouth.

 “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Grinning like the devil, you slid off the bed, walking towards the door. “I hope it’s a pleasant one then.”

He sat up. “Where are you going?”

“To change. You dirtied me as well.” You teased.

“Take one of my tunics from the dresser.”

It almost made you laugh that he didn’t want you to leave for even a second. You opened the top drawer, grabbing the longest tunic you could find before facing him. “Close your eyes.”

He laid on his side, putting a pillow over his head. Many would find it strange how the both of you would see the most intimate parts of yourself while doing one of the most intimate acts together, yet you didn’t want him to see you naked.

But Lucius never thought of it as strange. He knew what you had been through, and never once judged you.

When you were clothed, you slid into bed, wrapping your arms around his body and pressing a quick kiss to the back of his neck.

“You’re a good man, Lucius Verus Aurelius.” You whispered. “I will tell you that until the day you die, or when you finally believe me.”

He squeezed your hand, relaxing into your touch. You never slept so peacefully until that night.

You always had to see him whenever he would touch you so intimately. There would be nights where there was only a single candle in the room as he trailed his hand up your thigh whilst you sat on his lap.

His fingers were too much for you at first, but he never ridiculed you. When you whimpered at the feeling, he retracted them, kissing your eyes. You asked him again to try, and he whispered praises into your hair as the pain from a dry spell soon turned into pleasure.

It was usually at night did these moments of exploration occurred. In the day, the most you would ever do was kiss. That is, until the first time you cut his hair since the discovery of feelings.

“I don’t want to get hair on your floor.” Lucius said as he sat on the floor, leaning his back against the foot of your bed. It was hotter than sin that day. He wore nothing but a loincloth, but that barely did anything to help him from the heat. You wore essentially a thin shift that would usually be under your dress; yet again, because of the heat, that was all you wore.

You sat on the bed, legs draped over his shoulders as you cut his hair. “It’s your floor too. You built the house.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I haven’t slept here for a while now. Besides, I will clean up.”

“I had no idea you favored doing domestic work now.” He turned and pressed a kiss to your knee.

You slapped the back of his head. “Don’t move! I’ll give you a bald spot if you do so again.”

“Yes, my mistress of the house.” He joked.

“You’re horrible.”

“You just told me I was a good man not so long ago.”

“And I can just as easily revoke that title.”

He stayed silent the rest of the time, but not from any underlining anger. Simply from his at ease posture, you knew he was smiling.

He smiled more those days.

When you were finished, you tossed your scissors aside, but Lucius’ hands settled upon your thighs, not allowing you to get up. You scoffed.

“What is it?”

He turned to face you, kneeling up to meet you. “I wish to try something, but only if you wish it as well.”

You rose your brow, but smiled, kissing his nose. “It will be difficult if I do not know what it is.”

Without drawing his eyes away from yours, he slid his hands up your thighs, bringing the bottom of your shift with it. It seemed normal at first, but once he lowered his mouth, your chest tightened.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“I want to kiss you there.” His breath caressed your cunt and you mewled at the feeling. “I think you’ll enjoy it, but we don’t have to.”

Your heart changed from beating in fear, to then in anticipation. You loved how he kissed your lips, and every inch of your skin that was not covered, what would it feel like to have his lips there?

Kissing the top of his head, you laid on your elbows, nodding.

“Let me hear you say it.” He nosed the inside of your thigh.

“Yes.” You sighed. “Please.”

He lowered his mouth back down, pressing the lightest of kissed onto your center. You groaned through shut lips, only for them to part open as the hairs of his mustache tickled you whilst he began to lap at your wetness.

Tossing your head back, you sat up, running your hands through his hair, unconsciously rolling your hips to meet his mouth. His groan reverberated through your body, only adding to the pleasure you were feeling.

“Lucius, Lucius,” you babbled his name until it didn’t sound like a word.

His nose bumped against your aching clit the same time his tongue penetrated your cunt. You yelped as that familiar, tightening feeling swept over you. His half-lidded eyes would stare up at you every once in a while, as he would continue to drink from you as if he had been stranded in the desert. Just as you were on the brink of release, you drew him away from you.

“What-what is it?” He huffed. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, pressing your lips to his before scooting further up the bed. With one last breath, you pulled your shift over your head, revealing your bare body to him. His gaze ran over your figure unashamedly.

“Come here.” You beckoned.

He crawled onto the bed and over your body, yet still looked at your face. You took his hand and laid it over your breast. His body ran cold at what was on the side of it. A bite mark.

“He branded me all those years ago.” You confessed. “And it has not left since.”

Geta…

You ran your hand up his chest. “I love you, and I trust you with every part of my body. I need you to know that.”

“I love you.” He echoed, pressing the tenderest of kisses to the mark and you gasped lightly. “I have for so long now; I…I need you.”

“Then have me.”

He sat back on his knees, unwrapping his loin cloth and tossing it to the floor. Precum leaked from his sweltering cock as it stood upright like a pillar. You crawled over, kissing every inch of his face and climbing into his lap. He drew his arms around your waist, his finger tracing circles into the small of your back.

“I don’t know how long I will last.” He puffed heavily. “It’s been so long.”

“I just want you inside of me.” You kissed his jaw, taking his cock into your hand and sinking down onto it. It had been a while for you too, and while you were soaked, it was not enough to completely subside the tightness. “Just…wait.”

“I could die happy if all you wanted was for me to remain still as you’re above me.” He said into your ear.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, sinking your nails into his skin because that was the only way to remind you that he was still there. The further you sunk down on him, the easier and more pleasureful you felt.

“I’m going to move now.” You said into his shoulder, and you did.

Slowly, at first you relished in the quiet slapping of skin and the breath moans leaving both you and Lucius’ lips. He trailed a syrupy line of kisses down your throat until he bowed his head to place them upon your chest.

“Your name,” Lucius said into your skin. “tell me your name.”

You gave him a look as you rolled your hips into his, yet sighed your name.

“Again.” He breathed, latching his lips around the tip of your breast.

You did.

“Again.” He kissed the hollow of your throat.

You leaned into his touch, saying your name a third time.

He repeated your given name, than following it with ‘Aurelias’. Your movements stilled, yet he did not care.

“You are the most cunning woman I have met, and you are my wife.” He stated, never looking away from you. Tears sprang to your eyes when you saw the same for him, and you gave him a messy kiss before resuming faster this time.

After months of being called a name that did not belong to you, especially whenever in the bedroom, Lucius was doing everything to remind you that you were yourself again as you felt pleasure.

It felt as if, after two years, ‘Julia’ was finally gone.

You chanted his name as if it was your favorite prayer, burying your hands in his hair and kissing his lips.

“Lucius, Lucius, Lucius…”

Because, just like you, how long had it been since his true name was uttered whilst in the throes of pleasure?

He moaned into your mouth, holding onto you tighter. You squealed when he rose up onto his knees, latching your legs around his waist and only crying out sharply when your throbbing clit ran across his pubic hair.

“Come on, come on,” he urged into your ear. “I know you can give it to me.”

“Lu-Lu-!” You moaned, running your nails over the thick field of muscles that was his back.

He said your name over and over again, until it was one word that was the end of you.

“Please.”

You came with your vision blinded from the state of euphoria you had reached. Lucius still held you above him even as his legs began to quake, bouncing you on his cock. You felt as though you were suspended in air when his groans stammered, and you felt strings of his cum paint the walls of your cunt.

Slowly, he lowered the two of you onto the mattress, laying you on your back like you were the most precious treasure in the world. You kept your legs around his waist, breathing with him with your chests glued together from your sweat.

“Lucius-.” You began, trying to shift under him.

“-Just,” he grunted. “just another moment. Please.”

How could you deny him? Every kiss he gave was loving as he laid upon you. His cock had grown soft, and even you were aware that you could’ve fallen asleep if you weren’t careful.

When he pulled away from you, you let out an involuntary whine.

“I thought you wanted me to get off you?” He kissed your stomach when he stood up.

You shoved him playfully. “Just clean me up and come back.”

“So controlling.”

Still, he did what you asked, bringing a soaked washcloth from the bathroom and cleaning you. You groaned out of both the cold water hitting your hot skin, and the heat from the air itself.

“We should’ve waited until night.” You whined.

“Why?”

“I’m suffocating from the air outside!”

Lucius hummed, tossing the washcloth aside and looming over you. “Then that forces us to wear nothing today, so that we might cool down.”

You nodded. “Perhaps you aren’t as feeble minded as I thought.”

He settled behind you, tossing an arm over your waist and pulling your back to his chest. Even though his cock pressed against you, the two of you were completely exhausted from the heat of the day’s work, and the heat of what took place only moments before.

The only sound was that of the cicadas singing in the summertime. Sometimes, a breeze or two of wind would bounce the curtain off the window, but for the most part, just the even breathing you shared with Lucius was all you could hear.

Lucius’ mustache rubbed your skin when he placed a kiss to your neck. “What’s going on inside of your mind right now?”

You grinned. “A proper wife would say that I was thinking of you.”

“But that’s not what it is.”

“It’s something that has nothing to do with anything of note.”

He squeezed you. “Spit it out, woman.”

Sighing, you felt a sense of dread in your heart; both for your thoughts, and also how your husband would react. So, you tried your best to explain it.

“Do you even wonder how you will be remembered?” You began. “Spoken from mouths? Written in books? Painted on walls? They’ll remember Lucius, the Lost Son, the Last Gladiator…What will they remember of me, if anything? Rome’s Cleopatra? Her Delight? A whore to the twin emperors? I like to fantasize that they will name me the first woman who sat upon the emperor’s throne, even if it was as the last of its consul. Yet, even if they name me…I will be Julia. The name of a slave, the name I only accepted when he would press me into the bed so roughly. I only survived because I would need to tell myself that he was doing all of it to Julia, not to me.”

It felt quieter in that room, even though the sounds outside did not cease. Lucius gently turned your body towards him, and he stroked your face with the back of his hand.

“You’re crying,” he uttered your name, frowning.

You wiped your eyes, wanting to hide from him. Yet, he did not allow it, pulling your hands away from you and wrapping them around his shoulders.

“Would you wish I remain silent, or share with you what is in my head?” He asked.

“Talk to me.” You answered.

“I never cared of what history would see of me.” He stated. “Even as a boy. I know that we are different in most aspects of life, but I believe it serves no one to wonder away how we will be viewed long after we are dead. I do not care if or what a stranger thinks of me in a lifetime later. I care how Atticus and Diana see me. I care what their children think. Above all, I care of what you see me to be.”

You pressed your head against his. “You’re pigheaded and quite foolish sometimes.”

“And it matters you say that.” He pulled you closer. “Because that is what you will tell others when I pass on.”

“You know I don’t think that is all you are.” You remined him.

“I do.” He nodded. “I will know you for your wit, and your protective nature, and your kindness.”

“I never truly thought of myself as kind.” You gave a pained smile.

“That is how I see you.” He kissed your brow. “And what I will say with my last dying breath.”

You wondered how such a man as himself could exist at the same time you did. A man who hated you prior to everything yet laid with you in bed. A man who treated you with a tenderness you never thought possible.

A man who could be the last person on earth with you, and you would only feel at peace.

You did not need to say anything to him. Simply by the innocent smile that spread across your lips, did he know. You fell into the most comfortable of silences together as you laid naked in the summer heat.

The both of you were lost to time as we all shall be one day.

Perhaps you lived on that farm for the rest of your days, or perhaps you moved to a different land.

Perhaps you had ten children, perhaps you had only one, or perhaps you had none and were content with each other’s company.

Perhaps you died before him, perhaps he died before you, or perhaps you both passed onto the Elysian fields together.

All that truly matters, at the end of all things, is the life the two of you led together, and what you and loved ones remembered the most of it.

[novaawayne]

Thank you ✨ I really loved this.

Sergei Kravinoff x Fem!Reader

(Kraven the Hunter, Request)

My Materialist

warnings: nudity, self-gratification, foreplay, masturbation, intimidation, oral intercourse, dirty tongue.

Summury: When you take a shower after a tiring day, Sergei comes back home to surprise you.

1634 Word

At Nova's (@novaawayne) request, I hope you like it, sweetie.

Ask for permission before quoting or translating!

Sergei had been away for a long time. He had business as usual. You never questioned much. Somewhere you knew the answers, but you also knew it was better not to ask. You thought a hot shower would loosen you up and help you fall asleep faster as the longing seeped into every fiber of your being.

You turned off the lights in your penthouse apartment, small but with enough space for you. You light one or two candles to create a calmer atmosphere and escape the tiredness of the day. The smell of the candles instantly permeated the small apartment and the dim light lulled you into a little bit of a stupor.

You get rid of your clothes and turn the water to the ideal temperature. Finally, before entering the shower, you found one of your favorite playlists on your phone and turned it on. You let the sound of the music diffuse into the environment just like the scent of the candles. When the water was warm enough, you got in and let the tiredness of the day wash away. Once you were satisfied that you were sufficiently soaked, you lathered yourself up. You let the vanilla and cinnamon flavored shower gel envelop your entire body. You tried to console yourself with the thought that Sergei had touched you wherever the lather reached.

You continued to cover yourself in bubbles until the thoughts became more and more desperate, until the longing filled your whole soul and reached your core. Desperate, you slid your hand down your body and began to rub yourself with your fingers. You accelerated your movements as the pressure became insufficient. Finally you gave up when a moan of frustration escaped your lips. You used to be able to satisfy yourself. Then you met him and all the things he could do to your body. After Sergei, nothing could ever replace him.

You took a deep breath and decided to sleep tonight in disappointment. You rinsed your whole body one last time with warm water and turned off the water. You decided that the best thing to do was to wrap yourself in a bathrobe and spend a girly girl night in bed watching 'Sex and the City'

As soon as you opened the shower door and stepped out, you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist. As your scream escaped your lips at the powerful sensation, your body betrayed you by the familiar warmth and instantly began to relax. You stopped screaming at the sound of laughter behind you and the warmth of breath on the back of your neck. A pair of full lips pressed a faint kiss to his neck.

“I'm sorry to scare you, my love, but I miss you so much.”

As soon as you heard Sergei's voice, you left his arms and immediately turned around to meet his eyes. Your breathing became ragged as you felt his blue eyes on you again. Your eyes welled up and you didn't want him to see you like this, so you wrapped your hands around his neck and buried your face in his strong body.

"Hey севгилим, won't you let me see your beautiful eyes?”

You let out a deep sigh, still holding on to Sergei's strong grip. You buried your face in his chest, feeling it rise and fall with each breath. The rhythmic sound of his heartbeat brought you back to peace. “Cевгилим, I heard the moans coming out of your beautiful little mouth.” She sighed with disappointment. “Were you touching yourself while I was gone…” Shaking her head no, you pulled back to meet your eyes.

“Sergei…”, your heart, filled with longing and need, couldn't form a coherent sentence. More like a whimper escaped your lips. “Y/N, севгилим,” he took a deep breath and re-established eye contact. “We talked about this.” He moistened his lips with his tongue, as if he couldn't decide exactly what to say or do. “We agreed that you would wait for me, didn't we?” His voice was not angry or resentful. Every word came out of his lips with great care. You nodded quickly in agreement. “I miss you, I know…” he interrupted with urgency. You were in no position to continue explaining yourself when his tongue slid into your mouth.

Finally he pulled back to let you breathe. After his eyes lingered on your lips for a while longer, he made eye contact again. “I know, I know, my dear.” He leaned in again for a small kiss. Then he continued. “But I thought we agreed on this, no self-pleasuring without me.” He waited a moment to make sure you could understand his words. “And there must be some punishment for breaking the forbidden, right?”

You gasped with excitement and anticipation. Your heartbeat quickened. “Anyway, I couldn't do it without you, these,” waving his fingers in the air, ”were a disappointment.” He couldn't hold back his laughter at your words. “I missed you, Sergei,” you said, leaning in closer after accompanying his laughter.

He knew it, but your confession reawakened more primal feelings in him. His breathing changed for an instant. You could feel the intensity in their flow towards you, as evidenced by the amber color of their eyes. You could bring out the animal in Sergei. And you were always proud of it. The so-called “hunter” turned into a lion when he was with you. Your lion.

"Y/N" Sergei made a sound mixed with a growl. He could feel his hands trembling. He could feel the tiny ants moving in his stomach.

Finally, he took a few steps back and leaned himself against the sink. With his hand he pulled you towards him. Step by step you let the towel you were wrapped in slip from your body as you approached him.

Sergei held his breath, watching your skin being exposed second by second. He was mesmerized by your perky breasts, which were not too small.

A mischievous smile appeared on your face as your towel fell completely to the floor. “Should I be afraid, Mr. Kravinoff?” you asked coyly when Sergei gave a grunt mixed with a growl.

Sergei leaned down and kissed your lips. “Maybe you should be a little scared.”

When Sergei was about to pull back, you put your arms around his neck and pulled him back to you. Both of you were making unexpected moves at an unexpected moment.

Your hands ran through your lover's hair while one of his hands had already found his chest.

Sergei pulled back and this time began to run his lips over the fully exposed breasts. At first he ran his lips over the beginning of the breasts, where they began to rise slightly. Then, when this was too little, he supported your breasts from below with his hands and raised the tips higher.

He wasted no time in cupping the tips of her breasts with his lips as his eyes glowed with the pink he saw on your nipples.

His eyes glowed with the pinkness he saw at the tips of her breasts and he wasted no time in grasping the nipples with his lips. You were trying to stop your moans with Sergei's every movement. Your biggest moan came when Sergei crushed your nipples with his teeth. “Shh, beautiful, you have to be quiet, we don't want to wake the neighbors.” You had no idea how to be calm and quiet. Sergei was all over you.

Sergei's fingers moved to your waist. His lips trailed warm kisses down to your crotch.

He stepped back for a few seconds as if he wanted to memorize every detail of her body. And he studied every inch of her eyes. It wasn't the first time you were naked in front of him. But you blushed every time he looked at you like that. Finally, he decided that he had examined you enough and said “okay, it's time for us to be equal” and took off first his t-shirt and then his boxers and pants.

When he leaned in to kiss you, you pulled back. When he looked at you confused, you bent down. As he looked at you with disbelieving eyes, you moistened your lips with your tongue and reached for your favorite dessert. Sergi's eyes had both pride and disbelief in them, but it didn't last a minute. He was already saying something incoherent as you started to lick your man.

"Oh, there's a good fuckin' girl," he groaned, collecting whatever hair he could in a makeshift ponytail; looking down his nose to watch you. His cock was overwhelming, but you were determined to earn the pleasure he would surely bring; mouthing around his cockhead, using one hand to pump what didn't fit, the other alternating between holding his hairy thigh for balance and cradling his balls.

A few times, you held his eyes with yours as you removed his cock with a pop; licking his shaft up and down like it was a popsicle on the Fourth of July. His jaw would clench each time, sputtering his breath. His veins were pulsing, prominent under the skin; making your cunt contract as his throat bobbed as he swallowed harshly, groaning.

“Come here before I lose my mind,” he said, pulling you to your feet.

He chuckled and reached down to help you up, instantly searing you in a wet, messy kiss as he backed you into the sink counter; tasting himself on your tongue. It was erotic, something you were vastly not used to - no man ever being okay with you kissing them after having their dicks in your mouth.

Except your wild lion.

And you knew that your lion was hungry and this was just a preparation for dinner.

My Materialist

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[novaawayne]

I’m quite shy about making requests, and I feel pretty rusty doing it myself, but hear me out...

The scene where Dmitri comes out of the bathroom, and Sergei is waiting for him and scares him HAHAHA, but instead of Dmitri, it’s Reader.

It could be an alternate scenario where Kraven visits Reader or where Reader is Dmitri's girlfriend.

AAAAHHHH if someone writes something like this, please tag me. I’d love to read it <3

P.S. English is not my first language, sorry for any spelling mistakes :(

[novaawayne]

Post tenebras lux

Summary: You are gifted to Lucius as a reward for his prowess in the arena. Pairing: Lucius Verus x F!Reader Word Count: 5.9 K  Rating: Explicit, 18+ only. Heavy angst with a HEA, dubious consent (reader and Lucius are coerced into having sex), public sex (PIV and f receiving), mentions of spousal death, and brief descriptions of blood/injuries from combat in the arena. A/N: I futzed with the timeline in this fic. Instead of coming home after conquering Numidia General Acacius is sent out on another campaign for the emperors. Also, fun fact — the Romans considered oral sex taboo. A HUGE thanks to @aliensupastar, my beloved B, @clairewritesandrambles, @ryebecca, and @faebirdie for their help with the fic. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

The warm steam of the bath clings to the air, thick and heavy, as you move past the large pools where gladiators soak and laugh. Their rough voices fill the humid air and the afternoon sun filters through the open atrium, casting a muted, golden glow across the water. None of the men bother you as you make your way to the quiet alcove at the far end of the room. If Lucius's reputation in the arena hadn’t been enough to keep them away, the man whose hand he took for daring to touch you certainly was.

You’d learned quickly that in this place violence was power, and your gladiator wielded it well. It was a far cry from your life as a fisherman‘s wife, and then as a slave in Macrinus’s household. When you were gifted to Lucius, you braced yourself for the brutal ways of his world, where strength ruled above all else, and men like him took what they wanted without hesitation. But he never did. Instead, Lucius treated you with something you hadn’t expected: respect and kindness. His touch only ever lingered long enough to offer reassurance, never to claim.

In time you both learned to play your parts to survive. By day, Lucius was the victorious gladiator, and you, his spoil of war. They were roles neither of you had chosen, but ones you took on to survive. The night became your refuge, a time where the weight of your reality could be put aside, if only for a while. Curled around one another on the thin cot the ghosts of your past weren’t silenced but shared through whispered admissions. You could speak of the people you had once been – before Rome twisted you both into something unrecognizable.

Trust came with time. And now, as you approach the alcove where he waits, you can feel some of the tension leave your body. You are safe with Lucius, a thought that would have been absurd to you just months ago. 

You shift the small wooden tray — laden with fresh bread, olives, figs, and a jug of strong wine — to your other hip. The soft scrape of your sandals against the stone floor alerts Lucius to your presence. His dark gaze lifts from the water, meeting yours with the quiet intensity that you’ve come to expect. Even in the haze of sweat and steam, his presence is impossible to ignore. 

Where others would let their gaze wander lower, drifting toward the rest of his bare form submerged beneath the water, you always look at his face. It‘s there that you find what you seek: the sharp edges of your own pain and anger mirrored in his dark eyes. It’s a reflection of the hurt you carry, of all that Rome took from you both. 

“You fought well today,” you say, settling beside the pool, the water lapping at the stone. 

The words come easily, practiced—part of the familiar routine you’ve both come to rely on. Though the bath is quiet and you seem to be alone, you know better. You’ve learned the hard way that the walls have ears. Every word, every glance, carries weight here, and even in the relative solitude of this alcove, your interactions could be reported back to Macrinus. Only when you’re hidden away in the cell you share each night can you let the pretense fall away. 

Lucius hums in response as he lets his head fall back against the cool stone. His muscled arm rests on the edge of the pool and you offer him a brief, gentle touch before withdrawing. The tension in his frame eases a fraction and his eyes flutter closed, but the sharpness of his presence doesn’t fade. He’s aware of every shift in the air, every sound around him. Even in the quiet comfort of this place, Lucius is never truly off guard. 

You pick up a ripe fig, its skin velvety and fragrant, and drag it slowly through the warmed honey. Gently, you bring it to his lips, offering it with a quiet gesture. Lucius sighs—softly, almost imperceptibly—and then his lips part, taking the fruit from your fingers. As he bites into it, you feel the heat of his tongue brush against your skin. You try to ignore the traitorous feeling that springs to life in your belly. That feeling has become a frequent companion, one you never asked for, and one that sits uneasily beside the grief you still carry for your late husband.

“You must eat too,” Lucius commands. “You will need your strength for later.”

His rough words carry no real threat, but you react like they do, tucking your chin to your chest in a subtle gesture of submission. At times, it feels like a performance—like you're both actors on a stage, with an unseen audience watching every move. You eat in silence until the tray is bare and the goblet empty. When he rises from the pool, water cascading from his sun-kissed skin, you reach for the fresh robe laid carefully over the stone bench. 

“Do you wish…” you begin, lifting your eyes to Lucius, only to falter at his expression. His eyes flicker briefly past you, and then, just as swiftly, return. He gives no warning before he pulls you forward and drags you into the water. Your cry of surprise is swallowed by the splash your bodies make as ripples spread outward. The wet robes cling to you like a heavy second skin and you sink deeper into the water.

“I’ll have you here,” Lucius announces loudly. He grasps your biceps and easily forces you to straddle him. Your face shields his from the outside world. His expression softens and even as his lips part to speak, you shake your head, stopping him before the words can leave his mouth.

You understand, without needing to hear it. The two of you are no longer alone.

He leans back, arms stretched along the edge of the bath. “Ride me,” he commands. 

You struggle out of the heavy outer robe and your knuckles unwittingly brush over his abdomen. Lucius tenses beneath you. You offer him a quiet apology before withdrawing and rising to your knees. Your hips shift forward in a facsimile of his request, meeting nothing but a swell of water as you keep a careful distance from his body. He groans and you answer him with a quiet moan of your own. You rise up and down almost mechanically, staring at the chipped stone above his head. His hot breath fans over your neck, the heat of it lingering on your skin. You shudder as a warmth that has nothing to do with the pool gathers under your skin, shame twisting your insides. 

Lucius grabs your waist urging you to move faster, and the sounds of his pleasure rise in intensity. The muscles of your thighs protest, burning with effort as you hold the distance between your bodies. The air around you shifts and the murmur of conversation in the other pools begins to fade as the gladiators are drawn in, listening to your performance. The silence grows almost suffocating, but you force yourself to push through the charade. This is just one of many indignities you’ve endured since Rome descended onto the sleepy fishing village you called home. It pales to what could await you if it were gifted to a different gladiator. 

“Fuck,” Lucius growls loudly, abruptly stilling your movement to feign his pleasure. 

After a beat you gather the courage to look over your shoulder, meeting Viggo’s stare. You tense. Calloused fingertips brush lightly over your jaw, drawing your attention back to Lucius. You stare down at him, taking in the light flush of his dusky cheeks and the steady rise and fall of his chest. His touch lingers for a moment more before his hand disappears beneath the water. 

“Use my robe to cover yourself,” he instructs roughly. 

It’s then that you realize how transparent your dress has become in the water. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment and you slide away, only to freeze when your thigh brushes over an unexpected hardness. Your eyes jump to his and Lucius’s throat bobs, the usual intensity of his features faltering for a brief moment.

"I will fetch more wine," you stammer after a pause, your gaze flicking nervously to Viggo still lingering at the edge of the bath, all too aware that Lucius cannot leave in this state. 

Wrapping your arms around your chest, you rise from the pool. The cool air instantly prickles your damp skin. You reach for a robe nearby and pull it around you quickly, grateful for its modesty. Viggo shoots you a brief, assessing glance, but it’s Lucius who commands his attention next.

"Come to admire what isn't yours?" Lucius taunts.

He leans back casually, as though completely unfazed by the situation. It’s effortless the way he slips into his confident, unshakable mask while you hurry away, eager to break the silence and escape the strange weight of the moment.

–

The clang and clash of metal from the arena become a distant hum, fading into the background as you clean the wounds on Lucius's body. Ravi is occupied, tending to the more seriously injured men, so it falls to you to care for your gladiator. You kneel between his thighs and the coarse sand scrapes against the soft skin of your knees. The heat of the day clings to you both, the air thick with the smell of sweat and blood. But beneath it all, there's a scent you’ve come to recognize as uniquely his — a mix of earth and salt that’s oddly comforting. 

You gently press a cloth to one of the deeper gashes, cleaning away the blood before you begin stitching the wound. Lucius hisses as you draw the needle through his parted skin, and you glance up at him in concern, but his eyes are closed, his breath steady despite the discomfort. His fingers curl into the edge of the cot, gripping it tightly. You smear the thick, fragrant paste Ravi left over the wound once you’re done. 

“You’re getting better at this,” Lucius observes.

“Flesh is not so different from cloth,” you reply.

“A far cry from mending fishing nets,” he says, and for a moment, your eyes meet and you share a small, pained smile.

“And you are a long way from a farm, gladiator,” you acknowledge, shaking your head. 

You help him stand, your hands steady as you support his weight, but you pause when you spot Viggo standing in the doorway. Lately, he seems to haunt your every step, his presence a constant shadow. On instinct you shift a little closer to Lucius, your body seeking the reassurance of his proximity just as he draws you near. The subtle movement doesn’t go unnoticed. A small, knowing smile tugs at Viggo’s lips. It’s a look that sends a trickle of unease down your spine.

“Macrinus is entertaining some important guests tomorrow evening, and you are required to attend,” he announces looking at Lucius. “They wish to see a real gladiator up close, to witness your strength and skill firsthand.”

Then, to your surprise, Viggo turns his gaze toward you. “Your presence is also required,” he adds. Although his tone is casual there's an edge to it that makes your stomach tighten.

Lucius doesn’t speak, but his fingers flex against your hip as he considers the other man’s command. You both know there’s little room for refusal when it comes to Macrinus.

“I understand-” you say at the same time Lucius’s voice cuts through the silence, low and firm.

“She is not needed. I alone will attend.” 

His gaze never leaves Viggo, and you can see the challenge in his eyes. It’s an attempt to shield you, one you appreciate but understand is futile. 

Viggo’s smile remains unchanged. “Macrinus insists.”

The matter is settled and you bow your head, waiting for the other man to leave. Once he is gone you look to Lucius, voice tinged with concern. 

“You should not challenge him.”

Lucius steps away, anger rolling off him in waves. “And you should not submit so easily.”

You touch your throat, then turn away to busy yourself with the bloody scraps of cloth and scattered supplies. There’s no point in arguing. You know the truth: that sometimes submission is the only way to survive in a world ruled by men like Macrinus. As you work the silence between you stretches on, thick and charged before Lucius steps toward you. 

He sighs, his breath warm against the back of your neck. A moment later, his hand rests on your shoulder. The calloused pads of his fingers graze the nape of your neck, sending a fleeting sense of unexpected longing through you as they briefly sweep over your skin.

“I….” His voice trails off and you close your eyes.

“I know,” you say quietly. 

So much of what transpires between you seems left unsaid. You reach back, your hand finding his briefly as the two of you share a quiet moment before he must return to the arena. 

–

The bangles on your wrist are heavy and ornate, far too extravagant for a slave. They feel less like adornments and more like shackles. Beside you, Lucius looks equally as uncomfortable in his fine clothes. They’ve trimmed his beard and his tunic—lined with gold thread—glimmers in the dim light. From across the room, Macrinus raises his goblet to the two of you. All around you his guests mingle, sharing hushed conversation and knowing smirks that deepen your discomfort. 

The servants, once familiar to you from your time as a slave working in Macrinus's kitchen, all avoid your gaze. You spent years alongside them before you were plucked from that world and thrust into Lucius's service. Their hesitation, the way they look past you, is more than simple discomfort, it’s a warning you don’t yet understand. Your fingers tremble where they rest on Lucius’s arm.

“Something is not right,” you whisper, fear rising in your throat.

Before Lucius can reply, the conversation around you falters, and the air grows still as Macrinus moves to the center of the room. Then, with a sharp clap of his hands, the noise dies completely. 

“Our entertainment is about to begin,” he announces, beckoning you forward.

As you approach, his eyes drift between you and Lucius. His smile widens, though it never quite reaches his eyes. “I hope you enjoyed your meal. You’ll both need your strength for the show,” he says. 

“I am to fight?” Lucius questions, his voice edged with suspicion.

“No, not today,” Macrinus replies. “My guests are eager for a performance of another kind.”

Your brow furrows and Lucius stares blankly at Macrinus until two servants, moving in unison, pull a table forward. It is laden with the remnants of the earlier feast — half-finished plates, empty goblets, and discarded silverware. They work to clear away the table until it is left bare. 

“It is no bed, but it’s finer than your cot,” Macrinus assures.  

Lucius jerks back as if struck, his body stiffening in shock while cold dread settles over your shoulder as you both understand Macrinus’s meaning. He watches the small exchange between the two of you with amusement.

“Or, if you prefer not to,” he offers, watching Lucius intently. His voice is smooth with mock consideration as he continues speaking. “I’m sure another gladiator would gladly take your place.”

“No,” Lucius snarls. Before he can move, you dig your nails into his forearm, trying desperately to hold him in place.

Macrinus leans in close, his next words meant only for the two of you. “I expect a good show. Not like that mummer's farce in the bath.”

Ugly surprise washes over you as the full reality of your situation sinks in. Beside you, Lucius shifts and you see the familiar spark in his eyes. It’s the look he gets before a fight when the fire that lives inside him is ready to explode and consume everything in its path. You’ve seen it a thousand times in the arena, and it always ends the same way: with blood. 

You almost wish you could let him fight, but you know better. You step closer to Lucius, your presence a quiet plea for him to stop. It takes a moment before he meets your gaze and when he does you see the pain beneath the rage, the knowledge that this moment is slipping beyond his control. 

There’s no glory in this—only survival. Yet that truth doesn’t make it any easier to watch the fire in his eyes fade as he steps back. It’s the kind of defeat that no arena or battle could ever impose on him. 

“My guests are eager for the show,” Macrinus says and gestures to the table. 

You straighten your shoulders, willing your body to follow the courage your mind struggles to summon. Lucius follows with heavy footsteps. You stop before the table, heart pounding, and take a slow, steadying breath to gather your resolve before you turn to face your gladiator. You know the role you’re meant to play, this moment is just another part of the spectacle your life has become.

Without a word, Lucius steps closer and his hands come to rest on your hips, guiding you to sit on the edge of the table. When he moves between your legs, you can’t read his expression. Unexpectedly, one of his large hands cups the side of your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. He leans in, his forehead pressing against yours.

“Focus on me,” he urges. “It is just us here, no one else matters. Do not think of them. Do not think of anything but me.”

His words are a command and a reassurance all at once, grounding you in the moment even as your pulse quickens. 

When he speaks again, his voice is louder, carrying across the room. “Lay back.”

The table is hard and cold beneath you as you follow his instruction, the chill seeping through the thin silks you wear. Lucius pulls you forward until you’re at the very edge, your legs hanging loosely off the sides. Gently, your dress is peeled away until you’re bare to him. His broad frame blocks the crowd from seeing much but you still feel vulnerable and exposed. You curl your fingers into the palms of your hands, trying to remember Lucius’s words as you close your eyes.

The murmurs of the observers increase, and you feel them shift, edging closer. Then, a woman’s gasp cuts through the tension, followed by a wave of hushed surprise that ripples through the gathered Romans. When you open your eyes you can only see the top of Lucius’s head from where he kneels between your thighs. Guilty anticipation zips through you, followed by a spark of heat that flickers low in your stomach at the sudden realization of what he intends to do. 

“Barbaric,” a man utters, his voice thick with disdain.

“Now now,” Macrinus says with a slight chuckle. “Remember, our gladiator hails from Numidia. Their customs are not ours."

The first touch from Lucius is barely there, a whisper of contact against your inner thigh, but it grows firmer the higher his fingers climb. Instinctively, you hold your breath, waiting for him to reach the most sacred part of you. At the first touch of his mouth to you, the rest of the world fades away.

Lucius builds your pleasure with slow, steady strokes while his calloused hands knead your thighs. His touch is an anchor and spark all at once. There is little resistance when he curls a finger inside. A second joins the first a moment later and without thought, you thread your fingers into his curls. A long, shuddering moan leaves him, and the vibration tightens the coil in your belly. Lucius’s touch grows rougher and more demanding. He drinks from you like he’s starved for it, as if every drop is the only thing keeping him alive while his fingers work you open.

You come with a throaty cry, your hips leaving the table. Every nerve in your body is alight. You cannot help but hold Lucius against you until the mere brush of his nose against your center makes you quake again, sending waves of warmth through your veins. As much as you want him to stop, you’re desperate for him to continue and keep you in this moment where nothing but the two of you exist. 

Lucius pulls away and reality crashes in with starting clarity while the eyes of the crowd cut through you like a thousand sharp edges. Before it all overwhelms you, he climbs onto the table. He lowers himself onto his forearms and the weight of him presses against you.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs.  

You open your mouth but the words you want to say seem to get caught, trapped somewhere between your chest and your lips. To your surprise, wetness gathers at the corner of your eyes. But even that feels like something you can't fully surrender to. You’re trapped in this strange, painful moment where nothing feels real and everything feels too real all at once. It’s all too much – his tenderness and the horror of the situation.

There’s a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in Lucius’s expression in response, but it’s enough to reveal something beneath the surface and allow you to see the guilt he bears. The lines around his eyes seem to deepen and the tension in his expression makes him look older, wearier, and more vulnerable than you've ever seen him. The desire to soothe him is enough to break the strange spell on you.

"All is well," you assure him, gently brushing your nose against his. “I am no maiden.”

“Fuck her already,” a voice shouts and Lucius pulls back, his handsome face twisting into a snarl. You feel the tension in his muscles, coiling like a spring, ready to snap—and a knot of anxiety tightens in your chest. 

You breathe his name, soft and pleading, and he stills, the clench of his jaw betraying the war within. “It is only us,” you remind him, repeating his own words back to him. 

He stares down at you, nostrils flaring and then suddenly he bows his head. You feel the fight leave him as he chooses restraint over the violence you both know he’s capable of.

"Only us," he replies, strained. 

You hold his gaze as you feel his knuckles brush against your inner thigh to line himself up. He pushes inside slowly and you lift your hips. Your body welcomes him with only the briefest flare of pain, eased by his earlier attention. 

“Oh,” you gasp.

Your eyes close as he fills you completely. The sensation is both comforting and alien all at once. You can’t help but think of your late husband, so different from Lucius in every way. You wonder fleetingly if the man above you is thinking of his lost love too. Does that unspoken grief weigh on him as heavily as it does on you?

Before your mind can wander further, Lucius begins to move and your thoughts fizzle out. He curls his powerful body over yours and keeps up a steady pace that makes your skin buzz. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and the smell of him surrounds you, familiar and comforting. As you move together each breath and shift of your body becomes a silent conversation between only the two of you. 

“Gods,” he groans into your ear. “You take me so well.”

His unexpected praise has you rocking into him, needy for more. The table creaks each time he thrusts back into you. His lips trail along your neck and you feel that familiar climb to ecstasy begin, like a delicate crescendo inside you. Your nails dig into his skin and his rhythm stutters. 

“Sweet girl,” Lucius sighs, pulling back just far enough to meet your gaze.

The tenderness in his eyes is unexpected. Since Macrinus gifted you to Lucius nearly six months ago, you’ve shared many looks; full of pain and grief, anger and understanding, but this is something new, fragile. You stroke his cheek and he surges forward, kissing you roughly.

His lips on yours are a revelation. A storm of emotion rolls through your chest, crystallizing into the realization that you want him. You long for him in a way that goes beyond the need for protection, or a desire for connection. You grasp his face in both hands, your fingers trembling against the hard line of his jaw, and return the kiss with urgency. It’s desperate, almost frantic, as though you’re trying to pull him closer, to merge with him in a way that makes the world outside of the two of you disappear. 

He responds with a sharp thrust, angled so perfectly that it sends a flash of heat up your spine. You taste yourself on him when his tongue delves into your mouth. He hardly lets you catch a breath as he pours himself into you over and over until another orgasm washes through you. It���s more intense than the last, bleeding into his own as he comes with a quiet moan. 

He gives a few more thrusts and stills, his lips hovering over yours as you share the same air. Your thumbs stroke the soft skin under his eyes and you hold his gaze. In the depths of it, you feel a thousand words rising in your chest, aching to spill out, but you are all too aware you’re not alone. 

Before you let the world back in you tilt your chin up, lips brushing over his in a slow, tender kiss that he returns with heartbreaking gentleness. When you finally pull apart, the applause from Macrinus makes you flinch, and Lucius’s expression clouds over.

“What a performance,” Macrinus exclaims.

A titter of applause follows from the audience as though they’ve witnessed something to be praised. Lucius pulls away and you wince as he slips from inside you. A trickle of his seed follows and cold air blankets your body. You curl in on yourself, feeling vulnerable and anxious. When Lucius moves to stand, he carefully pulls your dress to cover you. Then, he helps you upright, and draws you into his side, shielding you with his body. He lifts his chin and offers the crowd a sharp, almost vicious smirk that’s more a baring of teeth than a smile. 

“I thought you might fuck like you fight,” Macrinus says. He lays a hand on Lucius’s shoulder like they are old friends and leans close. “I’m pleased to see that I was wrong.”

There’s some other meaning in his words that you don’t catch but Lucius seems to understand. Anger flickers across his face, but beneath it, you see something more unsettling, something you’ve never seen before. Fear. 

“We will do a great many things together, I think,” Macrinus continues in a pleased tone, his gaze lingering on the hand Lucius settles possessively on your hip. “A great many things.”

This time when he smiles it reaches his eyes; cold, calculating, and full of something far more sinister.

You spend the rest of the party seated on Lucius’s lap, his arm banded around your waist while the other rests on your thigh. He’s tense and angry as you expect but his focus seems distant, lost somewhere far beyond the room. He rubs the fabric of your dress between his thumb and forefinger, the motion almost absentminded. The wine you sip is overly sweet and sits like a sour stone in your belly. Neither of you speak. Occasionally, some guests, perhaps emboldened by drink or bravery, approach, but Lucius quickly sends them on their way with nothing more than a look. 

Only once the party dies down are you dismissed by Viggo. On the journey back to your cell Lucius’s grip on you remains firm, as if he's afraid you might slip away. He doesn't speak, and you notice every so often, his free hand curls into a tight fist at his side, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. It’s not until the door closes behind you, locking you both inside the small, dimly lit space, that Lucius finally speaks. 

"You know my true name,” he begins pacing the length of the cell. “But there are things I have not told you."  

He speaks slowly, each word carefully measured, as though he’s weighing the cost of revealing what’s hidden. He tells you the truth of his origin, and with each sentence, you sink deeper into the thin cot you both share, the weight of his words pressing down on you. When he finally falls silent, you remain there, frozen. A thousand thoughts flood your mind, but none of them seem to form into anything coherent. 

"Does this mean-" you begin, words faltering as you try to process the magnitude of what he’s revealed to you. “Does this mean… you are the rightful emperor?”

“I am.” There’s no pride in his admission, only worry. He releases a harsh breath through his nose like he’s trying to clear something from his chest before he speaks again. “There is a plan in place, with my mother and Acacius, but he will not return from Persia for several weeks yet. We cannot wait for them.”

“What has changed?”

“Surely you must know,” he whispers, regarding you softly.  

You shake your head, a quick, instinctive denial, but a deeper part of you already understands. Or perhaps, hopes you do.  

“You," he says simply. 

It’s the way he says it, so certain and knowing, that makes your breath catch. You stare at him and your heart throbs in your chest, low and sweet like a song.

“I never thought I could want someone again,” he admits. His unexpected words summon the ghost of all you've both lost, and they rise between you like a shadow, lingering for a long painful moment. "I thought it would feel like..." His words trail off.

“A betrayal,” you finish for him, keenly aware of what he must feel. 

The vulnerable look on his face awakens something deep and real inside you that you never expected to feel again. You rise from the cot without thinking and move to stand before him.  

"It feels right," he continues, his voice softer now, but no less certain. "As easy as breathing." 

And then he kisses you, tentative at first, before he grasps your jaw, seeking more of you. The way he holds you, possessively, protectively, makes you feel like you’re the only thing that matters, like you're his lifeline in a world that’s about to crumble. It fills you with such longing that you chase his lips when they part from yours.

"Macrinus knows now. And he is planning something," Lucius says, his voice tight with urgency, "and whatever it is, it will be at odds with the good of Rome. He will use you to get to me. And I cannot lose you."

“What will you do?” You ask.

"I'll send word to my mother in the morning," he replies. "You and she must leave Rome. It’s the only way."

You shake your head, unwilling to part from him.

“I will come for you when it is safe,” he promises, capturing your lips in another kiss before he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours. "But tonight… tonight, I need you again. Will you have me?” He questions.  

You answer him with your lips and he gathers you in his arms. The coarseness of his beard against your chin and the firm press of his lips to yours ignites a bone-deep need within. Suddenly all the danger, the uncertainty, and the inevitability of what’s to come fades into the background. It's just the two of you, the heat of his touch, the depth of his kiss, and the unspoken promise in his embrace. 

When he pulls you down on the cot, urging you on top of him, you let his momentum carry you. 

“Ride me,” he pleads desperately, framing your hips with his hands. 

He gazes up at you with such a mix of desperation and love that you couldn’t deny him, even if you wanted to. The shudder he gives when you take him in hand emboldens you to stroke his length. He groans and pushes his head back, exposing his thickly corded neck. You rise up and sink down on him slowly, savoring each inch. It’s near perfect how he fills you, and even though you’re still sore from earlier, the blend of pain and pleasure thrills you too much to stop. 

“Your dress,” he pants, “remove it. Please. I want to see you. All of you.”

You pull the fabric from your body and shed the bangles on your wrist while Lucius removes his tunic. You’re familiar with every inch of his body from tending to his wounds and time in the bathhouse, but you gaze down at him now with renewed appreciation, resting your hands on his firm shoulders. His eyes are filled with affection and desire as they roam your body. 

“You’re beautiful,” he praises. 

He cups your breasts and draws his thumbs across your nipples until they grow hard. The touch sends sparks of pleasure along your nerves and you twitch around him. He moans and rolls his hips. His arms encircle you, holding you close while he fucks you with strong, powerful thrusts. You bury your face in his neck and drag his skin between your teeth. He answers your action with a groan. 

“Gods, the way you feel. You’re perfect,” he praises. 

You sit up and plant your hands on his chest, moving your hips to take him deeper. You gasp his name and arch your back, rocking forward with an urgent need that eclipses everything else. For the first time in what feels like forever, you close your eyes and let yourself simply feel. There’s no need to shield yourself, no barriers to maintain.

“Look at me,” Lucius begs, grasping your waist to take control of your movements.

Your eyes flutter open and meet his, the beginning of your orgasm rising to the surface like a tide pushing its way to shore. It grows steadily until it finally crashes over you, flooding your senses and leaving you breathless in its wake. Lucius finds his own end moments after with a low, shuddering gasp. It takes several moments for your breathing to return to normal and when it does Lucius sweeps his hands up your sides comfortingly.

"Stay with me like this,” he asks. 

You acquiesce and he gently guides you to rest your cheek against his chest. His hand slides to the middle of your back, his palm warm and steady as he holds you close. Even though he remains inside you still your body relaxes, pooling in his. You close your eyes and listen to the steady drum of his heart, feeling a profound sense of stillness. 

You’ve always felt safe in Lucius’s arms, but now, you feel loved in a way you never dreamed you’d experience again. It’s a kind of peace that settles into you, filling all the broken, hollow spaces in your heart where your grief and pain have lingered for so long.

Whatever comes next, his love and strength are something you can hold onto. And for now, that is all you need. 

Prologue -Ab Initio

♡

My inbox is open for your thoughts on Lucius and requests for drabbles with his character for General Acacius (but I will pretend he is not married to Lucilla).

I am also happy to write a little epilogue for this story if there is an interest.

[novaawayne]

whomst must i bribe to write for lucius?

[novaawayne]

Giulioooo... 🤤....

[novaawayne]

"you're the writer, you control how the story goes" no not really. i wrote the first sentence and then my characters said "WE WILL TAKE IT FROM HERE" and promptly swerved into an electrical fence.

[novaawayne]

Purgatorium

Kyojuro Rengoku x ArrangedMarriage! Reader

My first fanfic ever omg!

cw: 15.1k words, canon typical violence/injury, alcoholism, parental emotional abuse/neglect

divider by @saradika-graphics :)

You feel as though you might as well be merchandise as you approach the Rengoku Estate with your father. But you knew this would happen a long time ago. 

The sound of an angry voice from over the high walls that surround the house like a fortress sends a shiver down your spine as you think with horror, “Is that him? Rengoku Kyojuro?” 

You turn the corner to finally enter the expanse of property that had been home to generations of Flame Hashiras dating back to the Sengoku Period, you know this, you’ve been here before after all. Your heart is in your throat, you’re about to see the man who was chosen to be your husband when you were still a child after a decade of close to no communication.

Your mind drifts back to when you came here first. You had just turned ten, the same age as the eldest son of the Rengoku family, to one day assume the role of Flame Hashira from his father and become the head of the household. You had always been shy, not one to interact with strangers, but he had been so warm, much like flame itself. 

After some discussion, your respective parents agreed that a marriage between the two of you would be mutually beneficial to both families, and just like that, your hand was promised in marriage when you reached adulthood. The whole day was hazy in your mind now, but Kyojuro’s bright smile and lively voice still appear vividly in your memory. 

You wonder if he still had them, or maybe he was the source of the enraged noises you had heard as you drew closer. Even if it was him, it didn’t matter. You had to do this. Your family was one of well-repute, and it knew it could only stay that way with a strong strategic marriage every generation. This engagement was seen as just that. Not to mention, they were well aware that your tie to the Rengoku would open their ample pursestrings from centuries of Flame Hashiras. 

You say a brief goodbye to your father, and enter the gates. The younger Rengoku son stands in the doorway of the home, impossible to miss thanks to the unmistakable hair and vibrant hued eyes that run through the men of the family. 

The young man spoke politely, “Welcome, we hope your travels here weren’t too strenuous. I’m the only one here at the moment, I apologize my brother is coming back from some work with the corps.” He looked down for a moment, “And my father is unfortunately… unable to see you at the moment.” He introduced himself as Senjuro and welcomed you into their home, offering refreshments and recounting the epic tale his brother’s crow reported transpiring the night before.

Senjuro spoke of how he bravely vanquished a demon wreaking havoc in a town over the mountain. From the grandiose language to how his previously placid tone elevated, it was clear he idolized his brother. You act piqued courteously, however truly you don’t really have the understanding of demons or swordsmen to comprehend what kind of a task he had accomplished. Your chest felt hollow even as you tried to look composed, your mind spinning, overcome with nerves. A flurry of what ifs make up a cacophony in your thoughts, you may as well be meeting the man you were expected to raise children and share your life with for the first time in mere moments. 

Your ears perk at the sound of the coarse gravel covering the walkway crunching beneath heavy footsteps, indicating someone approaching. The shoji door lightly drags against the floor as its opened by a firm grasp. One look, and there was no question who it was. A matured spitting image of Senjuro stood before you in corps uniform, with the same warm smile you recall seeing as a child. 

An upbeat voice engulfs the room, “Hello! It’s been many years! I do hope you are well.” Minding your manners, you bow and reply as you’ve been instructed, “Thank you Rengoku-sama, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” 

He takes your shoulders and gently lifts you out of your bow to an upright position, “Oh please, no need for that! It’s Kyojuro!” His tone rings out a cross between assertive and cheerful, quite authoritative but deeply optimistic.Your eyes widen with shock at how casual he was being, you had yet to see a husband who treated his wife as such an equal before.

You don’t even know what to make of the man standing before you. He seemed nice enough, he was your age, he was attractive, not to mention highly motivated in a noble occupation, coming from what you knew from other arranged marriages, this was not a given. 

On paper, he might’ve been “perfect,” but you still felt skeptical. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you both were pawns, both being used for the gain of others. You were strangers to each other. Based on what you had seen of other similar matches, there was a chance the rest of both of your lives together would be nothing more than what it began as, a business exchange. 

You had gotten too lost in your own thoughts, it was apparent. Kyojuro’s bold gaze met yours that had been lingering on the floor for too long. His voice lowered to an inflection of sincerity. Kyojuro reigned in some of his fervor from moments ago, hoping he had not scared you with his temperament which has been called various things ranging from cheerful to overzealous. He slowly reached into his pocket to pull out a long rectangular box. 

“Although, I admit I do not know you very well. You once told me how you liked the plum blossoms.” Suddenly you remember, sitting on the grass outside while the adults spoke, with Kyojuro picking up fallen flower petals and timidly saying how beautiful you found them. 

You look at him with slight surprise at his memory of an event you all but forgot, and curiosity where he was going with this. “Please look inside, I hope it is to your liking.” Kyojuro says earnestly, passing the box to your hands. 

You open it to find a hairpin adorned with the same color of petals from that day. The hairpin resembled them so closely it looks as though it could’ve been the very same blossoms crystallized into an accessory. 

The gesture was so thoughtful, and not to mention unexpected. Kyojuro looked at you intently, clearly waiting for a response to his gift, any response. “This is simply lovely, Ren—Kyojuro. Thank you.” You say after a moment. Making your best effort to not let on your overwhelm, and your reluctance to find comfort in such an inherently uncomfortable situation. 

Kyojuro says while taking your hands in his own much tougher ones to remove the hairpin from your grasp. “Allow me,” he asks respectfully. Understanding what he means, you tilt your head to the side for him to gently slide it into the side of your hairstyle. Your eyes dart up and down, unable to make eye contact, as you feel the cool metal against your scalp, and the heat emanating from his touch. With a soft smile he spoke reassuringly, “This will be an adjustment, but I believe we can find happiness together.” 

He knows as well as you do the origins of your marriage, he knows that his father was urged to retire (rather dishonorably) once he began excessively drinking. The last straw being once it was discovered, by the Master as well as his fellow pillars, he was attending high-stakes missions completely intoxicated. 

The Breath of Flames was intricately woven into the very existence of the corps. There had never been a generation of pillars that did not have a user of Flame or Water, and surely the Rengokus wouldn’t allow that tradition to be broken. So, the eldest son of the former pillar quickly satisfied all prerequisites, and assumed the mantle sooner than anyone anticipated to take his father’s place as the Flame Hashira. 

Kyojuro knew as well as you, the good to the Rengoku name that would come from another successful marriage with a well bred young lady of a respected family. Duty was no foreign concept to him, but he cannot help but recall back to his early memories of joy he saw in the life his parents built together. He wants the same for himself naturally, even with the weight of expectation resting heavily on his shoulders.

But all the same, he can remember sitting on the grass with you a decade before. The delight radiating off your face at the simplest things, he’d like to see that in you now. He can tell you are guarded, but with some time, maybe he’ll get a glimpse again.

The days leading up to your wedding, ten years in the making, go by in a blur. Kyojuro had to work for several of them since he planned to take off for his wedding proceedings. You spent your time engaging in small talk with Senjuro, writing letters home to each relative letting them know you had arrived safely and were in the care of the Rengoku family now, or simply walking the expanse of the property. Slow, uneventful minutia, at best. 

The elusive father, Rengoku Shinjuro, still yet to be seen by you, for whatever reason. Before you knew it you had both signed the license papers making you officially the lady of the Rengoku house. This all seemed to move at a breakneck speed, and as soon as you left the ceremony to move into a separate residence from the main house on the estate with your now husband, you remembered what came with your new position. 

Would Kyojuro expect you to sleep together since it was your wedding night? Would you have to start giving birth to heirs as soon as possible? While you understood the whole reason you were brought here in the first place was to become his wife, you wondered if it all had to be so quick. You had barely been here a week, and had been with Kyojuro even less than that. 

You shuddered at the idea that your fate  was to be stripped of any sense of agency, and relegated to a vehicle for continuing the Rengoku line. But at this point, you felt like your wants were no longer relevant. This is why you were sent off here, it was all part of the arrangement. You would have to just go along with it all. 

Kyojuro proudly took you inside the home on the Rengoku Estate set aside for you both  to live in. It was just across the courtyard from the main house with a view of the entire property. As the evening trailed into night, Kyojuro could see you out of the corner of his eye standing stiffly in the corner, looking at the floor with the same pensive look he had seen days ago. 

“How are you my dear?” he said in his usual upbeat tone looking at you with a genuine expression. “I’m alright…” you reply with a painfully forced smile that you hoped wouldn’t set off any alarms to Kyojuro about what you could possibly be dreading. “Oh I’m glad to hear that!” he beamed. 

“You know, I tend to work at night, usually coming and going at all kinds of unholy hours! If you want a place to rest on your own I set up the room next door for you! Feel free to stay there as often as you would like. I would not want to disturb you with my irregular schedule.” 

A wave of relief washes over you as you thank him and go into your own quarters for the night. As you walk in the outfitted room you notice a small vase off to the side, you realize it's a bundle of the same plum blossoms. 

A pang of guilt stops you before you can lay down to sleep, you had run out of the room to be alone a little abruptly. Kyojuro was considerate enough to give you a separate room to sleep in and even tried to decorate it how you might like it. 

Even if you resented the situation you found yourself in, Kyojuro was no more to blame than you were. You needed to have a little empathy. He was going through the same thing right now, he had just married what could be considered a stranger himself. 

Popping your head in the other room to say something, you realize you had walked in just as Kyojuro removed his top. Not fazed by this a bit, he turned to look at you with his saying “Yes my dear?” in his usual tone. 

You could see his muscular arms and chest leading down to his prominent abs followed by a chiseled v-line at the edges of your vision. You felt naive for a moment, had you expected him to be the same little boy you met all those years ago? For some reason in your head when you thought of him, that was still the person you saw. He had matured into a man, and not only that, was one of the nine elite weapons of the Demon Slayer Corps. 

You refrained from making this awkward unnecessarily, you should’ve announced yourself or done something before just appearing in his doorway after making it clear you wanted to be by yourself. If you made it obvious you were gawking at him, it would just make things weird. No, worse, it would make it inappropriate. 

You simply smile, a real genuine smile this time. “Uh, thank you, truly. Good night.” 

Smiling sweetly, he replied “Oh, of course, good night darling.” Feeling somewhat foolish, you sheepishly return to your room next door to turn in for the night.

 As you laid down studying the gifted hairpin in your hands, tracing your fingers over it, you felt a sense of hope? Like somehow, someway, this might all work out? Kyojuro returned to what he was doing with a sense of accomplishment, he finally got to see you smile with that delighted look, for the first time. 

—————————————

The next day, Kyojuro returned to work. Such is the expectation of a hashira. You rose around dawn to look out in the courtyard to see Kyojuro awake, already sword in hand. His motivation really was commendable, it was known that he stopped receiving formal training from his father as a child and relied on historical texts to learn the art of Flame Breathing. Since then, he had taken his training upon himself, and rose to the rank of hashira with practically no outside help. 

After noticing Kyojuro still completing his intense regimen after a few hours, you casually watched while reading at a safe distance across the courtyard. You slightly jump when you hear a gruff voice from behind you, you recognize it, it was the same rage filled one you heard the first day you arrived. It can only be the former Flame Hashira, Rengoku Shinjuro. 

“The Rengoku men really take after each other in appearance,” you think to yourself upon seeing the same features possessed by both Senjuro and Kyojuro. “I was a bit surprised you went through with this. But I suppose you seem like the type to just go along with things. I bet you even told yourself it's your duty or something like that. We’ll see how far that gets you” he said to you bluntly. 

“You’ll learn soon enough that the life of a Hashira isn’t some noble samurai existence. It’s a miracle when they all live long enough for the next appearance of the Master. The shadow of death follows them everywhere they go.” He took a long swig of sake, before muttering, almost incoherently. “Probably follows everyone around them too…”

This was definitely one of the more uncomfortable ways to be introduced to your father in law. “Do you even care for my son?” he followed up with. You didn’t know what to make of his first statement, the Rengoku were a long line of fierce warriors, clearly the “shadow of death” didn’t loom them too closely. What did he even mean by that? As for the second statement, you had hoped it wasn’t as obvious as it may seem, but you hardly even knew Kyojuro. Of course you married him for the good of your family. Did you care for Kyojuro? Was he asking if you loved him? Is it possible to truly love someone given the circumstances? 

“Whatever. I really don’t give a damn. It’s none of my concern anyway.” Shinjuro said, walking away. Your pause might’ve been an answer enough, or maybe it was your expression that always tends to betray you. You knew you shouldn’t ponder the words of an inebriated person for long, but the question stuck in your mind for the rest of that day. There was no requirement to love him so long as you filled your duty as his wife, anything in addition to that was at your discretion alone. 

—————————————

Not long after, the pillars were all called from their respective regions and responsibilities for a semi-annual meeting. The hub of the Demon Slayer Corps buzzed with a particularly lurid tale. News of an alleged benevolent demon, being carried and protected by a young slayer, spread like wildfire. Even a civilian like yourself could see the conflict of interest there. Apparently, the slayer was summoned by the Master himself, and was to appear before all nine Hashira.

You were relieved that there was something more exciting to be gossipped about than the latest rumors surrounding the ever-popular Flame Hashira’s personal life. After their meeting, which had clearly left an impression considering the looks on faces, Kyojuro began introducing you to some of his colleagues. Among the first was a fellow pillar, Uzui Tengen, whom he considered his closest friend. You don’t think you had ever met a bigger person before. You thought Kyojuro was tall and brawny, but he was dwarfed by the Sound Hashira. 

“Uzui, this is my dear wife” he gestured to you with pride, that same glowing look he always had. “Oh so you're the flashy bride! I’ve heard a lot about you.” Those words made you pause for a moment, what did he mean by this? Had Kyojuro said how you refused to share a bed with him? Had he talked about how frigid you acted? 

"I have to say, Rengoku," he began, a knowing glint in his eye, "you really undersold her. She’s even more ‘lovely’ than you described, if that’s possible!" Speaking through his teeth with a smirk he added, “No wonder you’re satisfied with one.” 

Kyojuro laughed, bold and vibrant as ever. “You are too kind! My heart is truly filled to the brim!” Eager to return a retort, clearly relishing in banter on the topic of the number of wives the Sound Hashira possessed.

“Indeed you are correct. I suppose I was not able to do her justice with words alone, but, at least I gave you a notion of what to expect. I’m sure you recall my bewilderment when, after I introduced myself, and then proceeded to do so two more times when another, and then yet another wife stepped out.” You let out a soft chuckle, trying to hide the blush that crept up your cheeks. The warmth of Kyojuro’s joy was infectious, and you could feel your heart racing as he caught your eye. His bright smile widened, and you couldn’t help but smile back, even as a blush colored your cheeks.

You walk the grounds of the hub of the Demon Slayer Corps talking to whomever Kyojuro could borrow for a moment. Meeting people was not your forte, old habits die hard you suppose. It was relieving to be with someone so easily able to light up a room. 

Something about being proudly introduced by your personable husband gave you a sense of security. You were happy to be able to just smile and do the bare minimum of talking to the onslaught of strangers. Kyojuro almost felt like a shield of charisma and positivity to hide how socially awkward you felt, and deflect those unwanted questions. 

Especially since there were definitely some intimidating individuals around here. You were happy their enemies were the demons, never did you want to find yourself on the other end of any of their blades. 

With each person you met, you found yourself inching closer and closer to Kyojuro. This didn’t go unnoticed, and he couldn’t help but get a flutter in his chest seeing you blushing and getting closer and closer to pressing yourself against his chest. 

Eventually when walking, you gently took his four calloused fingers in your hand subconsciously. He paused and turned to you, “Here, if I may” he said with earnestness.

Kyojuro entwined your fingers, his grip secure yet gentle, and as you resumed your walk, his thumb began to stroke the back of your palm. There was an innocence and tenderness in this simple gesture, a quiet reassurance that spoke volumes. He seemed to sense your anxiety, and with each soothing caress of his thumb, it felt as if your worries were slowly melting away, replaced by an enveloping comfort.

—————————————

One thing you quickly learned about Kyojuro was that he was a creature of habit, and you soon saw yourself following suit. You had begun nonchalantly sitting in a usual spot at the edge of the courtyard with a direct view of where Kyojuro did his daily conditioning. Rain or shine, he would be out there honing his techniques and maintaining his fitness. 

You preferred when it was bright out, the radiating light off the sheen of sweat on the surface of his skin was a sight indeed. Something about it was so fitting. He seemed to have a perpetual glow about him anyway, his energy taking on a visible manifestation seems like it was that way it was always meant to be.

He wasn’t always alone in his training. Nearly every pillar came by at least once, some more outgoing than others. Kyojuro’s former tsuguko, The Love Hashira, Kanroji Mitsuri, had even fawned over you as if she was meeting a celebrity. Absolutely bubbling with compliments over how “cute” you both were. You were happy to not be seen as the icy girl you feared everyone, including Kyojuro, saw you as. Upon hearing this comment, you glanced over at him to see a slight hue of red over the top of his cheeks?  Was he actually blushing? No, you thought, it’s probably just warm out. You doubt he feels any way in particular about you yet.

Soon you realized you were reading and sketching less and less each day, and watching Kyojuro instead. In addition to the pillars joining him for spars and exercise, Senjuro also took part as well. Kyojuro had no official tsuguko at the moment, but he seemed prepared to give this role to his younger brother. 

Senjuro wasn’t quite strong or skilled enough for a blade, but with a wooden stick he would do his best to copy his brother’s demonstration of each form of Flame Breathing. You were no master, but there was something obviously missing in Senjuro’s understanding of swordsmanship. Kyojuro’s movements carried so much power and fluidity through them, but no matter how he slowed them down and simplified them, Senjuro couldn’t seem to catch on. 

Despite this, Kyojuro never looked disappointed or faltered in his passion for instructing him. Whenever Senjuro asked to practice with him, Kyojuro gladly took long breaks in his own regimen to try to correct Senjuro and encourage him with insightful pointers. 

Senjuro wasn’t oblivious to his own ineptitude. One day after leaving his brother to resume his own training, he walked past where you sat watching as you always did looking especially dismayed. You felt as though you should say something to the young boy, he was your brother in law after all. 

“Your swings are looking more and more like Kyojuro’s every day” you say as he passes. Senjuro stopped, pitifully turning to face you as if he had gotten caught doing something wrong, “I’m not sure about that, but thanks. I need to spend more time practicing...” 

You frown slightly, “I see you spend lots of time out here as it is, you don’t want to burn out.”

Senjuro responds with desperation in his tone, as if he had reason for shame. “If I can’t master this, there might be a day I need to carry on the title of Flame Hashira, but won’t be able to. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me, my brother is the best teacher I could ask for.” You don’t know what to say, he clearly wanted this and was willing to work for it. But it was like he was trying to squeeze into a position that he couldn’t fit into, no matter how he tried. 

“I can tell he likes being able to see you while he’s out here. I catch him looking over here at you all the time. He really is a great teacher, you should ask to try one day. I think it would make him happy.” 

The dejected look on his face dissipated into resolve, “I’m going to work even harder until I’m as strong as my brother. Thank you for comparing me to him.” You were glad to be able to help him gain some confidence, but Kyojuro looked over at you often? Had he noticed how intently you had been watching him lately? 

The next time you sat in your usual spot at the edge of the courtyard, you did something you didn’t think you would do. Honestly, you weren’t sure why you were walking towards Kyojuro right now, but nevertheless you had approached him and gotten his attention in doing so. He was in the middle of his striking drills when he noticed you, his demeanor changed in an instant. 

He abandoned the formidable striking stance he was once in to an approachable posture, his brow furrowed once with concentration and lips curled into a pensive grimace snapped into his trademark look of unwavering joyfulness. 

“My wife!” He exclaimed. “Do you need anything dear?” His words were enough to take you aback for a moment. It still didn’t feel real to you, you wonder if he felt the same deep down. It was easy to forget you were actually married sometimes. It often felt like you were friends at best, all things considered. “If you aren’t too busy, would you teach me a little?” You said almost as if you expected him to decline your request. “You want to try? Oh absolutely!” He gestured you over, standing beside you as he passed his katana into your grasp. 

Upon his transferring the weight of the sword to you, it took you by surprise how heavy it was. Immediately the blade drooped sideways as you tried to keep it upright. When Kyojuro wielded his sword, he made it look as if it was another limb that he moved as easily as one could move any part of their body. Noticing your early difficulty, Kyojuro moved himself behind you to wrap his masculine battle worn hands over your own. 

Your own forearms between his own corded muscular forearms coming out of his rolled sleeves, their vascularity on full display to you. More intimate than that, you could feel the heat coming from his presence directly behind you. Kyojuro was careful not to completely press up against you, a gentleman through and through. But that didn’t change how flustered it made you to hear his voice, not wanting to shout while so close to you, he lowered himself close to your ear to speak much more softly than usual to instruct you. 

Using his strength to guide the blade in your hands, told you “Just start here and follow through the movement.” He paused for a moment to let you watch the sword's motion before continuing “Just like that, you’ve got it. Beautiful.” You copied the stroke once more with his help before trying it on your own.

“You might just have a career slaying demons if you keep that up! Ha ha!” His laugh rang out melodically, you understood why people enjoyed training alongside or under him. Hearing Kyojuro praise you even for the simplest thing made you feel so good, special even. “I’m proud of you, you did very well.” 

He told you with the same electric smile you recalled from the first time you saw him, you had seen it many times in the time you had spent watching him and in his presence. But something about it never got old. 

Feeling a sense of giddy as you walked up to the main house, you quickly came down when you heard the same negative gruff voice you knew belonged to your father in law. “I’m surprised you show yourself around here. Your family already got the money they sent you here for.”

He didn’t even make eye contact with you, focused on finding another bottle to get his fix. “You’re not obligated to spend time with him. The closer you get the harder it’ll be when he inevitably finds an early grave.” Shinjuro chuckled dryly, he seemed to want to hear what you had to say to that, a change considering he often speaks at you rather than to you. 

“I don’t see why you think that. He is very ski-“ you are cut off mid sentence abruptly, his tone rising from indifference. “Skill is something you’re born with. He tries to cheat this rule by training himself to the bone. No amount of work can ever supplement an absence of talent. His fate is decided. You getting attached will only make it harder when that fate comes to pass.” 

You were appalled by what you were hearing, wasn’t this man a hashira? He had to understand that a human is always at a disadvantage to a demon,  yet that does not stop the righteous fury that compels them to confront those monsters anyway. Innate ability is overcome by work all the time, otherwise how would a human ever beat a demon? 

The essence of the Demon Slayer Corps is finding strength through determination and will. Dismissing work ethic as a cheap short cut for those never meant to succeed was contradictory to everything it stood for. How did the man once celebrated as the greatest hashira of his generation end up like this? “You do whatever the hell you want, but I tried to warn you. It’s for the best that you didn’t marry him for love.” With this, Shinjuro got another jug of sake and returned to where he resided alone. 

—————————————

You had always known how taxing the work of the nine leaders of the Demon Slayer Corps was, but even you were taken aback when you realized how much was demanded of Kyojuro. He was not only a leader in spirit for the other slayers, but the one who was tasked with being aware of everything happening throughout his sector. 

Recently, he had learned about a village with a troubling incident involving a well, where someone had allegedly fallen in and vanished without a trace.  It seemed that only a few lower-ranked slayers had been sent to investigate, but Kyojuro insisted on going along personally.

He wanted to be involved in as many missions in his sector as possible; it helped the lower-ranked Corps members assigned to the incident feel more at ease, even if he was just there to stand by and ensure the extermination went smoothly.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he set out to investigate. Taking off on foot to follow any traces, he suspected a blood demon art was the culprit. Now, he had been gone for what felt like over a full day. His absence was palpable, as if a swell of energy had been drained from the home.

As the late afternoon dragged into evening, you found Senjuro bags in hand coming through the gates. You watched as he made his way into the kitchen, and followed in suit.

 “Gone to the market? You could’ve asked me to go.” Being the elder of the two of you, it was only natural that such tasks would be your responsibility. You felt bad that unbeknownst to you he had gone on his own.

Senjuro washed his hands before unpacking the groceries he had bought, donning a kitchen apron. “Some years ago, Father dismissed all our housekeepers. So I pretty much take care of the chores and cooking around here, I’m so used to it I didn’t think to mention.” As the youngest Rengoku informed you, it started making sense. You had always wondered why the son of a wealthy noble family spent so much time doing household errands, he had adopted it as his role in the family. “I don’t mind though. As much as my brother loves to eat, he really can’t cook anything,” Senjuro said endearingly. 

“I try to have some food ready before he comes home from his duties, mainly because otherwise he’ll insist on helping, then end up making it all no matter how many hours he’s been working.” Senjuro put several large sweet potatoes in a loosely woven basket before submerging it into a wooden basin of fresh water, the dirt on the reddish-purple flesh coming off as he scrubbed them with a soft bristled tawashi brush. 

“But also because I think he is far better with a katana than a kitchen knife.” Senjuro shook his head with a soft chuckle. You could tell he had his fair share of miso saltier than the sea and gluey rice balls. 

As he worked, he moved to the stove, rinsing a measure of rice and putting it on to cook. The sound of water bubbling and the aromatic nutty scent on the steam filled the air.

“I’m a bit useless… but this is something I think I can do” 

Senjuro lifted the basket of sweet potatoes out of the basin, the remnants of Earth cleared from the skin, leaving them ready to be cooked. The furnace was already warm and simmering a main course, that had seemingly been cooking for hours, to compliment the carb rich Rengoku family favorite side dish. 

He had begun adding cubed bite-sized pieces of the starchy vegetables to a large pot to infuse the hearty taste into rice, before long the smell notified all that dinner was nearly done. When a roaring voice made Senjuro jump, leaving him clearly shaken to the core.

“Senjuro?! Where are you boy?”

The young man fumbled with the tie of his apron, frantically removing it, before scurrying off to the origin of the shout. You couldn’t help but overhear the conversation in the other room. 

“Where’s the damn sake I told ya t’get?” The voice barked angrily. The words slurred in a state of intoxication. Your father in law. No doubt. 

“I just thought maybe…” Senjuro replied sheepishly, trying desperately to keep the incident from escalating. 

“Can’t even do something as simple as buyin’ sake from th’ market, huh? Worthless.” Shinjuro’s seething rage turned into cold disdain. It was sickening. 

“Go back. Now! Don’t come back t’my house until you have some!” You couldn’t tell if Shinjuro was willing to make good on the threat he elucidated, but there was venom in his words nevertheless. 

Senjuro piped up timidly, speaking as though any word could and would lead to consequences. “B-but brother will be back soon… I need to finish making hi-” 

“I don’t give a damn! You will obey your father, boy!” The muddled speech from the alcohol was cut by Shinjuro’s fury, he bellowed clear as day.“He has someone else to do that anyway! It’s time you get a fucking life and stop worshiping that bastard!” You hear the door slide shut so forcefully you worry if it had broken.

Senjuro trudges by you with his head hanging low. You can see the glassiness of his eyes when he lifts his head to face you. Instinctually, you embrace him, holding his head as if you were his mother. As a tear escapes his eye, you wipe it away with your sleeve offering a warm smile that he halfheartedly returns after a moment. 

“I… have to go, but please finish up making brother’s satsumaimo gohan for me? And if he tries to help in any way, promise me you’ll make him sit down! He’s been gone since before dusk yesterday!” 

“Senjuro, you know I’m perfectly capable of sitting down and enjoying your cooking! But why not let me lend a hand while I’m already standing?” You felt the warmth of his presence, his charisma and energy igniting a sense of undeniable comfort. 

“Brother!” Senjuro’s face lit up with joy as he went over to greet Kyojuro, still standing in the doorway,  running to hug him with force that might’ve knocked over an average person. The boy had acted as though it had been months or years of separation the way he clung to Kyojuro, and rejoiced at seeing him standing in the doorway. Foolishly you had forgotten, or maybe just been illusioned by his nigh impenetrable invincibility, that the life of a demon slayer was one of uncertainty. Any time a swordsman left for work, might be their last. It certainly was something to be celebrated each time he returned home.

“Ha ha! Glad to see you are in high spirits Senjuro! Now what is this about needing to go somewhere?” Despite nearly 24 hours of fatigue weighing on him, Kyojuro’s vivacity was as potent as ever.

“Uh… Father has demanded I go and buy him more sake…”  

“Nonsense! We ought to all enjoy the fruit of your labors! Surely Father will understand.” Kyojuro reassured, resting his hand on the younger boy’s shoulder. Senjuro seemed to be at ease with his elder brother’s blessing. 

Turning to you, Kyojuro lowered to a knee, cradling your hand in his own grasp; the hardened hands of a warrior enveloped yours with a gentleness as though you were made of glass. His amber pools met yours before carefully bringing the back of your hand to his lips for a soft kiss, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “Ah my flame!” His words were thick with affection, tenderness. 

You might as well have been electrocuted at the point where your skin connected with his lips. It made you think of what it would be like if you both…  You move such a thought from your head, “Welcome home, we’ve all missed you dearly.” You speak, basking in the bright glint in his eye upon hearing your greeting. He carried a scent of the woody musk with faint notes of smoke, no doubt indicating the remoteness he traversed on the way to the village, it was an essence befitting a man such as him. You couldn’t help but notice the way his golden hair was tousled and his features drawn with fatigue leaving shadows beneath his honey rimmed eyes, giving him a ruggedness you had yet to admire in its full glory yet. 

“Okay Brother! Now please just sit down! You need to rest!” Senjuro implored, his brother heeding his insistence. The younger boy took the lid off the sturdy pot to reveal the gigantic portion of sweet potato rice, a cloud of steam wafting out carrying an earthy, saccharine aroma. Senjuro pulled a decorated cloth from over another dish to reveal succulent soy glazed meat, it was truly a meal befitting a gourmand like Kyojuro. 

“Senjuro what a beautiful talent you have! Truly, what would we all do without you!” Senjuro’s delight at these words was palpable. The beratement received from his father not long ago, was seemingly replaced by Kyojuro's accolades. 

Looking out the doorway to the sliding door of the master bedroom, Kyojuro’s smile faltered momentarily. “It would be a shame for Father to miss this! Perhaps I'll inform him that I’m back!” Without hesitation Kyojuro stood from the table. 

—————————————

The noises of chatter within the kitchen sounded faint despite its proximity, his hardness of hearing only adding to the sense of anxiety and isolation as he steeled himself outside Father’s room. The irony was apparent. The title “hashira” alone struck terror in the hearts of horrible bloodthirsty monsters, despite their capacity for any amount of both power and unimaginable cruelty under the veil of night. Yet at this moment, in his own home, he found himself more uneasy than he ever had in the face of a demon. He could not hide behind years of discipline, victories, or raw strength. He felt as if he had become a small child again, simply seeking approval.

He hardly sensed any movement from within, exhaling sharply, sliding the door open to speak in a tone he consciously kept as even-keeled and humble as possible. His senses were overwhelmed with the pungence of undiluted alcohol.

“Father… I’ve returned.” 

The older man laid his back facing the door, surrounded by the emptied vases of sake, and did not turn, not even to acknowledge the presence of another. 

“Yeah? I could tell. I could probably hear you from the afterlife. Tch.” Shinjuro growled caustically, still refusing to meet his son’s gaze. 

“Would you care to join us for dinner, Father? Senjuro would certainly be happy to see you enjoying the meal he worked so hard on.” Kyojuro prayed for once he would say yes. He rarely left his room much less the house, hardly doing anything but drinking in solace. 

“I don’ give a damn about that. I told your fool of a brother to bring me sake, and of course even that is too difficult for him. Useless. Utterly useless.” 

“Please Father do not speak so-” 

“Get out. Stop disturbing me.” Shinjuro cut him off abruptly, haphazardly shaking each of the old bottles for anything left within.

Begrudgingly, Kyojuro began sliding the shoji door shut once again. 

“As you wish, Father…” 

With a small space left before the sliding door had completely shut, he remembered something. A message he was asked to pass on by a civilian he had met earlier.

“In the village I patrolled… another person recognized the family haori. They too, have asked me to thank you… for your time as the Flame Pillar…”  Kyojuro waited for what felt like forever, he needed to hear what his Father would say. Yet another living proof professing their gratitude to the passion that he once held. 

Setting down the empty bottle in his hand, Shinjuro sighed, even his breath marred with exasperation.

“It’s all meaningless…” 

“In the end, we’re both destined to be nothing more than failures. Pathetic until the very end.”

Kyojuro clamped his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to repel the spiteful words. It would not dampen his spirit, he couldn’t succumb to that. Not when he had so many people depending on him, they deserved better than that. The horrible things his father said were not worth thinking of another minute. Kyojuro slid the door back shut, softly as he could, before rising to return to the table. The light emanating from the kitchen beckoned him back like a vessel to the land after days of traversing a cold, bitter sea. 

Kyojuro entered once again to see his little brother and you inspect slices of the meat back and forth, before putting a few on a plate with an exceptionally large scoop of sweet potato rice. Senjuro presented the plate to him, his eyes shining with anticipation. 

“We’ve decided these are the best pieces of meat, here!”

You nod in agreement beside Senjuro, a smile curling your lips. “For me? Ah! Thank you!” Kyojuro beamed at them, taking the plate from his brother. The juicy pieces making his mouth water at the sight alone. Chatter, warm laughter over trivial things, the sight almost felt like a dream he would be shaken from at any minute. He cannot remember a time in so long the Rengoku household had felt alive, for so long it had been just him and Senjuro. Well, that was not quite accurate, they were not “alone” necessarily. 

 “It appears Father is not hungry at the moment, let us just put some aside for him for now.” Outfitting the unattended plate with a generous serving of food, he waited until you and his brother were distracted when he transferred the tender slices of meat from his own plate.

“Father does not eat nearly well enough. Perhaps this would benefit his health.” He thought silently to himself.

—————————————

You understood how things worked around here now. You had stopped feeling like a stranger around the estate. Senjuro seemed to really trust you now, especially seeing his idol did too. You abandoned the thought that the father of the house would be much of a presence, he didn’t want to be bothered, and frankly you were okay with that. 

Your job appearing as a member of the Rengoku family was in full effect. Of course, Kyojuro tried to make sure you were comfortable and happy, despite his duty keeping him busy. You sensed the guilt that creased his brow whenever he couldn’t see you, and made a conscious effort to make up for it when he did. You became aware of an annual festival to celebrate the transition of seasons, the late Spring entering early Summer. 

The next day, during one of Senjuro’s increasingly regular conversations with you, he brought up something that took you back for a moment. “About the festival tonight, I told my brother not to worry about me this year.” 

You were slightly taken aback by this, wasn’t it their yearly tradition? “I  think you both should go and have some time together. After all, I've had plenty of turns to go alone with my brother, since this would be your first time going. I insist.” 

Senjuro seemed sure of himself on this, you could guess he was trying to be an understanding brother and give Kyojuro some alone time with you. But you almost wanted Senjuro to go, it sounded silly, but this would be your first real date with your husband. 

Aas day waned into night you felt butterflies in your stomach while getting ready to go. You felt as if you would have to meet Kyojuro for the first time all over again. A whole night, just the two of you with no one to break the tension. 

You robe yourself in something presentable. Subconsciously you wondered what you could wear if you really wanted to catch his attention… You push it from your mind for now. You carefully remove the gifted hairpin from the rectangular box that housed it before sliding it into your hair.  Your hand moves down from your updo as you glance in the mirror, and suddenly you feel a jolt of shock upon hearing the upbeat voice you’ve grown to know approaching. 

You feel a soft tap on the sliding shoji door to your room. You rose and moved to open it. As your eyes met Kyojuro’s he beamed with a grin so infectious you couldn’t help but softly smile back. You noticed he was dressed differently than you usually saw him. Rather than his typical corps uniform, he was clad in traditional attire with a few fiery motifs reminiscent of his usual haori. You tried not to let your eyes drift down from his to rest on where the two halves of the fabric overlapped each other to reveal the upper curvature of his well built chest. 

You approached the village center where the festival was being held together. There was an overwhelming buzzing ambiance as you approached, until you were close enough for a surge of stimulation to fully wash over you in a barrage of color and noise. 

Worrying that you may be overwhelmed by the sight, Kyojuro turned to look at your reaction. The lights reflected in your eyes as you giggle “How beautiful,” slightly tightening your grip on his arm. Kyojuro wants to say the same, even though his gaze wasn’t on the view. 

You walk by the stalls, each with a different delicacy to boast. The air is thick with the enticing aromas of grilled yakitori, sweet candied fruits, and the savory scent of meat sizzling on hot griddles. Colorful lanterns sway gently overhead, casting a warm glow over the main strip. Laughter and chatter fill the atmosphere, punctuated by the rhythmic beats of nearby taiko drums.

“This has always been my favorite part of the festivities. One year my family lost me in the crowds many years ago when I ran off, practically disappearing, after getting a whiff of shrimp tempura.” As you walked through the bustling streets together, the sounds of laughter and cheerful chatter surrounded, adults and children alike filling the street.

“I have been told I was a bit of a rambunctious child, always bursting with energy, but my mother was a remarkably stoic woman. I never saw her lose her temper, not even once. My father suggested tying my wrist to his with an obi sash after the time I went missing, but she was firm in me practicing discipline on my own.” Kyojuro said, his gaze drifting thoughtfully toward the colorful stalls.

You took a moment to reflect on his words, letting them linger in the air between you. “It sounds like she had a lot of faith in you, to be able to make the right decisions, even then.”

 “She did.” Kyojuro nodded, a hint of warmth returning to his wistful expression. “I try to remember that, even now.” He paused, a smile widening as he glanced toward a nearby takoyaki stall. “And speaking of good decisions…”

Feeling your nose perk up at a savory aroma, your stomach rumbled.  “Can we get some?” You say looking at him wide eyed with enthusiasm. His melodic laugh rang out as he replied “A fine idea! Anything you would like, dear!” After securing ample snacks and refreshments, Kyojuro and you find a nice place to sit down just off the bustling Main Street. 

The night peaceful, and the sky a clear endless expanse of stars. This was contrasted by the steady vibration of energy emitted from the heart of the village. You finally cut the silence. “Thank you for inviting me” you say somewhat sheepishly.  “We have gone every year since before Senjuro was born, so of course that includes you now! I’m glad you’re here!” 

“Is your father,” you pause to gauge his reaction at the mention before continuing, “Busy perhaps today then?” 

His usual bravado lowers into a more serious tone, a poignant smile still forced on his lips, “No. He actually hasn’t been in many years.” Despite not knowing all that much about the inner dynamics of the Rengoku family, this didn’t surprise you. “After Mother passed, I don’t think he ever recovered. He hasn’t come since.” That explains it then. The drinking, the bitterness, the isolation, he was caught in a cycle of grief. One he hasn’t been able to get out of. Instinctively, you place your hand gently on top of his much larger one. 

“Senjuro was so young when we last all came together, and I just wanted him to have the memories that I was able to have. Even if he wasn’t able to remember coming with our parents. He could at least remember us going together, and I hoped maybe that would be enough.” You had never seen this kind of vulnerability from him before. At a young age, he devoted himself to filling the gaping void left in his family for his brother. 

He would become mother, father, mentor, brother, whatever Senjuro needed. Never concerned for himself, or asking for anything. That was just the way he was, you suppose. A man who lived for the well being of others, never expecting anyone to ever reciprocate. A true pillar in all facets of life, one who exists to support and safeguard those around him. What about you? You want to ask. Who is there for you then? 

Noticing your pensive expression, his lips spread into a genuine smile, an upbeat yet gentle voice reassures “You shouldn’t lose your smile my flame, it’s quite becoming on you.” He tucks a small piece of your bangs behind your ear as he speaks, his touch tender. “Please do not feel any sympathy on my behalf, this is simply a responsibility of mine that I carry with pride. The last thing I would ever want is to be the reason you wear a heavy heart. To me, that would be a failure on my behalf.” 

“No, that’s not it.” Your tone matter-of-fact as your gaze shifted from his to your hands folded in your lap. Meeting his eyes again, you spoke with purpose, a firmness in your resolve. “Whether you want  me to or not, I’m going to be there for you now. So, please take care of yourself, unless you want me to worry.” Kyojuro let out the euphonious laugh that you had learned to identify even when he was nowhere to be seen. He replied with a cheerful, “Well I suppose I’ll have to be on my best behavior then!” You couldn’t help but giggle along in contagion with him, it was impossible not to. 

Hearing a whistling noise overhead, you cock your head to the night sky where the projectile reached a peak before bursting in a flurry of vibrant hues followed by a loud BANG. You wince slightly at the collapse of sound that hits you all at once. Kyojuro’s brow furrowed seeing your face contort from the impact. 

Despite having severely impaired his own hearing to withstand a blood demon art that weaponized music in his early days in the Demon Slayer Corps, Kyojuro remained acutely aware of others’s sensitivity to noise—even if he was incapable of experiencing it himself anymore. 

Instinctively, he clasps his hands over your ears, a protective gesture to shield you from the cacophony of pops and cracks exploding in the sky. Slightly surprised, your fingertips grace the rough exterior of Kyojuro’s hands on the sides of your head. 

As you begin to move his hands away, turning to face him, you catch the look in his eyes—a mix of concern and curiosity. Looking at you wide eyed, matching your look of surprise, he asked point blankly “Is it too loud?” His voice earnest, searching your expression for reassurance.

“No, I’m alright.” you say with a soft smile.

“Do you… ever think that I am too loud?” His expression remains unchanged, but there’s a hint of vulnerability in his question. You pause for a moment, considering his words. “No,” you reply, your voice steady and confident. “I like how self-assured you speak. It puts me at ease when I hear you; it makes me feel like I can trust whatever you say, unequivocally.”

In a quick attempt to distract you from the color that hadn’t left his cheeks for the past moments, he looked away, quickly directing your attention back to the light show. 

“Look, my flame!” he exclaimed, his signature cheerfulness radiating from him, you raise your head to the sky, letting your eyes fall upon the illuminating bursts of color. Despite the brilliance of the fireworks dancing across the sky, you feel your head become heavy and your gaze flicker as you struggle to keep your eyes open. You can do little to stop yourself from swaying, beginning to nod off. 

Kyojuro’s gaze falters from the display bursting through the darkness upon noticing, moving you to the side of his chest for support. You feel a gentle touch embrace you, lightly stroking your hair as you subconsciously nestle against the unknown surface you found yourself resting against. Kyojuro was convinced you must’ve been an angel how peaceful you looked with the way the man-made supernova above you flashes across your features, like an ever-changing watercolor on your skin. 

You slowly lift your gaze, opening your eyes to meet his own ambered orbs, still flushed against him as if it was where you had belonged all along. Like puzzle pieces perfectly fitting together. Looking up at him, doey eyes, for the first time Rengoku Kyojuro found himself truly speechless. 

You clear the haze from your mind and attempt to rouse yourself up. But you didn’t want to remove yourself from the security of the warmth emanating off him. Not yet. You wished you could just lay there, as long as you possibly could. 

You felt as though he could see every one of your thoughts with how intently his golden irises pierced yours, with more affection than you thought possible for a person to muster. 

“Would you allow me to kiss you?” There is a tremble of fear of rejection in his voice, and you finally notice the rosy blush crossing his cheeks as he looks at you longingly, clearly enraptured. “Please” you reply softly. 

Feeling a hand brush against your cheek, your chin was gently raised as Kyojuro pulled you closer. You felt a spark ignite at where your lips joined and a surge of electricity rush through from where you connected. 

You feel his hand shift from your jawline to the side of your face where you were sure he could feel the heat of your cheeks. You ran your fingers through the thick sunkissed locks of his hair, and at that moment you felt your frozen exterior melt. 

The frigid ice that you encased yourself in a desperate attempt of self preservation, felt all but liquified now. All those painful feelings. There was no way to avoid the reality in your mind. Your own family considering you as no more than a bargaining chip, and giving you away as soon as you reached child bearing age. 

That realization created the cold front you manufactured. Even if it kept you detached from the rest of the world, you didn’t want to feel the ache of abandonment or desertion again. Even as you resisted, you couldn’t help but open yourself up in that moment to the radiant warmth that Kyojuro gave off. But you knew this meant now you were vulnerable to succumb to the blaze between you two, you might even be consumed by it. 

“A-Are you ready to go home my love.” Something you hadn’t heard him call you, ever. You nod your head in response as you continue to cling to him for support. The fatigue clouds your mind so much so that you hardly even notice what he calls you. But you could practically feel just that, what he called you.               

—————————————

A harsh WHACK echoed from the impact of carefully placed hits. Kyojuro’s wooden training stick sharply hitting the solid log propped before him, a staple of training sessions for any swordsman, pillars being no exception. Kyojuro continued hitting the same spots on the log over and over with increasing speed and power, hardly even acknowledging the Sound Hashira leaning against the wall feet away from him.

“You haven't given me a pep talk, or even barked at me to stop screwing around and start 'surpassing my limits’ and all that” he snickered blithely “so what the hell is on your mind.” 

Kyojuro stopped his incessant striking. His rough hands wiping a bead of sweat from rolling down his forehead, raking back loose strands of honey-golden hair before turning to his self proclaimed “flamboyant” but incredibly nosy dear friend. He looked blankly for a moment, clearly gathering his thoughts before speaking. 

“Don’t make that face, you look like Tomioka.” He chuckled, shaking his head with thinly veiled disgust. “Shit, man, I haven't seen you like this before.” Uzui said, inspecting his multicolored fingernails feigning disinterest, despite his probing. 

“Usually you're the type you can hear before you see. Now I have to pry a single word out of you.” 

Kyojuro shook his head with a laugh “Come now. I’m the same as I’ve always been. I just don’t know if I ought to share what I’m thinking of, out of discretion for the person.”

Taking a wry smirk upon his face, the fellow hashira’s eyebrow raised slyly “So, what did you do to her?” 

Despite being three years Kyojuro’s senior, Uzui had a penchant for regressing into a teenager both in impudence and coarseness. Much in contrast to Kyojuro, typically assuming a role more mature than his years. 

“So I…” Kyojuro was interrupted by Uzui slinging a large arm, resembling that of a bear’s around his shoulders. “Aw you finally had your first time, huh? Was it good? I was starting to worry you two would blush and fist bump forever...” 

“I kissed her,” Kyojuro said in a self-satisfied tone. 

Uzui went silent for a moment before letting out a thunderous laugh, Kyojuro maintaining his expression of complete seriousness. “With a wife that looks like her? You’re a strong man, Rengoku. I probably would’ve gone crazy by now.” 

Kyojuro’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You disrespect both her and yourself by talking like some kind of fiend, Uzui,” Kyojuro replied, crossing his arms like a disappointed father. 

Uzui sighed petulantly, taking a step back with his hands up as if in surrender. “You’re right, you’re right, my bad. A kiss is still a first for you, so congratulations.” 

“You do what you want, I just wonder why you waited until you were hitched to get any kind of a woman’s touch in the first place. I could’ve introduced you to so many girls over the years.” Uzui spoke bluntly.

Kyojuro held his arms straight out in front of him before executing the first four forms of Flame Breathing in rapid succession, deepening the existing divots marking the sides of the log. Looking over again with a bright smile, he answered “I suppose I’ve never felt tempted by the idea of a woman I do not love.” 

Uzui replaced his impish visage with one of sincerity reading between the lines of his friend’s remark. “So now it’s all different, huh? You really love her don’t you?” 

Kyojuro’s eyes dilated noticeably, his face overflowing with gratitude. “I always planned on making anyone who became my wife happy, but nothing is so simple anymore.”

“All that has faded away now, I cannot think of her as something as superficial as that. I just want her as purely as a man could. I do not think I could be without her if I tried.” The confidence in his voice eliminates any doubt when answering the question. 

“I just hope she feels the same for me, even if nothing more than a fraction…” Kyojuro’s voice trailed off.

Uzui chuckles, dragging his palms over his face dramatically with a groan, “Ugghhh. Just don’t get all mushy on me. I still need someone who can match my flash!” 

Uzui donned a smirk once again before adding “Albeit barely!”

Kyojuro ran a hand through his thick blazing hair with his unmistakable laugh, “Ha! Of course. If you’re going to keep up with me, you had better stop idling now Uzui.” Kyojuro said, gesturing over with his practice stick. 

—————————————

As time passed, the heat intensified. With that, you found the only time it was pleasant for a breath of fresh air was as dusk fell.The plum blossoms that littered the estate upon your arrival had all but withered, and in their stead, small tender buds were maturing into fruit. 

Even as the daylight waned, the heat clung to the air like a lingering embrace. The sky was a watercolor painting with streaks of saffron and rose fading into a deeper purple. The hued sky served as a grim warning for humans, and you made your way back to the gates with purpose. 

A bead of sweat trickled down your brow, raking through the tussle of your hair, you freeze at the missing sensation of the stiff yet delicate gifted hairpin. You run your hands over your clothes and run your fingers through your hair once again to ensure what you already suspected, it was gone. 

Using the remaining embers of the sun, you retrace your footsteps back down the path. The veil of night had fallen, but the moonlight made visibility no problem. It would only take a moment to search… 

You recede from the gates in your sights trepidatiously, meandering the path with eyes at your feet. You were vehemently hoping to find the hairpin as quickly as you could. It was no doubt expensive, and you couldn’t shake how rotten you felt that you so carelessly lost it. After some pacing, you finally spy what you had been looking for. A little dirty, but undamaged. You blow some of the debris off before returning to where you ought to be at this time. 

Your blood runs cold hearing stirring from somewhere around you, something is wrong. Are you being watched? You feel your heartbeat in your throat. It couldn’t possibly be what you feared. You try to take a breath but your lungs become shallow, unable to take in air. Afraid of making any sudden movement, your eyes darted around your surroundings for anything. 

You instinctually jump with a yelp upon hearing a raucous CAW cut through the obscurity of the darkness and your own panic. A kasugai crow? You see the silhouette of the dark bird darting into the distance in the blink of an eye. Why had it flown off so urgently? Where could it be going? You dismiss such questions as you feel your muscles free from tension with a deep exhale. You feel your heart rate coming down to its normal pace with your nerves stilling. You continue walking down the path to return to the house, moving with haste before your luck could run out. 

You are filled with the warmth of familiarity as you are but meters from the gates, when suddenly you feel a talloned grip of a murderous creature grab your left wrist yanking you back with such force you nearly bite your tongue. Time nearly stops as you turn your head and gaze upon the monster that wants nothing more than to feast on your flesh. You shriek in terror at the sight, two horrible red beady eyes, scaly white skin, and rows of razor sharp fangs. No doubt about it. A demon. 

Doing whatever you could possibly think of to free yourself from the death grip of the beast, you firmly clutch the hairpin in your right hand. Using the breakneck momentum sending you throat first hurling towards the abomination, you dig the metal accessory deep in its eye. 

The hair pin was left buried in its face. The creature howled in agony, throwing you to the ground as if you were weightless. Your ears ring and you feel warmth beginning to seep from your lower lip at the impact, but you know you’ve only bought yourself a few crucial seconds to get distance from the bloodthirsty monster. 

You rake the ground with your fingertips attempting to force yourself to your feet before stumbling down again. Horror and pain manifesting in your body at last, leaving you frozen in shock. You turn your head upon hearing the shrill screeches of pain turn to aggression once again. Its eye had already regenerated completely. 

The hairpin left a crumbled wire on the ground beside the beast. You can’t outrun this thing. If you turn from it again you’re dead for sure. Beads of crimson blood trickled from your lip, the metallic taste ripe in your mouth causing you to spit instinctually. The demon came lunging at you again, its speed and agility unreal as it launched from where it stood. 

You braced yourself for the inevitable when you saw a blur of motion, a burst of blazing  power. It was as if a fierce, explosive flame had ignited out of nowhere. Suddenly, you heard a pathetic plop as the demon’s decapitated head fell to the ground, disintegrating into ash. 

The creature didn’t even know what happened before it was slain with ease, in the blink of an eye. Standing firmly, with a presence exuding both fortitude and finesse, a figure appeared in front of you. The unforgettable haori of the Flame Hashira draped over the shoulders of your rescuer. 

In a fluid motion, Kyojuro thrusted the garnet blade out to the side, the demon blood shirking off cleanly. Then, lining the katana’s edge up with the sheath, he slid it into the wooden saya with a resounding click. He kneeled to your eye line, your breathing still ragged and uneven. 

He lifted a hand to your face, almost as if to ground himself. You feel his palm tremble against your cheek. You hold your own hand on his, stilling the involuntary tremor. Feeling the warmth of your skin against his, he quieted the panicked white noise in his mind. 

You looked in shock, but miraculously, mostly unharmed. Save for the blood dripping from your mouth down to your chin. He lightly swiped his thumb over your bottom lip in an attempt to wipe the blood from your face, the traces of what was nearly his greatest failure.

His mind went back to images of a distant past. She coughed blood as well. Mother.

When it became harder for her to move, he stood at her bedside wiping the red fluid from her lips as her chronic illness advanced. Around that time, the father he looked up to that was once full of passion seemed to forget he and Senjuro even existed, seemingly grieving the loss of his beloved wife already. When the day came she was unable to breathe anymore, she passed in the night, without anyone even getting a chance to say goodbye. And with that, whatever was left of the Rengoku “family” shattered. 

“Mother has gone to heaven...” 

The words felt like tons of lead hanging in the air when he broke the news to his younger brother the next day. As much as he wanted to scream, cry out, ask someone—anyone—why. Why did a gentle woman like her have to suffer to the very end without anyone even there when her body finally gave out? Why did father drink himself into a perpetual stupor? But he knew he couldn’t. Watching little Senjuro, barely four years of age, clinging to his arm, sobbing, he knew the last thing he could do was crumble. He had to be strong. Not just for himself, but for everyone. Strong enough to protect them all.

He winced at the thought of what could’ve happened if he followed the standard procedure of pillars on standby, and spent tonight fast asleep and blissfully unaware. 

“If I only got here a few minutes sooner. Did that thing touch you anywhere else?” His eyes remained steady and solemn on your sole injury, still holding your chin between his index finger and thumb. 

Your chest tightened seeing the look on his face, both shame and concern. You told him you would try to lessen the burden he felt. What an empty platitude you’d spewed that night. 

“I-I’m alright… really, the Earth did me more damage than it did.” You knew he would only consider it as a personal ineptitude if the very being he swore to annihilate managed to do any degree of injury to you. Even with your futile attempt to ease the concern and remorse, no doubt digging deeper into his skin than any claw of a demon, his countenance was drawn thin. The man who you knew to burn with unwavering sanguinity, was reduced to a flicker of uncertainty at the sight before him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want you to worry about me, you already worry about everyone. I don’t want to be a burden or another thing hanging on your mind. And I broke my hairpin. I’m sor-” Your near hysterical drabble was abruptly cut off by Kyojuro pulling you closer, wrapping his arms around you as if to create a protective cocoon to keep you from harm henceforth, tenderly holding your head like a lifeline. 

“Do not apologize. I won’t allow it. I am your husband… so just this once, please, you must obey me. I won’t let you apologize for anything.” His voice wracked with tremors, the usual self-assuredness cracking beneath the weight of everything.

“Even if you apologize for it, you will not leave my mind. It’s not possible. But it’s not because you’re a burden. You’ve never been a burden. Never.” He forcibly regained his composure, wiping a tear that had escaped to run down your cheek. Still holding your face so that he could take it in its entirety, sear each feature into his mind if he could. His lips curled back into a smile, one that he hoped you would mirror back at him. 

Despite your insistence you were practically unscathed, Kyojuro insisted on carrying you back to the house. With careful hands, he lifted you effortlessly, as if you weighed no more than a feather. You could feel the heat radiating from him, if you didn’t know better you might’ve thought he was feverish. 

“Warm” you think to yourself, he really was always so warm.

—————————————

The morning light filtered into the room like flecks of gold, but he paid no mind to it. He had been awake before dawn anyway. Unable to shake the feeling of a taint sticking to his skin like a film of filth. What had happened hours earlier, a blur of fangs, debris, shadows, and sanguine hued splatters. 

He moved deliberately, as to not awaken you so early in the other room. Clamping a fabric tie between his teeth, he lifted his arms to gather the amber strands of his hair, his shoulders flexed, corded muscles shifting smoothly beneath his skin. Before dexterously pulling through and fastening his usual ponytail with one hand. 

Next, he inspected the condition of the white haori accented with red and yellow left carefully folded across the room. Scanning it, running his hands over it, he ensured the prized heirloom wasn’t soiled as he did each time he worked. He was meticulous about his corps uniform, never did he allow it to look  creased, disheveled, or unprofessional. But the most important piece of the ensemble was his haori. 

Passed down from generation to generation, the garment was a symbol of the house Rengoku going back to the Sengoku era, precious, and only be to worn by the current Flame Hashira.The kaen pattern was a sacred motif that served as both a beacon of light to those in need of salvation, as well as a searing warning to evil. The privilege of donning it was not one to be taken lightly. He most literally carried the long legacy of Flame Breathing on his shoulders. 

With that legacy came an unyielding duty. Every hashira had a sector they were responsible for protecting, mainly by remaining vigilant for anything suspicious that could be related to demonic movements. Weak demons were much like mindless animals, prowling the night haphazardly seeking human flesh to feast on. 

They were easy to both find and slay. On the other hand, powerful demons were intelligent, sinister. They spun elaborate webs, even employing humans or feigning humanity themselves to strategically ensnare unsuspecting victims to devour, only to then return to the shadows and repeat the cycle again and again. 

In recent days, Kyojuro knew something was horribly awry in his district. Forty passengers and a small platoon of demon slayers did not simply vanish from their seats halfway through a train ride. And just as that same “man-eating train” was to return to the rails, a demon dubbed “The Slasher” doing absolutely nothing to conceal itself, suddenly begins wreaking havoc? A distraction, no doubt. 

There was a foreboding bitterness in the air of something horrific to come, a phase two of this calculated plot. A twelve kizuki, perhaps even an upper rank, was lying in wait. Reporting his findings to the Master, Kyojuro was officially dispatched, and to board the Mugen Train at dusk in two days time. 

It was standard procedure for the pillars to have a short period to arrange preparations and fully rest before the ordeal to come when assigned a mission from the Master himself; he had not been personally sent by the Master on a mission more than but a few times in his career. 

When a hashira was sent at all, it was a signifier as to the direness and expected peril of the situation. A code red emergency. It was a necessity for anyone attending such a high stakes operation to be both mentally and physically at their pinnacle, a few nights of leaving patrol to the sector’s subordinate kinoe and kinoto battalions was in the best interests of all. Even a pillar is only human after all. 

He was no stranger to any of this, he had been on countless missions, even eliminating the twelve kizuki was something he knew he was capable of doing. He usually did follow the expectation of a brief rest period, but he was under no real obligation to. No one, not even the wise Master, would try to convince a pillar of their own physical threshold if one continued duties anyway. 

Images of ruby droplets dripping down your lip played in his mind on loop. It stirred something fierce in him, something that made any prospect of fatigue irrelevant. You had been so close to becoming another victim, another statistic of demonic cruelty. His jaw tightened at such a thought. Was respite a luxury he could afford? 

The Slasher was known for its speed; just last night, several crows reported sightings from different towns in a span of a few minutes. He could not let the beast stay on the prowl another night. He would eliminate it now if he could. He could not entrust its defeat to another slayer, or even another pillar. 

The sightings had been too close to the estate; he wanted to track and dispose of it himself. He would never forgive himself if he stood idly by waiting for the Master’s order to board the Mugen Train, and something happened to someone he cared about again. Every fiber of his being screamed to act, to protect, unwilling to afford to think of anything else right now—not even the impending mission.

All his pursuits of strength, in an attempt to fulfill his promise, no, his duty not just to Mother, but to everyone he was capable of defending. Was it all for naught? He could not succumb to the trap of self satisfaction. Continue. Onward. There had to be more he could do, more who he could protect. A pillar is an immovable object to support all that rests upon it, and he would be the same. Solidified with an overwhelming passion. A couple of sleepless nights should be nothing to inhibit a hashira, right? He just needed to push himself harder.

“Please take care of yourself, unless you want me to worry” 

A softer image of you enters his mind. Warm lantern light reflecting from your face, cheeks dusted with a rosy hue, and a wistful smile. Your echoes in his mind, almost hauntingly so. Your voice is saccharine like honey, and your words even more so. 

He began slipping into his usual uniform attire, each button latched a manifestation of his ironclad resolve. He would investigate the Slasher incidents even if it took the next two day, and dispose of it. He would try to stop home for a quick goodbye, then straight away mount the Mugen Train next. 

You would have to find it in your heart to excuse what he was planning to do. He slid the shoji open a crack large enough to peer inside. He looked in on you, peacefully asleep. The sunlight, a golden cascade against your skin. It may have well cast a halo upon you, the way you look positively ethereal. Whispering in a voice uncharacteristically low as to not cut through the tranquil, he uttered solemnly:

“Please, forgive me…”

—————————————

The cicadas chirped with the evening upon them, the warm air sat like a blanket over the Earth, with barely any breeze. With the company of the youngest Rengoku, you sat on the back porch of the house. Time moved slow, seemingly not even at all, like they were suspended in placidity, or maybe even monotony. 

“Is it normal for pillars to be sent out for over two days straight?” You ask the young boy next to you.

“No,” he replied with certainty “They are the most valuable assets of the entire corps. Only to be dispatched when all logistics and reconnaissance is done, and they need someone to finish off the threat itself. Or perhaps if there is a devastating emergency or something, but even then.”

You nod, expressing understanding. “Brother likes to be involved every step of the way though, he likes enforcing that every position in the corps is equally essential, including hashira” Senjuro can’t hide his starry-eyed look at the mere mention of his idol. 

You hum amusedly, how had you forgotten? You can picture him now, tirelessly ensuring that every corps member feels valued, regardless of rank or whether they wield a sword or simply provide support.

You can’t help but acknowledge how characteristic that kind of mindset was. That man really takes every opportunity to work as hard as humanly possible to set an example for others. 

“You think he will send a crow soon?” Despite Senjuro’s steady tone and demeanor, you see his lip quivering. 

“He always comes straight here as soon as he can, I’m sure he will be back by tomorrow morning at the latest.” You steel yourself, speaking confidently and self assured, smiling back at Senjuro. 

“That’s what Kyojuro would do.” You think to yourself. 

“W-would you come with me to our Mother’s altar?” Senjuro looked at you, concern still wrought into his features. 

“Oh, uh sure.” You had yet to see where the late lady of the house was laid to rest, or the shrine that served as a physical memory of her within the home. The right occasion just hadn’t come up. 

Maybe you remembered seeing her when you were a child the day you were promised to the Rengoku family? You can vaguely recall a beautiful measured woman with long, dark hair, in every manner down to how she breathed she exuded elegance and poise. Judging by how many years ago that was, Senjuro probably remembers her about as much as you do. 

Regardless of that, her spirit was likened to that of an angelic being. Either serving as a fond memory of simpler times, or a bitter reminder of when life was worth living for all those who once loved her.

The boy rose to his feet beckoning you to follow him, taking a stick of incense before leading you into a small room.

 Adorning the tiered altar were chrysanthemums and fine silks, leading to a portrait with an inscription beneath reading “Rengoku Ruka: Beloved Wife and Mother.” Her deep crimson eyes reflected a patience extending infinitely, steadily taking in all they surveyed. 

“Someone already lit incense?” You say gesturing to the aromatic as it sat already burning, concentrated sake poured into an ornate ceremonial ochoko beside it. It looked as if the offering had been left earlier that same day. 

“There’s never any incense here when my brother is gone.” Senjuro frowned at the untouched stick in his own hand. “There’s a bit of an old school tradition he told me about from The Flame Hashira Chronicles talking about pillars lighting incense for each other when they are sent into the field for an extended period, kind of as a way of praying for their safety. I’m not sure if the current pillars still believe in it, but my brother definitely does. He really tries his best to follow the ways of previous generations of hashira.” 

You wondered why such a ritual was getting phased out, perhaps it was just considered archaic? You were no elite swordsman yourself, but it only made sense in your mind. The longer they are forced to continue fighting, the more difficult the mission becomes as they slowly fatigue. They deserve all the support from their fellow pillars in that case.

Senjuro sighed, “I figured he would like it if we followed that custom and lit some for his protection, just in case none of his comrades did it for him.”

As much as you were sure Kyojuro would be touched by you and Senjuro wanting to burn incense for him, your heart bled at the thought of being the only ones to do so. However, clearly there was someone else in the house who showed concern and solidarity for his endeavor…

“Well, I guess we won’t have to.” You assure Senjuro in an attempt to ease his disappointment. You could tell he wanted to be the one to ask Ruka’s spirit for guardianship and watchfulness over his brother. Nevertheless, you both kneeled on the zabuton cushion before the altar, your hands both folded reverently. 

“Please Mother, keep brother from harm. Please guide him home when he is victorious over the demons.” 

You shut your eyes while listening to Senjuro’s plea, feeling your breath shallow with worry hearing his words. You hadn’t said it to each other yet, but there it was. You and Senjuro both had considered the possibility of something dreadful, even as hard as you tried not to. You found yourself imploring as well. 

“Please Ruka-san…  watch over him.”

—————————————

He looked over his shoulder at the younger slayer incapacitated on the ground, and the civilians of the Mugen Train as they attempted to recover from the aftermath of the locomotive going off the rails. 

The tattooed demon seemed in a state of bliss at the sensation of his blade slicing its body, as if it was in a state of bliss from the adrenaline of battle. The slashes closed as quickly as he created them, his enemy standing unharmed. “You still don’t get it? That if you continue attacking, you’re just getting closer to death, Kyojuro?” 

Blood obscured his left eye to the point he couldn’t even see out of it. He felt sharp splinters of rib bone against his side, nearly making him dizzy from the pain. He tightened his core to do whatever he could to prevent the fragments from puncturing his vitals from within. He could not falter now. Not when over 200 lives hung in the balance. Firming his resolve, he gripped his blade with a vice. 

The final and most powerful form of Flame Breathing was a Rengoku family secret technique. A mystery to demons and swordsmen alike. There were no records of an enemy living to tell the tale once it was wielded, even tsuguko hailing from outside the family were only told of eight forms in existence. 

No matter how many centuries the monster known as Upper Moon 3 had lived, he could not possibly know of this move if he had never encountered a Flame Hashira before, as he had previously boasted.

This creature was not a demon, he was a calamity. A being only devoted to destruction. One that needed to be taken down here and now. This was his last chance, even if all he could do was trap the demon in place until dawn. He had to use it, the penultimate stance of Flame Breathing. A form that could only be described as using mind, body, very soul as kerosene and setting one alight to burn, burn!

“Flame Breathing Esoteric Art, Ninth Form: Rengoku!”

Taking off full speed, the rest of the world fragmenting into oblivion as his vision darkened at the edges. His only focus was striking with as much speed and power as he possibly could. A burning ferocity went ripping through every nerve ending, focusing every ounce of strength from everything down to each individual cell, to a single objective. 

His opponent’s face lit up with ecstasy, cackling in a fit of twisted delight. “Now you must become a demon! We could continue to duel each other for the rest of eternity!”

The ground shook at both forces of nature colliding, all the pain reaching a threshold in his body that it became numb at once. He entered a dreamlike state. As if he was no longer in control of his own body, the righteous fury from within was overflowing to move him without thinking. It was only when the beast launched himself into the air, both arms ripped that he understood what had happened as they stood in a deadlock. Feeling his muscles finally give, he fell to his knees. Everything went white, the overwhelming silence gripping him in place. It was as if he was suspended in the crossroads of reality and time. 

He sat kneeling in a maroon yukata. The familiar tatami floors he had known all his life beneath him. He was home? He looked down his lap to see the calloused, hardened palms he had acquired over years of combat were replaced with small, soft hands of a child. 

Lifting his head from the ground, his breath caught in his throat at the sight before him. Serene ruby eyes met his gaze, complemented by the same sage countenance he had once known. 

“Mother? Did I… did I do right by you? My duty… being strong... Did I fail?” 

Her expression remained calm, the picture of composure, even now, embodying the quiet strength that had always defined her. “Kyojuro,” she spoke, her voice flowing like a babbling brook, soothing and reassuring. “You have never failed.”

“Why… Why can’t I embrace you Mother?” He was moving in slow motion, the harder he strained to reach her, the more resistance he felt on his body. What was this place?

“That is because it's not time. You are not finished yet. You promised to see your duty fulfilled, so fulfill it.” She continued, her eternally stoic gaze softened. “I’m so proud of you, my son.”

To be continued...

[novaawayne]

If you're reading this...

go write three sentences on your current writing project.

[novaawayne]

Getting a call while Suguru’s balls deep inside you sounds so interesting, lowkey.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Your fiancé would coo into your ear, cock dipping in and out of your sopping cunt languidly as his hot breath hit the crown of your ear.

It would all be so intimate. The way Geto has you beneath him, holding your shaky legs open for himself as his heavy balls smacked against you every time he thrusted his fat cock into you. His hips were moving slow but his dick was splitting you open.

"Sugu," You'd gasp, nails scratching at his toned back as you panted out a heavy breath of air, "Fuck-, mmh..."

"Can't get enough of this pussy, mmgh. Listen t'her talk t'me," He whispers to you, the messy slick of your cunt wetting up his shaft as he drew his hips back hitting both of your ears, "Y’like that, baby? Like bein’ stuffed like this, hm?” Geto questions.

Though, his words weren’t directed to you.

He often did that during sex— talked to your cunt, referring to it as she and baby just like how he talks to you. And it gets even worse whenever he’s giving you head.

Currently though, as Geto talks you, and your pussy, through his steady strokes, you moan his name up until your phone begins to ring.

The sound of your loud ass ring tone makes your lover groan, leaning up away from you just to catch sight of who the hell was calling you. To his surprise, none other than his best friend’s contact name was beaming across your phone screen.

“Hahh,” Geto cracks a half smile, “The fuck is Satoru callin’ you for?” He asks, sounding annoyed despite the amusement etched onto his features.

The curve of his cock sinks deeper into you as he reaches for your cell phone and you scratch at his chest, too fucked out to render what the hell he was talking about. All you wanted was his body pressed up against yours again.

“S-Suguu, shit-, ignore it, please.” You huff out demandingly, earning nothing more than a mere glance from your fiancé as he peers down at you from the corner of his eye.

Swiping your phone up, “Why’s he calling?”

“I don’t know,” You pout, extending a hand to his neck and trying to pull him back down to you. Your attempt almost works as Geto is tugged a bit closer to you, his hips still and his eyes back on your phone buzzing in his palm.

Cocking his head to the side, he smirks, “Find out then,” Suguru says to you.

You’re confused for only a second before an explanation is given through him answering the call and pressing it to your ear. Your eyes go wide as you realize he wants you to talk to Satoru while he’s balls deep inside you.

Gulping, “Sugu-“

“Hello?” You get cut off by the connection of the phone call and the sound of Gojo’s voice in your ear.

Your fiancé smiles down at you and whispers, “Go on, talk to him, baby. Promise I won’t move,” He hums all too sweetly.

It was definitely suspicious coming from him. You’ve been down the road more times than you can count— Geto promising not to fuck you while you talk to someone but ultimately doing so anyway.

With pleading eyes, you nod, hoping he’ll keep his promise this time around. “Hi Satoru,” You say into the phone, watching your fiancé mock you through his facial expressions.

“Heyyy, how are youuu?” Gojo purrs over the phone, his tone letting you know he definitely called to ask you for something.

You take a deep breath, “M’fine, can I ask why you called?”

“Straight to the point I see,” Gojo says with that smug voice of his.

Rolling your eyes, you release a sigh, "Yeah, I guess so. I'm kinda busy right now so uh, make it quick." Your tone was a lot more put together than you expected of yourself, especially with Geto's thick inches stuffed into the hilt of your cunt.

And for a while he doesn't move, he just sit there, marinating in the warmth of your cunt and listening in on your conversation.

“Well, then," Gojo starts, his voice suddenly enthusiastic, "Remember when I came over last week?"

Geto starts to lean up again and you send him skeptical eyes, to which he flashes another innocent smile at you. Then you sigh, "Yes, why?"

"Did I uh, leave my jacket there?" The male over the phone asks.

You blink, "You could've texted me this question y'know," The end of your sentence comes off all too breathy as a thumb suddenly swats over your clit, your free hand moving down to Geto's finger and trying to swat him away.

He just smirks at you though and presses the pad of his thumb into you, watching the way your back arches a bit and your lips part.

"Yes, I could've texted you this questions buuuut, you always ignore me," Gojo argues.

You bite your lip for a moment as Geto draws small circles around your clit-- you knew he was going to do this and yet you still weren't prepared for it. "I do not," You breathe out.

On the other side of the phone, Gojo tilts his head and his borws furrow, "You alright over there? Y'sound out of breath."

"M'fine, Satoru. And n-no, I haven't seen your jacket," You stammer as Geto starts drawing his hips back his eyes locked down on your cunt and how lewdly it's spread open for his cock, smirking before he spits down on it.

"Right... Well can you ask Suguru then?" Gojo continues, "I really need it for-"

"Can I just call you back?" You say all in one breath, trying your best to keep your composure as Geto eases himself back into you, fucking you so very slowly that it's both tortuous and stimulating at the same time.

The full stretch of Geto's thick girth way driving you insane, the way he'd ease back and then push forward, thumbing your clit simultaneously as his salvia smeared and mixed with the mess you've already made of him from earlier.

"Please?" You suddenly whine, not sure if it was really directed toward Gojo or Geto as you said it.

That's when Gojo pauses, his hears practically perking up at the tone of your voice, "Hey... No need to beg me to get off the phone, y'know," He hums, his voice suddenly... lower? "I would've hung up without the please but I dunno, you sound busier than I expected."

Your brows furrow at his sudden resistance toward ending the call, "Meaning?" You question, eyes focused on your fiance's face which was twisted up and he groaned quietly due to the sudden squeeze of your cunt.

There's a slight scoff over the phone, "Oh nothing, just uh-, well, am I interrupting something?"

Your lashes bat in disbelief of Gojo and Geto's losing his mind at how much your pussy's throbbing around his cock. Was that his doing or his best friend's doing? What exactly was Satoru saying to you over the phone and why were you squirming so much?

Geto tears his eyes away from where the two of you are connected and he looks at your face, spotting that you're basically just as confused as he is. Tipping his head to the side, he locks eyes with you and decides that that's the perfect time to thrust every inch of himself back into you.

The way your jaw drops, a moan pouring out so clearly and obscenely-- it makes Geto smile, nearly forgetting that Gojo probably heard that...

Probably would be an understatement too because Gojo's on his end of the call with his face flushed and his eyes widened, "Did you just moan?" He questions.

And as he does so, Geto decides not to hold back anymore, working up that brutal pace of his thrust by thrust as you slap a hand over your mouth and moan into your palm.

Barely even able to utter a response to Gojo, "N-No," You gasp, "I just-, mmh. Fuck, can I please call you back?"

Gojo blinks. Then he swallows, thickly, "Where's Suguru?"

Your mouth opens to respond but the phone is suddenly taken from you. Geto places one hand to your lower abdomen and pushes down slightly on the imprint in your skin where his cock is, his hips smacking into you roughly as you body jerked and you spasm.

Then you hear Geto speaking and realize he's taken the phone, "Busy fuckin' her to tears, call you back later 'Toru," He hums out simply.

Gojo coughs and then he laughs, "Hey wait," He stalls without second thought.

Your fiance tilts his head into the phone and his hips grow a bit harsher with you, the pressure of his hand on your lower abdomen making his swollen cock hit deeper and deeper. Then there was that mean curve of his, beating into where you were sensitive and making you whimper.

"Hm?" Geto hums in response, sounding almost annoyed.

"Y'Mind if I stay on the phone and listen?"

[novaawayne]

Look at these cuties😭🤌🏻

[novaawayne]

☀️ Stucky ☀️ patreon.com/leehanji

[novaawayne]

『 Your Girlfriend 』

☼ synopsis: When Yuuji introduced his half brother to you, you didn't expect to end up between them the way you do but you're the last one to complain when you get to take Choso's virginity.

☼ characters: Choso, Yuuji

☼ wc: 4.2k

☼ cw: fem!reader, afab!reader, threesome, virgin Choso, fingering, oral (reader giving and receiving), consent checks, cum eating, creampie, soft aftercare, mentions of breaking Choso's heart at the end

☼ notes: oh me oh my I finally finished this. It's wayyy longer than expected hehe || Thank you @semisgroupie for beta reading this! @kentophilia @kenpachisbrat thank you for letting me write this in chat and for hyping me up! || Taglist

When Yuuji first told you that his brother would come to live with the both of you, you weren't too impressed given that your place wasn't very big. However, all doubts washed away the moment you met him - Choso.

The man was slightly older than your boyfriend but just as pleasant to be around. Sure, he looked a little intimidating at first, quite the opposite of the man you live with, but his warm personality made up for it tenfold. Reminding yourself that your apartment wasn't big, you finished setting up the couch in your living room, a two-room apartment not leaving much more options but it was fine for Choso, who was just grateful to have a roof over his head while he looked for a new home.

Seeing him sit there on the couch that now resembled a bed, you couldn't help but stifle a small laugh. He looked like a soggy kitten in a cardboard box, ready to be picked up and taken to a warm and loving home. Perhaps it was his quiet nature whenever you were around, the puppy dog eyes he gave you when you spoke to him, or the fleeting glances he gave whenever he thought you weren't looking. Whatever it was, you enjoyed his presence at home, while Yuuji was head over heels that his two favorite people got along so well.

"You know he has a crush on you, right?" Yuuji asked with a smirk, his voice just above a whisper as you two stood in the comically small kitchen while Choso got the living room ready for movie night.

Closing the oven in which a mouthwatering pizza slowly started to become golden-brown, you shot your boyfriend a glare, eyes wide and mouth pressed to a thin line.

"Don't say that!" You hushed back, unsure if it was because you didn't want Choso to hear a conversation about him or because of the weird feeling these news brought.

You shouldn't like the fact that another man wanted you, let alone the brother of your boyfriend. Yet somehow your heart skipped a little beat upon the thought of not just someone - but the sweet Choso - having a little schoolboy crush on you. It made you feel giddy in all the wrong places.

"Why not? He told me himself, "the pink-haired man laughed amused, not feeling threatened or worried in the slightest since he knew you were loyal to a fault.

All you could do was shake your head, laughing it off uncomfortably as you got the pizza out of the oven. It looked perfect, really. The crust was thick and crisp, while the cheese was the perfect mix of gooey and toasted, a beautiful golden color. The way you were desperately trying to think of anything but the man sitting in your living room seemed pathetic, even to yourself.

"And what's the point of this conversation?" You asked, feigning annoyance as one hand moved to rest on your hip.

"Don't know. Maybe we can give him what he wants..." Yuuji dragged his words to build anticipation before finally continuing his sentence, trying to look for any reaction on your face, "you." Yuuji stated boldly as a smirk grew on his lips.

Could he feel how the heat shot up to your cheeks, or perhaps he heard the smallest gasp - or was it the way your pupils dilated that gave you away?

"I- what?" You asked, clearly at a loss of words. Yuuji has always been stating how he'd never survive seeing you with another guy, which is why he never wanted to have a threesome, so what changed?

"You heard me." He chuckled and pulled you closer, a boyish grin spreading across his handsome face when you tried to look everywhere but at him.

"Only if that's what you want, of course," he stated, making sure that you knew no one would ever pressure you into anything you weren't entirely certain of. It took you a moment to answer, your mind and heart arguing with one another over what would be the right thing to do, but Yuuji's lips kissing down from your cheek to your neck ripped you out of that train of thought.

"I've seen the way you look at him... and he's a good guy. I trust him with my life," Yuuji whispered against the soft skin of your neck, eliciting goosebumps.

"Plus," he started and you felt the hot breath of a chuckle follow before his next words came out, "He's a virgin."

You didn't mean for your eyes to lock with your boyfriends with such a hungry look in them, but your body reacted before your brain did and the pink-haired man could only laugh as a response before pecking your lips.

"I'll take that as a yes then?" He asked amused and grabbed the little pizza cutter, laughing to himself at how angry you were at him when he cut the pizza with a scissor last time.

"And you're sure that you want that? I wouldn't want you to see me as a cheater or... leave me over it." Your last words came out as a mumble, the fear eating away at your insides, but Yuuji was quick to react.

"I was the one who suggested it!" He quickly reassured you, the pizza cutter hitting the kitchen counter with a loud bang since he just dropped it mid-movement.

"We don't have to do this if you're not entirely sure, I would never pressure you or think any less if you say yes," he continued and a kiss on your forehead followed right after.

You were looking for reassurance in his gaze and he simply smiled at you with that sweet smile of his, a tiny dimple forming on each of his cheeks as his eyes grew soft. There was no malicious intent behind his offer, only sincerity without any sort of resentment or judgement.

"Yes. I think we could make him feel good," you whispered quite shy before hiding your face in the chest of your boyfriend, laughing to yourself as you shook your head slightly. It looks like you'd be sleeping with your boyfriend's brother tonight.

Neither Yuuji nor you brought the topic up during dinner, so you three were just devouring this pizza that looked far too delicious for its own good while watching a movie Choso picked. To be honest, you barely paid attention to the movie, your mind was busy with the thoughts of what would happen, unsure how to even initiate anything of that sort.

Hey Choso, wanna fuck me while your brother, my boyfriend, watches? you thought to yourself, your heart beating faster at the thought of Choso's reaction, but Yuuji saw the way your mind was racing with at least 100 miles per hour.

A single look from your lover was enough to calm you down, it screamed I got this, don't worry and you trusted his intuition, trying to even your breath and sort your thoughts. Still a little nervous, your boyfriend pulled you onto his lap, a stupid grin planted on his face when he rested his forehead against yours.

"Yes?" He whispered, giving you a chance to back out before anything starts, but you just nodded softly before his lips melted against yours in a passionate kiss.

The world around you slowed down before it stopped turning, your surroundings slowly disappearing as you closed your eyes and let yourself fall fully into the kiss. As your tongues were dancing, you entirely drowned out the fact that Choso was still sitting on the other end of the couch, as stiff as a board.

He tried, he really did try not to look over at you two making out, but it got increasingly harder when you whimpered into the kiss shortly after Yuujis hand slipped under your shirt. As a last ditch effort, the black-haired man cleared his throat, only for the both of you to whip your head in the direction of the noise - lips swollen from the kissing and your eyes glossed over with pleasure.

"W-would you mind taking that to your bedroom?" He asked almost shy, not wanting to sit around awkwardly while his brother pretty much fucked his girlfriend right next to him.

Yuuji gave you a knowing look before turning back to Choso while lifting your shirt over your head to leave you more vulnerable than before in just your pretty bra. You heard the way Choso gulped and averted his gaze, and your boyfriend spoke up to break the silence.

"Or you could join us?" He simply offered as one of his hands slowly raked up your ribcage, a needy look of yours now directed at Choso, who didn't know if this was a wet dream or reality.

"What?" His voice cracked, making it sound comically high pitched followed by a giggle of yours at how flustered he was.

"Can I kiss you?" You asked quite bold, trying to ignore the butterflies doing cartwheels in your stomach.

Choso could only nod in response, too scared this is just a prank you two are trying to pull off, so he embarrasses himself in front of you, but before he knew it, you were sitting on his lap with that honeyed smile of yours so close to his own face.

"I heard that you like me." Your voice traveled across his spine and caused every hair on his body to raise and he only nodded once again.

"Can you tell me if this is what you want? To make out with me?" You asked, guilt slowly forming in your chest because he was so unresponsive and resembled a deer in headlights more than a man who wanted to be with you.

"Is this okay? Can I... really?" He asked with a raspy voice, overflowing with insecurity.

Unsure of how to actually make him feel more secure, you placed his hands on your bare sides, a sweet smile on your lips as you kissed the corner of his lips.

"I can be all yours tonight, if that's what you want." Your words gave him the green light and that was all he needed to kiss you.

His kisses were much more gentle than his brothers, a lot less possessive and his hands held onto you like a ghosts, worried that you'd crumble if he actually held onto your curves. You simply let Choso explore the territory, not plunging your tongue into his mouth and forcing something when instead this was so soft and sweet. Your body shuddered when a second pair of hands started touching you, opening up your bra before raking down your spine, just to see you shudder again. Yuuji wanted to help you two move things forward but left it to you to take your bra off, which you did without hesitation prior to moving Choso's hands further up your body so they were now resting on your chest.

The black-haired man immediately started to grope the supple flesh of your tits, his tongue finally slipping past your lips to caress yours with a newfound confidence - A confidence you could clearly feel between his legs. You couldn't stop yourself from grinding into the bulge that formed in his pants, mewling sweetly when he gently played with your nipples.

You could feel your own slick starting to soil your panties, making them stick against your hot skin, so you carefully pushed Choso against the backrest of the couch, the both of you panting heavily.

"Looks like you made her want more," Yuuji teased his older brother as he helped you shimmy out of your pants, desperately trying to get rid of any layer that separated your wet cunt from him.

"Show him how wet you are, flower." Your boyfriend made you bend over to show your slick folds to his brother, a single digit of the younger man gliding through your folds, which made you gasp in surprise and pleasure.

"More," you begged when his finger left your needy cunt just as quick as it appeared, resulting in a sweet chuckle of his. He won't ever deny you your pleasure, but Choso was the one the spotlight was on tonight.

"I'll play a little with your pussy and you show him how good you can use your mouth," Yuuji mused and made you stand on all fours on the floor, your face resting on Choso's thigh, who eagerly pushed his pants down just enough to free his hard cock. Just as promised, you felt two slender fingers slip into your dripping wet entrance the moment you started drooling all over Choso's cock. It was a little longer than Yuuji’s but nowhere near as girthy. Your tongue darted out eagerly to lick from his balls to his tip before your lips wrapped around him and your head sunk down all the way.

Choso had to grip the cushions of the couch he was seated on the second your nose touched the stubble on his groin. "F-fuck, slow down, please,” the man begged for mercy, his virgin cock not used to pleasure provided by anything but his own hands or pillow, but his plea was met with a needy moan from you as Yuuji started to massage your sweet spot with his fingers. A shit-eating grin was all the black-haired man saw when he looked at Yuuji for help.

“Play nice, you're his first,” Yuuji reminded you with a chuckle, ignoring the way his own dick ached for a crumb of your attention, but he patiently waited for his turn.

With a frown you pulled away and gently kissed the pink tip of Choso's cock and swirled your tongue over it until his head fell onto the backrest, the sweetest moans filling the room alongside the squelching noises of your pussy. It was a sight you could certainly get used to, although you shouldn't even think about doing this again - especially not with your boyfriend's brother.

“Can I ride you?” You eventually ask boldly, craving to have him inside of you and it seemed like the feeling was mutual with the way his cock twitched at just the thought.

Your boyfriend slowly pulled his fingers from your core only to clean them with his tongue, caramel eyes looking right at yours as he did so, making the situation so much more intimate as you slowly climbed on top of the other man. Calloused hands were holding onto your hips with an iron grip and you could feel them tremble ever so slightly, which made you hesitate to sink down on him.

“Changed your mind?” You asked with a voice like honey, your soft lips kissing any trace of worry and insecurity away while making him feel like a god beneath your caress.

His hand reached down to line the bulbous tip up with your awaiting entrance, slowly guiding you down by the hips until you were fully seated on his cock. It felt so wrong but also just so divine to have another cock inside of you while your boyfriend slowly palmed himself through the fabric of his underwear as he watched your thighs shake and your lungs eagerly gasp for air. Your arms were slung around the man's neck, pulling him into your chest while you tried to regain your composure, but the size of him made it almost impossible for you to breathe, certain that he would bruise your cervix if he would thrust into you now, but you needed it, needed him to move. Choso, however, guided your hips, barely letting you bounce on top of him since he was close to bursting the moment you enveloped his cock with your tight heat.

“Don't you dare to cum inside. That's my girl,” Yuuji threatened his brother. Sure, he said he'd share, but the thought of another man filling you up and claiming you in that way made the jealousy bubble up. This was a side of your boyfriend you never even knew of because he wasn't the jealous type, but even the pure-hearted Yuuji had boundaries that shouldn't be crossed, which both of you respected - or at least tried to respect.

Choso carefully moved without ever pulling out to lay you on the couch. The image of you beneath him was a fantasy he fucked his hand to so many nights before and now it was reality, his hips mercilessly jerking against yours and his thrusts growing even sloppier than before. Long hair cascaded down to frame his face, but the moment you felt him twitch, you pushed against his chest, trying to get him out of the trance of fucking into you like an animal that was chasing his own high. It was almost too late - thick ropes of hot cum spurting right onto your cunt, coating your folds in ivory as some of it slowly slipped inside. It shouldn't have made you whimper like a bitch in heat, but the noise escaped your throat before you even realized it - and once you did, you were almost too embarrassed, perhaps a little scared to look at your boyfriend. Yuuji, however, chuckled at how quickly his brother came, caressing your cheek ever so gently despite the thin layer of sweat that slowly formed on your skin.

"You've done so well, flower. Do you think he should clean up the mess he made of my cute girlfriend?” He asked sickenly sweet, but a glare was set towards his brother, who looked completely fucked out with his hair disheveled and eyes half closed in pure bliss. Of course you nodded, loving the thought of another man licking up the mess he made of your cunt so your boyfriend could claim you properly. Choso barely registered the hand on the back of his head when he was pushed down between your thighs, instinctively lapping at your core and whimpering at the taste of your mixed fluids. It should disgust him, having his own cum on his tongue, but it tasted almost good mixed with your sweet nectar - and the fact that he got to eat out the woman of his dreams made his head spin and his arms hooked over your legs to bury his face further in your cunt. The man was skilled with his tongue despite it being his first time, he read your body language and the moment his cum was lapped up, he focused on the little nub, his tongue flicking your clit relentlessly until your hips bucked against his face helplessly.

“Enough” Yuuji moaned, his cock leaking precum as his hand wasn't good enough anymore. All your whines and moans made him lose his mind, so he urged his brother off of you to flip you around.

"Hmm, yes please, Yuu,” you moaned softly, begging for your boyfriend to finally have his turn with you. Your head was now resting on Choso’s trained thighs when Yuuji sunk into you, the stretch it provided had you spiraling towards your orgasm already.

The pace your lover set was relentless, hunger and the need to make sure you remember who you're with driving him as he pounded into you. Your entire body jolted with each thrust and you started to moan loudly, his name falling from your lips like a lewd prayer and your hands pawed at Choso’s thighs. The man was so spent after just one round, so he gently played with your hair while his younger brother made sure that his name is the only thing you remember at the end of this night. But his cock wanted more, slowly growing hard again and twitching against your face.

“Look at him. Show him your pretty face." Yuuji cooed and you did as you were told, teary eyes looking at your boyfriend's brother, some of his pre cum sticking to your cheek and glistening in the dim light. Both men were mesmerized by you as your orgasm washed over you, your body squirming and your head fell back into Choso’s lap, who used the opportunity to try to get you to suck him off again, addicted to the pleasure you provided.

Your entire world slowly faded away when your mouth sunk down onto Choso's pretty cock once again and in that moment you swore that nothing existed but the three of you, time passing in slow motion as the older brother thrust his hips upwards just in time with Yuuji's thrusts. It was animalistic, the sounds both men let out upon burying themselves inside of you entirely over and over again while all you could do was whine and moan pretty around the elders dick. His balls were coated in your saliva, but neither of you seemed to care when the pleasure your mouth provided drowned out everything else.

"Gonna swallow for him, yeah?" Yuuji asked breathless, the pace of his hips faltering for a moment - just long enough for you to make a sound of approval before his one hand moved from your hip to your bundle of nerves.

Rhythmic thrusts slowly turned sloppy as your boyfriend crumbled above you, which only pushed you further down onto his brother's cock, who was overwhelmed by the tightness of your throat enveloping his cock so perfectly. You helplessly moaned around him when his shaft twitched against your tongue, heavy balls contracting as his seed spurted down your throat, giving you no chance to taste him or show him what a good girl you are by savoring every bit on your tongue before swallowing it all. The sensation brought you to the brink of tears just as the pressure of your lover's hand against your clit got more intense. You could feel the warmth spreading inside your core - hot cum painting your insides as your boyfriend released deep inside of you. The feeling of being filled up on both ends sent you over the edge, your hips moving wildly against Yuuji and his hand, a mind numbing orgasm possessing your body as your back arched so beautifully.

Heavy breathing was the only thing to be heard in the living room for a few minutes. The credits of the movie that has been long forgotten were running on the screen, illuminating the three of you in a gentle light before you pressed the smallest of kisses against Choso's abs and hip bones. It was a small action, almost silly, but it was his first time and you wanted him to feel good, to feel at least somewhat special and adored. And you did adore him, a lot actually, but you would never have the same range of feelings for him as you do for his brother, which he was painfully aware of when Yuuji carried you to the bathroom when the older sibling could only follow like a lost little puppy - only to end up locked out of the bathroom.

"She just wants me to take care of her now, comfort her and all that," Yuuji explained through the closed door, hoping that his brother would understand. While you still cared a lot for him, wanted him, craved him, he would never be your number one. It was a fact he would have to get used to if he wanted to keep you in his life, if he wanted a chance to get at least a sliver of your love and if he wanted your body to make love to him once again. Even if he would never have you to himself, it was okay - at least he got to have you somehow.

As Choso sat in the living room, trying to sort his emotions, you were soaking in the tub, a gentle washcloth in Yuuji's hand washing away sweat and other filth from your soft skin. It was a nice feeling after what you've just done, making you feel loved and cared for.

"You did so well, flower." Yuuji's voice was gentle and filled with adoration for you.

Before you closed your eyes to relax further into his tender care, you kissed the palm of the hand that held the washcloth, a sweet smile on your lips when you looked up at your boyfriend. There was no doubt in your feelings for him, yet the guilt was eating you up from the inside.

"We should also take care of him. It's not right to leave him hanging like this when it was his first time," you mumbled, the weight of your heart weighing heavy at the thought of Choso sitting on the couch, still shirtless and sunken into himself with an aching heart. "Especially not when we both know there was more than lust involved for him." You continued, not wanting to feed into his little crush and build hope where there was none and Yuuji agreed, not having thought about that, perhaps, his brother craved some aftercare too.

"I guess you'll have to hold the both of us tonight," he hummed with a gentle smile, not minding to share his bed and you with his brother, but in the morning the three of you would need to sit down and break his heart in the most gentle way possible.

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[novaawayne]

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