The Arrangement. [part 2]

the arrangement. [part 2]

[PART 1]

Summary:  you have to ask General Acacius for help and you know that only one thing can convince him

Warnings: +18, smut, unprotected sex (don't do that), breeding kink, mentions of death and blood, a bit of sadness

A/N: i didn't plan a part two, but - here it is! if i disappointed anyone's expectations, i apologize. here i tag people who requested it @hidden-poet @stormseyer . have mercy on me.

Crowds of people looking for good entertainment gathered in the coliseum that hot day. You never liked this place, but your position obliged you to appear there, especially when you were invited by prominent people of Rome. It was the same this time.

You hadn't spoken to Marcus since your last meeting a few days earlier. You carried out his orders as he asked you to. Despite the pain, you appeared in the city, you also received a few guests, no one guessed that your heart was shaking. You also didn't meet General Acacius anywhere. You couldn't and didn't want to expose him to any consequences if it turned out that the Emperor would also look at you unfavorably.

"Lady Y/N, I’m delighted to see you here." the voice of one of the senators tore you from your thoughts.

"The pleasure is mine, Senator." you replied, nodding your head slightly. "Wonderful weather for the games, don't you think?"

"Wine, food and beautiful company are enough for me, games are an addition and a whim of the Emperor." the man laughed "I was hoping to see you here. The latest rumors about your... ekhm... slave. Outrageous."

"Thank you. Fortunately, the law is clear."

"Right, right!" the senator took a sip of wine. "Each of us should know our place."

"Wise words, Senator."

The lodge was filling up with more guests invited by the Emperor. More greetings and smiles, the clinking of goblets and laughter. Excitement was reaching its zenith.

"General Acacius!"

A nervous shiver ran through your body, but you decided to only cast a quick glance at the man who had joined the guests. Dressed in white and gold, his skin touched by the sun, his dark hair with a few silver strands gleamed in the rays of the sun. General Marcus Acacius looked like one of the gods' favorites.

Only the appearance of the Emperor with his closest entourage tore the group of people who were delighted with him away from him.

"Lady Y/N."

His warm, quiet voice touched you gently like a pleasant evening wind.

"General." You curtsied slightly to pay him respect.

Your gazes met, and his slight movement of the head gave you more answers than all the words he had spoken could. In one moment, you ran out of breath, and your eyes stung from the tears filling them.

"Don't show it. They're watching." Marcus said, standing so close to you to shield you from prying eyes for a moment, his hand lightly grabbed your arm, this gesture was the only tenderness he could afford in that situation.

It was the first time he had seen you so broken and his heart couldn't bear it. He wanted to take you in his arms, let you hide in his embrace and protect you from all this evil and despair.

However, all he could do was give you a few moments to put yourself back together and show an unwavering face again. But not a single tear scratched your cheek.

"I am grateful to the Gods for seeing you healthy and strong."

Although Marcus could hear a slight tremor in your voice, the people around you couldn't do that.

"Your words, my lady, are the greatest grace." He replied, taking your hand in his and kissing the back of it tenderly. "I’m grateful that I can feast my eyes on your sight today."

He saw you part your lips to say something, but the sound of trumpets tore you away. The show had begun, and Marcus could only pray that you would hold on.

His dark eyes were on you almost the entire time. He could see you clearly, you were like a statue of a goddess in one of the temples. Unwavering, strong, with a mysterious smile that appeared on your lips whenever one of the guests spoke to you. Only once did he see a crack in that wonderful facade—when Margo appeared in the arena and her spirit left her body—Marcus thought you were going to faint, but you didn't take your eyes off the bloody sand of the coliseum.

As guests and spectators began to leave the coliseum, he stood by your side again.

"My lady, do you have someone who could take you home safely?" You seemed distracted to him, and your gaze was absent. "Let me take you to my place. I don't want you to be alone."

"General... Marcus..." his name on your lips sounded like the sweetest melody to him. "Thank you, but I can't..."

"Don't make me beg you here," he whispered. "Please."

After a moment of thought, you nodded and let him lead you to the exit.

General Acacius's house was a quiet and peaceful place. The evening air was cooler and a pleasant gentle breeze blew through the open shutters, filling the rooms.

Marcus made sure that the servants prepared a bath for you and didn't bother you even when you dismissed the women accompanying you to be alone. This was your time, and he wanted to give you as much of it as you needed.

"Marcus..."

He looked up and saw you standing in the doorway of his chamber.

A silk robe gently wrapped around your still damp body. Your gaze was full of pain, but you looked at him gently.

"Y/N, please." he began, approaching you. "I beg your forgiveness, I couldn't do anything. I tried to talk to the Emperor, but I couldn't do anything. He didn't care about her, and our involvement..."

"Shhh..." your delicate hand tenderly stroked his rough cheek. "I have to thank you, Marcus. For everything you..."

"I didn't do anything! I couldn't!" he interrupted you sharply.

"But you tried. I believe in it. I couldn't demand it of you. I don't know what I was thinking, asking you to risk so much for me..."

"I would give my life for you, you know that."

Your hand slid down his neck and rested on his chest. You felt his heart beating hard, his chest heaving with each breath.

"I know Margo was reconciled with her fate. I could feel it looking at her. She was strong, but calm." your voice was calm "Maybe you won't understand this, but she was my best friend. For years. She was devoted and loyal to me. I just wish she didn't suffer."

"Death came for her quickly. Now she's calm and safe."

"Thank you, Marcus."

His hands stroked your shoulders, and his lips kissed your temples lightly. His closeness seemed as natural to you as never before.

"Stay here tonight. I don't want you to be alone with all this." He said, and when you opened your mouth to say something, he added "I know you can, you're a strong woman, but today you don't have to be like that. Let me take care of you."

His eyes were so sweetly apologetic, you knew he would take on everything you felt just to make you feel better.

"You can take my chambers. You'll find comfort worthy of a queen there."

"Marcus..."

"I won't even touch you with a finger. You're safe with me."

"I know."

You trusted Marcus completely. Even when he walked you to his chambers, he didn't insist, nor did he make any move to suggest that he wanted to go there with you. It was you who, before leaving, kissed his lips gently. No words. They weren't needed.

But sleep wasn't a pleasant escape. The minutes passed, and you still felt wide awake. You weren't sure if you had slept for even a few moments. The house was quiet, only the cicadas in the garden keeping you company during the next few sleepless minutes.

No one heard your footsteps. You quietly left the bedroom and made your way through the darkened corridors to the room where Marcus slept that night. The door opened and you slipped inside.

The room was a bit smaller than the bedroom Marcus left you in, but you could smell the same pleasant scent of jasmine and burning candles that brightened the interior. You saw him sitting in an armchair with the shutters open. You thought he was dozing, but when your hand slipped into his tousled hair he stirred restlessly.

"Have mercy on me." he whispered, turning slightly and spotting you behind him. "You would be the perfect assassin, sneaking up on me so silently."

"Is that a compliment?" you asked, a faint smile appearing on your lips.

"I'm completely defenseless around you, so yes, it's a compliment." he replied. "You can't sleep. Me too."

"This house is so quiet and peaceful." you sighed quietly as he took your hand and touched it with his lips, standing up. "I feel like I don't know the words to thank you for what you did for me, then and now."

"I didn't do anything, Y/N."

"You were my rock, Marcus. That's more than anyone else has done."

"But I couldn't save you from the pain."

"Can either of us do that?"

He stared at you intently. His eyes were full of sadness and tenderness. Maybe that night gave you courage, maybe what Marcus did made your heart open to him. But you felt so safe with him that you wanted to be even closer to this man.

You didn't push away his hand that stroked your cheek. It was a relief for his heart.

"I'm ready to fulfill my promise, Marcus." You said calmly. "I'll stay with you in this house, we'll fill its quiet rooms with the laughter of children."

"Don't say that if you don't mean it." He replied, taking your face in his hands. "I couldn't do anything against your will."

"But it's my will, it's what I want. My heart has always been yours, but I was afraid."

"What were you afraid of, love?"

"War. Death. Enslavement. You were the image of all of this." He closed his eyes, probably guessing it. "So I was unavailable to you. I wanted to get rid of this feeling, but you never made it easy for me. You were my daily fear and night dream. Everything I feared and desired. I was sure that you only desired my body..."

"I don't deserve you. I don't deserve even one of your glances, love."

"So why am I here? This is what I wanted. I want you."

You took his hand and slid it down to your chest. Only a thin layer of silk that separated his hand from your soft and delicate breast. When he squeezed it lightly and saw how you parted your lips, he was sure that grace had descended on him.

His lips collided with yours in a kiss, and his warm tongue slipped between your lips, caressing you tenderly. He absorbed you with his presence, and you submitted to him humbly. You clung to his strong body, feeling his desire grow.

The silk robe that wrapped around your body slid to the floor. You stood naked before him, his eyes adoring you.

"You'll make me the happiest man in the world by letting me love you." he whispered.

"I allow you, Marcus."

In an instant his lips were on yours again, kissing you passionately and hard, and before you knew it you were already in his strong arms as he lifted you up and carried you towards the bed.

You felt the cool sheets beneath you, and then your eyes stopped at Marcus. He took off his toga. His body looked like it was created by hands and in the likeness of gods. Broad shoulders, narrow waist. You noticed a few scars on his skin, but they didn't destroy his image. And finally his hard cock, so ready for you.

He covered you with his body, his lips roamed over your stomach and chest, showering your body with kisses. Warm lips found your nipple and closed on it, you felt his tongue teasing you sweetly. Your body arched, and Marcus' strong arm slid under you and you knew you wouldn't get out of this delicious trap.

The tip of his cock teased your entrance, and you felt yourself getting wetter with each of his movements.

"Tell me you want me, please." he whispered, kissing your neck. "I'm begging you."

"I want you, Marcus. I need you more than air. Make me yours."  

He groaned painfully, kissing your lips. Strong hands gripped your hips to position you the way he wanted you.

His tip slowly slid into you, filling you completely. You caught your breath, trying to get used to the feeling of Marcus being inside you. He must have felt the same, because you could hear his slow breathing as he buried his face in your hair.

"It's wonderful to feel you." he whispered, looking at you, his eyes as dark as ever before. "I've wanted you for so long."

"And you have me."

One strong movement of his hips, a quiet moan escaped your lips. Gods, he would give his life for that. He began to move faster, more rhythmically, feeling your pussy take all of him. He tightened his grip on your thigh, afraid that he would hurt you, but you didn't even flinch. Your fingers intertwined in his hair, pulling him closer, kissing him like you needed him to be able to breathe, and with each thrust he heard those sweet sighs escaping your throat.

He felt like a barbarian destroying something as beautiful and sacred as you. But you wanted him. He felt it in your every move, saw it in your every look. You wanted him.

"Marcus, please..."

Your velvet walls squeezed his cock harder and harder, and he knew he wouldn't last long. He'd wanted you for so long. But he wanted to see it. A few more hard thrusts and he saw your body arch in the rush of pleasure flooding your body. Your nails dug into his shoulders, and you bit your lip, feeling like you were about to fall apart. But his arms held you tight and steady. You were safe.

And Marcus didn't slow down. The way you squeezed his cock made him closer, and his movements were faster and harder now. You could feel his sweaty body against you, his quickened breath.

"Fill me, Marcus... Let me carry your child." You whispered in his ear.

He came with a loud groan, digging his fingers into your thighs so hard that you were sure you'd see bruises there the next day. Warm streams filled you to the brim.

Marcus made you his. He filled you with his seed, you'd be full of his child. If not now then soon, you were sure of it.

"Tell me you're not just a beautiful dream."

His rough voice brought you back to his arms. You looked at Marcus, his eyes full of adoration for you. He looked so vulnerable that you began to understand what he meant by calling you the perfect assassin.

Even though you were the one who promised him your devotion and loyalty, you were both on the same page.

"What if I was just a dream?" you asked, stroking his cheek tenderly, his cock was still inside you, you could stay like that all night.

"I don't want to wake up then." he replied "I don't want to see another sunrise knowing I can't have you. That would be torture."

"I wish we could stay like this forever. I feel your love and it fills my heart too." You saw his gentle smile "Let's take what fate has given us, maybe we shouldn't doubt anymore."

"So you'll stay?"

"I will. I'll be proud to be your wife, General Acacius."

"You'll be so much more." His lips brushed yours in a tender kiss "My queen, my goddess. I will worship you until the end of my days."

And you knew he wasn't lying. General Marcus Acacius was a man of honor.

And he was yours.

Forever.

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

Brick by Brick

You have his favourite tea on hand. You ask him what he'd like for dinner this weekend. One time you opened the door for him within seconds of buzzing, like you'd been as eager for his visit as he was.  And maybe most devastating of all: you routinely start making too much food for even Simon to finish. 

tags: 🔞construction worker simon/neighbour reader, unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), size kink, brief mention of simon's childhood abuse

part 1 | part 2

After that things shift, just a little. You still sit with Simon while he works, handing him tools he teaches you the names of; still try to convince him to get pay for his work around the house. 

But you have his favourite tea on hand. You ask him what he'd like for dinner this weekend. One time you opened the door for him within seconds of buzzing, like you'd been as eager for his visit as he was. 

And maybe most devastating of all: you routinely start making too much food for even Simon to finish. 

“Thought you might want some leftovers for lunch,” you tell him, holding out two tupperware boxes. “If you're working those long hours you have to eat right, you know?” 

When Simon opens them at home, just before tucking them away in his work bag for tomorrow, his chest clenches. It's not just leftovers. There's dried beef jerky, a pack of crackers that go well with coffee, and a fist-sized chunk of banana bread. And— 

A little note. 

His heart hammers against his chest when he unfolds it. It's nearly dark out, crickets chirping soft and low somewhere beneath the window. The only sound in his kitchen is the ticking of a clock. 

Good luck today! Don't work too hard :)  

“Christ,” he mumbles, fingers tracing over the ink. Pretty. Like you. Like every fucking thing you do. 

Summer is nearing its end, and Simon is running out of excuses. Part of him feels proud to see the house shape up to the best it can be, but over the months the boxes have nearly all disappeared. He knows—has helped you unpack God knows how many books. Helped you put together a new bookcase, even. 

But if he's no longer useful, what's keeping you from closing your door on him? Dread rises sharp and fast in Simon's throat when he thinks about a dark, cold home waiting for him as his only company. He passes your door on the way home, more often than not sees your silhouette against the warm light of your window. Illuminating the hard dirty edges of him.  

You've started feeding him, this big mean watchdog, and he might choke on his leash if you stop now. 

“Hello, what is that?”   

Simon sharply yanks his lunch away from Johnny's grabby paws.  

“None f’your business.” 

“Is that bloody banana bread? You've got to be fuckin’ me.” 

“That's homemade,” Kyle says unhelpfully from just behind Simon's shoulder. 

“Piss off,” Simon grumbles. 

Johnny does not, of course, piss off. Instead he grins, cheeky and wide. “Didn't know y’had a bird, Simon.” 

“Fuck,” Kyle groans. “Is that roast beef? That smells so good. Where'd you get this?” 

Johnny snorts. “More like who's he blackmailin'.” 

Simon glowers at Johnny, then says through a mouthful, “My girl.” 

If there'd been any hope of them dropping it, it's gone now. Simon realises his mistake as soon the words leave his mouth and Kyle and Johnny light up.  

They're incessant. Dog him at every opportunity—who is she? What's her name? What's she look like? Show us a photo, Simon, dinnae be so selfish. 

Simon suffers it for a week until he slams his gloves on Price's table and threatens someone's going to end up in the cement mixer by the end of the day if he doesn't do something about it. 

They quiet down after that, though they can't help but ask after you every now and then—even Price, who despite his congratulatory shoulder clap admits he wishes he had a sweet thing of his own. 

And the lunches keep going. As do the notes, every one of which Simon keeps carefully tucked away in a box at home. He didn't find one last night, and he suppresses the wave of disappointment. Maybe you forgot. Maybe you were just tired, and maybe he's grown too comfortable with your casual affection. 

So when a little piece of paper that was stuck to the bottom of the lid flutters onto the ground the next day Simon is unprepared. The two seconds of surprise cost him—Johnny dives after it like a hawk and scoops it before it's barely touched the concrete. 

“You little shit—” 

Simon's at him immediately, and Johnny, delighted by what he thinks is a funny fucking little game, twists and dodges while fumbling the note open with one hand. 

“Looking forward to dinner tonight. Be safe today,” Johnny reads before Simon snatches it from him with a hard shove to his head. “Aww, Simon, you lucky shite. C’mon, give us one o’ those cookies, aye? If you're goin’ home to a candle lit dinner.” 

“Get your own cookies,” Simon huffs, and curls one arm around his tupperware protectively while he eats. 

Looking forward.   

So is he. 

- 

“Simon!” 

Simon whips his head around and catches you stepping out of your car with a wave. You've arrived home just after him today, and his breath catches in his throat when he sees your dress flutter prettily around your legs. 

You're dressed up all nice today—must've been at university, then. Simon doesn't know which he likes better: the shorts you wear at home or the glimpse of cleavage he gets when you wear a nice work blouse. 

His dick throbs when he holds his own hand up in greeting, hanging back just to get those few extra seconds with you.  

He's not sure why today is especially bad. Probably doesn't help that every time he jacks off in the shower you're the one he thinks of, imaging your pretty lips wrapped around his cock. It's hard to resist the indulgence after a long hard day of sweating and laying brick, then coming home and only getting to look, not touch. He doesn't want to stain you with his filth, but what's he supposed to do? He wants you. 

And his desire has sat festering in the confines of his rib cage for months. It curls his hands in tight fists so he doesn't reach for you by accident the way he does in his dreams, keeps him from leaning in to taste your lips to see if they're as sweet as your cobbler pies. 

“Alright?” he asks when you get closer. You feel off, distant, and when you nod it feels like it's more for his sake than for the truth of it. 

“Yeah. Um.” You adjust the strap of the bag on your shoulder, shifting on your feet. “I wanted to let you know I can't do dinner tomorrow. I'm, um, I have a date, so...” 

The spin of the world stutters for a second.  

Simon sucks in a quiet breath. “That so.” 

“Yeah.” You look up at him with a sad little smile. Not the kind of face you'd expect from someone who just scored a date, but Simon is too wrapped up in his misery to notice. “How was your day?” 

Normal. Unsuspecting. Good, even, until you told him some twat is taking you out to dinner.  

“Fine,” he hears himself say. Adds, “Watchin’ a match tonight.”  

An excuse—an out for both of you. You won't have to feel obligated to ask him if he'd like to come ‘round for a meal, and he won't have to pretend he doesn't feel like throwing up. 

“Go Manchester,” you reply with a smile. 

Just like Simon, they don't score. 

- 

He waits up for you. It's pathetic, really—that of all things this is what gets him to dig around for a pack of smokes. Been mostly clean ever since you moved in next to him, his half-hearted attempts to quit finally mounting up to something with real resolve. 

He doesn't want to taste nicotine when he eats your meals. 

Even threw out his lighter. Which means when he finds a crushed, dust-caked pack with only one cigarette in it behind his couch he has to light it with a match and shaky hands. 

It tastes awful. But it's familiar, and sometimes he craves the burn even when he sees his dad putting out his own cigs on Simon's legs behind his eyelids. 

The evening grows colder around him, late summer skies tinted with dark purples and blues. It's quiet in the neighbourhood. He's the only one out this late—everyone else has retreated to the comfort of their homes, ready to turn in for the night. 

It should feel peaceful, but all Simon feels is anxious and on edge. Not even the smoke calms his nerves. 

Should he back off, leave you to the happiness you deserve? Throw everything away in one last shot, ask to take you out like he's wanted to forever? 

Words are no good, but he's tried so desperately to show you that he'd do just about anything if you asked. To let you know that underneath his gruff silences he doesn't bite the hand that feeds him and that he'd rip anyone else to shreds for raising a finger against you. 

Simon's head lifts when his ears pick up the rumbling of a car. Is it...? 

It is. 

Lamplight flashes over the cobbled street, and then the rumble of the engine turns off with a click. 

You're alone—thank God. Simon doesn't know what he would've done if you'd taken your date home. 

You look worn out, and not the happy kind after a successful lay. Just tired—to the point where you almost don't notice him and jump when you do. You take a startled step back from his hulking silhouette leaning against the stone little fence curling around all the houses along the street you share, before pausing and asking in a soft voice: 

“Simon?” 

And because he's a masochist he asks, “Y’have fun?” 

He expects a yes. At best a non-committal shrug—at worst an enthusiastic smile. But you look down at your shoes, chew your lip, and say, “No.” A breath. “No. It was awful. He was a twat, and he tried to feel me up under the table, and he's been hounding me at university for months, and I got so sick of it I just said yes but now I'm going to have to email HR and ugh—!”  

Your voice breaks on the last sentence and you sniffle, turning your face away from Simon so you can give it a quick wipe with the back of your hand. 

He's up on his feet in an instant, trying to take slow breaths so he doesn't act on the overwhelming urge to hunt down the wankstain and crush his fingers so he can never fucking touch you again. Your dog bites without warning or remorse, and everything in him wants to show your sad excuse of a date just how sharp his teeth are. 

But he can't. You're hurting, and that's more important than breaking some bloke's nose. 

And so Simon tries for softness as much as he's capable of it, large scarred hand hesitantly landing on your shoulder. It's all the coaxing you need to lean into his touch, and when Simon shifts a little closer your head falls on his shoulder. He burns with a different kind of fire. 

“Sorry,” you sniffle. “I'm okay, I really am, it was just such a—such a—” 

“S’alright,” Simon rasps. He pets your hair and strokes your back with a clumsy touch, unsure of how far he should, can, is allowed to go. “Y’should've called me. Would've come t’pick you up, maybe sock him a new one.”  

He'd do more than that if you'd let him. He'd take you home and made sure the only time you cried was when he worked his fat cock inside you. 

Christ, he's going to hell. 

“I didn't want to bother you,” you say in a small voice. 

“Sweetheart. You're never botherin’ me.” You let out a shaky sigh, and Simon tucks your head under his chin a little more securely. “Woulda made sure y’got home safe.” 

It's quiet, then, save for the sound of a car driving away somewhere down the road. Simon doesn't say anything else. He doesn't want to break the spell that you're under. You feel so soft in his arms, his sweet bird, finally come home to where you belong. 

“I kept wishing it was you.” Your voice is so soft he almost doesn't catch it, but before he can process it you pull yourself out of his embrace, cursing under your breath. “Sorry. Sorry—forget I said that. I'm... I'm gonna go home.” 

Simon's hand shoots out and grabs your wrist. You stare at him with big wet eyes that has the pit of his stomach swoop low. 

“Y’wish it was me?” 

His voice is low and rough, strained with want. 

Your cheeks burn and you avert your eyes, though you don't pull your hand away. “Sorry. Ignore me, I'm just...” 

“I'll take you,” Simon says a little too quickly. “Anywhere you wanna go. Dinner. Movies.” He pauses, trying to remember what people do for fun. “The library.” 

There. You hiccup a little laugh, finally, and the beginnings of a smile tug at your mouth. 

“The library?” 

Simon smiles a little, too. “Anywhere you want,” he repeats. Even the fucking library. 

Your gaze drops to your hands, and you carefully turn your palm against his. “I think I'd like that.” 

Simon swallows and lets his fingers intertwine with yours. “Yeah?” 

“I don't really care where we go, though. If it's with you.” 

Jesus bloody Christ. 

“Okay,” Simon says, voice tight. “Alright. We'll—we'll figure it out. We'll go somewhere.” A breeze hits you as he says it, and you shiver. “...Right now let's just get you home.” 

You nod, the fatigue overtaking your features again. Simon walks you all the way to your door, squints against the night sensor he installed himself. 

You hover in the doorway before opening your mouth, closing it, then take a small step forward to rise on your toes. Simon's heartbeat kicks up under your hand where you steady yourself on his chest, and then he feels your lips press against his cheek. It's his bad one, the one with the nasty scar from a bar fight long ago. 

“Thanks,” you say softly. 

“Yeah,” he manages, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. “’Course.” 

The door closes with a soft click.  

- 

When you mention wanting to hike out on a trail nearby Simon, true to his word, makes it happen. It's not so bloody hot anymore and it's nice, hearing the birds chirp overhead. Nice to exist in a world where everything is washed in shades of mottled green, hearing the dirt crunch under his feet.  

It relaxes him. Makes his muscles untense. You promised him a picnic at the end of the trail, and to Simon's delight he succeeds in coaxing you to feed him bites of your homemade sandwiches in the midst of tall grass and meadow flowers. 

When you get home, sweat and sun lingering on your skin, Simon has full intentions of dropping you off at your doorstep and wishing you a good night. Maybe get another kiss if he's lucky. 

And he does—but you linger, soft lips hovering over his cheek. His fingers curl and uncurl against his sides, waiting and wondering. 

“Please kiss me?” you breathe on his skin, and that's all it takes. 

He surprises himself with the intensity of it, but fucking hell, he's wanted you for so long. His shoulders hunch, neck bent low, and he slots his mouth over yours. Your little fingers grab at his shirt for balance, and he pushes you against your doorframe. Every time he pulls away you make a small noise of protest and chase his lips, and though Simon hasn't had a drop of alcohol today he feels well on his way to hammered. 

“Do you want to—please come inside—?” 

Simon groans and rests his forehead against yours. Fuck. “I want to—want t’do this right,” he rasps. 

You exhale with a shaky breath. Your cheeks are flushed, eyes glittering like stars. Simon's stomach lurches at seeing you want him. “Right, um. Of course. I just—I've thought about... about you. For a—a really long timmf—” 

Simon groans into your mouth. He cups your cheeks, one hand sliding to hold you at the back of your neck. A sweat breaks out along his spine when he imagines you at night, in your bedroom, fucking yourself with your little fingers. Whimpering his name... 

“Yeah? Y’want me to take you to bed, sweetheart?” he murmurs, and you shiver. 

The two of you barely make it past the door until Simon is stealing the breath from your lungs again. He's wanted this for so long it's a little hard to stop, even if it's to break apart for air. Miraculously you seem to want it as much as he does, seem as desperate for his touch as he is for yours. 

When has anyone wanted him this bad? When has he ever felt like he'd die on the spot if he didn't get inside you right the fuck now? 

He doesn't need to ask you where the bedroom is. This place has felt his touch almost as much as yours, has shaped up into a cosy little home that is part of him, too. Like he wants to be part of you. 

Simon simply scoops you up and carries you straight to bed, forgetting to be gentle when he deposits on the mattress. His head is buzzing, his heart is thundering, and he needs you now.  

Fortunately you don't seem to mind much. Your hands immediately fly to his belt, tug at the metal impatiently, then fumble with his zipper with trembling hands. Simon pulls your top over your head, throws it somewhere on the floor without a care followed by his own. 

“Lie back,” he husks, and makes quick work of your trousers. Pauses just for a second to take in the growing wet patch of your panties. 

“Simon,” you whine softly. 

He drops to his knees and slides his large hands over your thighs, transfixed. He smooths over the goosebumps on your legs, presses a kiss to your knee. 

“Want me t’take these off?” he rasps, snapping the band of your panties. You lift your hips in silent assent. Simon helps you shimmy off your underwear and suppresses a moan when a string of sticky arousal clings to the fabric—then follows it right to the source. 

You gasp when he kisses your folds before gently spreading them with big warm fingers. “Sweet little cunt,” Simon mutters, and then he goes to town. 

He starts with slow, wet licks, feeling out what you like and what's too much. He keeps it light for a while just to feel you squirm and to hear your breathing turn ragged, then backs off just when your knees start trembling. He smiles when you whimper his name with a desperate little “please". 

“Such good manners.” His breath washes over your clit, and your hips try to twitch away from him. “Proper sweetheart, yeah?” 

It's great fun, playing with you, but his cock is throbbing painfully and he's leaking everywhere, and he very much intends for you to end the night feeling so blissed out you let him sleep next to you. 

So Simon hoists you closer, hooks your thighs over his shoulder, and sucks on your clit until you're sobbing his name. He holds your hips down by splaying one big hand over your stomach because you're a sensitive little thing, bucking away from him when he's not nearly done with you yet.  

It's cute, seeing you lose yourself to the pleasure. It's also really fucking hot. Simon slowly pushes one finger in you and groans when you clench around him. 

“Simon,” you whimper. “Oh, please, please—” 

Such a good girl, begging without him telling you to. Simon crooks his finger, and your next breath is a stutter of moans before your whole body tenses and you cum on his tongue. 

Simon hums approvingly, keeping his motions slow and steady so you ride it out all the way. When you whine and wriggle away from him he lets up, wiping at your slick covering his chin. 

Best meal you've cooked him by far. 

“Oh,” you sigh. “That was... Give me—give me a minute...” 

Simon chuckles and rises from his knees to crawl over you and steal a kiss. “Feelin’ good, princess?” 

“Princess—” you let out a breathless laugh, but even in the low light of your nightstand lamp Simon sees the colour rise in your cheeks. Liked that, did you? You blink up at him, a sweet satisfied smile on your lips. “Mhm. So good. Come here?” 

Your hands trail over his sides, stroke over the light hair trailing down his stomach. Simon shudders when your knuckles brush over his cock and he shucks off his trousers further to give you better access. 

When you wrap your hand around him he drops his head into the crook of your shoulder and moans. The twitch of his hips is involuntary, too desperate to chase his pleasure to stay put. 

“Next time,” you whisper while pulling him forward, spreading your legs wider to fit around his hips, “I want to feel you in my mouth.” 

“Jesus,” he groans. It takes everything in him to not just slide in. “We need a condom?” 

“I'm clean,” you murmur against his jaw. “On birth control. If you want we can—” 

“Fuck yeah I do,” Simon says, and you laugh. Soft eyes when your hands slide over his shoulders, brush through the short hair on his neck. Simon watches your face while he lines himself up without blinking, and he's rewarded with the flutter of your eyelashes, the parting of your soft lips. 

Your brows scrunch together at the first few inches, and he kisses you sweetly to make you relax. Simon knows he's not small, and he groans when you clench around him. 

“Good girl,” he whispers against your hair. “Good girl. Just like that, yeah? Takin’ it real well. Just like that.” 

He slides in a little deeper. You shiver and mewl and beg him for more, and he gives it to you. Anything you want.  

“Simon,” you whimper. “Feels so—oh, you feel so good. More, please, please—?” 

Simon brushes the hair from your forehead, keeping his thrusts long and slow and making sure to kiss your cervix each time, just because your breath stutters so prettily every time he does. 

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck, you're so—such a tight little cunt. Couldn't wait any longer, could you? Jus’ had to have me?” 

You nod immediately and empathically, eyes glassy with arousal. You try to answer him, but the only thing you manage are airy moans that sound like his name. 

That's alright. Don't need to talk. He knows what you want to say; he feels the same. Simon catches you in a messy kiss while lacing his fingers with yours. Yours. Mine.  

He shoves his free hand between your two bodies and finds your clit, circling it until he's found the right rhythm that has tears gathering in your eyes. He could live on that for the rest of his life, of hearing you mindlessly stuttering his name while your body tenses up and your head drops back and those pretty lips part in a choked moan— 

“Christ,” Simon grits through his teeth, sweat dampening his brow. Your cunt flutters around him, soft little flower in full bloom that, with another thrust or two, has him falling apart as well. 

Both of you moan at the feeling of his cum spurting hot and thick in your waiting womb. Simon rocks against you slowly to make sure you get every last drop—birth control or not. 

He kisses you on the comedown. You melt into his touch, butter and honey, running your fingers through his hair until Simon shifts you around so you're curled up against him. 

In another minute he'll get up and get you a washcloth before tucking you in and kissing your bare shoulders. He'll wrap himself around you before sleep takes you, make sure that he's the last thing you see and hear and touch. 

For now he lets himself bask in the present. In having a sweet little bird clinging to him for comfort and giving him more than he could ever ask for in return. 

Simon doesn't think you quite realise what you've gotten yourself into, in giving this big ugly watchdog your affection. He's not a king or a prince; not even a knight, not like the ones you read so much about. Simon wouldn't exactly call himself chivalrous or genteel. 

But he's just as devoted and twice as vicious. He'll belong to you, and you to him, and from the moment he saw you he was oath-bound. 

He'll have to steal a ring or two to measure which size is right. It'll take some work to knock down the walls between your two houses, but he'll ask the lads for help. Simon knows you'll win them over right away if you cook dinner or bake them something sweet. 

And maybe in time he'll have to try his own hand at baking. He always did want to put a bun in the oven, and Simon just knows that if you're the one to do it with him— 

It'll come out perfect. 

MDNI 18+ (not edited)

Trucker!simon, who finds himself a lovely bird at a local truck stop he often runs through on his usual routes.

Sits his massive self at the bar on one of the small stools, glaring at any of the blokes who stare at you a bit too long.

Gives you a blank look when you check up on him, asking if he’d like anything else.

“Just anotha’ cuppa, sweet’art” he always says, sliding his mug towards you, which looks microscopic compared to his massive hand.

You think he doesn’t like you, considering he doesn’t ever talk to you much when you try to make small talk, but he always leaves you a fat tip. You figure he’s just quiet. He can’t dislike you that much considering how many times you’ve glanced over your shoulder to see him gazing appreciatively at your ass.

It’s an especially rowdy night at the truck stop that finally breaks the camels back. A real gentleman decided he wanted a feel of you. So he didn’t hesitate to grab a handful of the fat on your backside, his table and him whooping and hollering as you squealed and slapped his hand away, glowering at him as you scampered away to the bar.

You held back tears as you started up another pot of coffee, never were the confrontational type. This wouldn’t be the first time a man had taken it upon himself to put his hands on you, but it would certainly be the last. Considering how Simon was sat at the end of the bar; shaking with rage, his knuckles white from being clenched tight as he stood.

It all happened so quick you didn’t even catch it, you back had been turned. The restaurant went from ruckus, laughter, and loud voices, to silence after the sound of a sickening crack rung through the room.

You turned just in time to see the asshole’s friends jump from their seats and go for your favorite regular; Simon. The handsy asshole laid flat on the ground, out cold.

It took no time at all for Simon to lay out the other three, he was twice each of their size in pure muscle, and obviously lacked nothing in skill. Once he was done he simply turned to you, pointed to the back room and said,

“Go get yer things.”

You didn’t think twice. Passing your manager who stood in the doorway, face solemn. You asked him quickly if it was okay for you to leave, he took one glance at Simon and nodded his head. You grabbed your things, throwing on your coat and met Simon at the door.

He takes your arm, surprisingly gentle for his huge form, he looked enraged. His shoulders tense, brows furrowed, you’re certain if he didn’t have a mask on the lower half of his face he would have a deep frown on his lips.

You thank him softly, following him as he leads you through the full parking lot. He says nothing, staring ahead. You tell him you don’t live far, you can just walk.

“No, you’re not doin tha’.” He says, and you don’t argue.

Helps you into the cab of his massive semi, getting into the drivers side and turning up the heat.

Offers to get you some food, “haven’t seen’ya eat a bite ol night, bird.”

You refuse, thanking him for the offer, telling him you’ll eat at home. You probably won’t, your stomach is still all twisted from earlier, if he can tell you’re shaken up he doesn’t show it. He just nods.

Takes you to the corner of your street, wouldn’t be able to drive his truck down the narrow road. You thank him again, asking him if there’s anything you can do to repay him.

“I know’a few things you can do for me, bird.” He says lowly, you feel your cheeks warm at the implication. You ask him what he wants. He grunts, glancing to the side as if he’s thinking.

“Gimme a kiss.” He says, tapping his cheek. Your eyes widen, is he serious? Out of all things he could ask for, he asks for just a kiss on the cheek? You shocked to realize you’re disappointed he didn’t ask for more.

He pulls his mask down to his chin, revealing his chiseled jaw and thin, scarred lips. You lay a trembling hand on his giant thigh for support as you lean over, and just as you are about to meet his cheek he tilts his head and has your mouth. Pressing a heated kiss to your lips.

It takes you a moment to catch up, but before you know it you’re in his lap, making out sloppily, mouths open and tongues swirling together. You sigh into his mouth, cupping his jaw as his hand cradles the back of your head.

When you start grinding yourself against him is when he stops.

“Not yet, bird. Gotta take you out first, do it the right way.” He says. The right way? What the hell.

“Take ya for dinner, treat ya real good, take ya home and fuck that sweet pussy halfway to heaven.”

He cups your ass as he whispers that nasty shit in your ear, one hand on your hip as he bucks up once against your wet heat. You let out a whimper and he just chuckles. Asshole.

Jumps out the truck and helps you down with two strong hands on your hips. Walks you all the way to your front door, smiling at your peeved expression. You were definitely gonna have to rub one out once you got inside.

Gives you a sweet peck on the cheek, gripping your chin with his thumb and finger.

“Be here tomorrow a’ seven. Wear something nice.” He says softly before turning and stalking off into the night. Leaving you flabbergasted on your front doorstep.

Note: I dunno if you guys can tell but im incapable of writing anything small. This was supposed to be just a short little thing about how sexy trucker!simon would be but i got so carried away 😭 he’s the ghost that haunts my nights, can’t get him outta my head

No more. -Ghost FanFic

Story: Simon's wife is kidnapped and tortured, leaving him and 141 to find her. Hopefully before it's too late.

Trigger warnings: Foul language, torture, violence, body fluids, drugs, knives, choking, restraints, dark themes not suited for minors, mentions of pregnancy, bodily harm, a battle with personalities. (tell me if I messed any)

A/N: Haven't edited this yet so excuse the mistakes. I'm also not sure if I'll make a part 2.

When i entered the apartment, something immediately felt off. Like someone made the air thick, and the rooms eerily silent. 

I set my bag down softly, retrieving the combat knife that Simon had given me years ago. My eyes sweep over every shadowy nook and cranny of the apartment, searching for any signs of danger. I'm usually in the habit of leaving the kitchen light on, but it's off tonight - one of the first things I notice upon entering. My phone begins to vibrate in my hand, thankfully I must have forgotten to turn off the silent mode from my earlier meeting. Without looking at the caller ID, I answer it, bringing it up to my ear. 

" Where are you?" Simon's voice is on edge, and it sounds like he's panting. There’s other male voices in the background, it sounds like Price is yelling. 

“Home” I whisper so quietly i’m not sure he could hear me. Or maybe the heartbeat in my ears made it seem that way. 

As I close my eyes for what feels like a mere second, a sudden jolt startles me. The phone is violently knocked out of my trembling hand and a cloth is swiftly placed over my mouth, the stench of chemicals immediately assaulting my senses. My nose and eyes burn with an intensity that is almost unbearable. Fight, do something.

In a moment of panicked instinct, I swing the nearby knife towards the man who had seemingly appeared from the depths of the kitchen, barely managing to nick him in the neck before he grabs hold of my wrist with a vice-like grip. With a sickening crunch, my bones are twisted until I can no longer hold onto the weapon and drop it to the ground, letting out a muffled scream against the suffocating cloth.

Through the hazy fog clouding my mind, I hear Simon's voice growing increasingly distant as he yells through the phone, his words barely registering in my fading consciousness. As my eyes slowly drift shut on their own accord, a sense of numbness begins to envelop my limbs. Simon, Simon please.

The man roughly lifts me up, easily overpowering my weakened attempts at resistance, and I can do nothing but succumb to the darkness creeping in as my consciousness slips away.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As my eyes slowly creep open, I become aware of the lingering effects of the drugs coursing through my mind and body. Panic immediately sets in as I realize I am unable to move any part of my body. My heart races as I take in my surroundings - a dark metal room with a pungent odor of iron and decay, like a slaughterhouse filled with rotting carcasses.

I am lying on a cold, hard metal table, shackled down by heavy chains that dig into my skin. 

“it’s an incredible drug, isn’t it?” A deep male voice suddenly echos throughout the room. Coming from the right side of the table, where I can’t turn my head to see them. 

“You can’t move or speak, But… you can feel pain” He chuckles, sounding closer than before. 

Suddenly, something sharp stabs into my arm and I try to cry out in pain, but my body won’t respond. Simon, where are you?

“Mike, turn on the camera would you? It’s time for the show,” he instructed someone else in the room. He grabs my hair roughly and yanks my head to the side, facing him.

Then I notice a tightness around my throat, something cold and hard. is there a chain around my neck? I panic, eyes widening.

the man sees my panic and laughs, tossing his head back as if he’s seeing the best thing in the world. 

“Oh that’s good, I love that expression. I hope Ghost does too” He starts tracing my neck and collar bone with a knife. not yet slicing me, but enough pressure to leave raised, red lines. 

“It’s nothing personal, darling,” his gravelly voice whispers in my ear as he lowers himself closer to me. My body tenses and I want to desperately move away. “But, a life for a life, hm?” He chuckles darkly, his breath hot on my skin. “Unfortunately for you, I plan to make your death slow for him. His precious thing.”

My heart races as he drags the sharp blade down my collar bone, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. A searing pain shoots through my chest as he cuts a deep line between my breasts, and down to my lower abdomen. The knife seems to find its home there, digging deeper with each passing second. I want to scream, to kick and squirm away from the agony, but I am paralyzed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Simon runs into the apartment, gun drawn though he already knows they left. That they got what they came for. A dark pit forms in his stomach, blind fury almost overwhelming him. 

He bends down to pick up your phone, and just stares at it. if only he could’ve called sooner, then this wouldn’t have happened. 

The vow he made when you married; to always protect you, let no harm befall you. 

it rings in his head nonstop, like a broken record. 

Soap and Price slowly walk through the entrance, Price on the phone with Laswell, who’s trying her best to locate you. 

Simon stands up when Soap places a hand on his shoulder, a grim look on his face. “We’ll find the lass”. But his words go in one ear and out the other. 

Price walks into the living room in a hurry, grabbing the tv remote and turning it on. “Simon” He says, and something in his tone makes Simon, and Soap move with haste to see what’s going on. 

Simon's trembling legs nearly give way beneath him as he stumbles towards the couch, reaching out to grab it for support when he sees your face on the television screen. His heart drops to his stomach as he takes in the sight of you, battered and bloody. The camera zooms out, revealing the full extent of your injuries, and that's when bile rises in Simon's throat, threatening to overflow.

He remembers how he used to run his hands across your perfect skin while lying in bed together, or how he would sneak a hand up your shirt while you were cooking and you would just giggle and swat him away with a spoon. He remembers staring into your eyes, like honey pools reflecting all the love in the world. But now they're red and swollen, almost unrecognizable.

Simon rushes to the nearest bathroom, tearing off the balaclava covering his face. He hunches over the toilet as his stomach lurches and empties itself, leaving him dry heaving and gasping for air.

Images from his past come rushing back at full force - bodies, blank stares, all reminders of the darkness that seems to follow him wherever he goes. But you were supposed to be the one good thing in his life. goddamnit, You were supposed to stay.

As Simon stands up and flushes the toilet, trying to steady himself, something catches his eye on the counter. Something white with a blue cap. His mind turns to static as he reaches for it and sees two very obvious red lines.

He slowly walks out of the bathroom, the pregnancy test held tightly in his hand. 

The television screen is now dark and silent, but Price and Soap still stare at it with blank expressions.

Simon closes his eyes, breathing slowly. calming his racing heart, steadying his mind. 

“Simon?” Price calls out, but he ignores him. 

Simon can’t be here.

He's too fragile for this. Too emotional and vulnerable. A man who let himself love and be loved, only to have his world torn apart.

No, what his wife needs now is a ghost. Someone strong and unfeeling, who won't hesitate to do what needs to be done. They took his beloved wife, his reason for living.

And now, he has a child on the way. She’s carrying his child and they’re harming her, hurting his wife and child. 

Not my family, not again.

No.

No.

No. 

This world will burn before something happens to them.

Finally, he opens his eyes, and Price is standing closer than before, his gaze fixed on the pregnancy test in Ghost's hand. His face has gone pale with realization.

“Simon?”

Simon isn’t fucking here. 

Lan Medina: Snow White and Bigby

the letter.

Summary: One letter changed everything.

Warnings: secret relationship, kissing, mentioning of sex, some stress and talking about death

A/N: So that's it. One weak idea and what grew up around it. I hope you can read it. I haven't written anything in a long time.

Your hands were shaking and your throat was tight with unbearable pain. The short and hastily written letter that you had been holding for several minutes was getting stuck in your brain, and its words were almost screaming at you.

"...disobedience..." "...the senator felt rejected and disgraced by your refusal..." "...friend of the Emperor..." "...they demand your head..." "... someone will be sent..." "...run..."

You lifted your head and looked around the room, gasping for breath. Your heart was pounding in your chest and your whole body felt numb.

When the messenger showed up at your door that evening, you didn't expect it would be your last day on earth. A kind friend, someone who didn't wish you harm, but had heard a lot decided to warn you.

And that was it? Is this how you were supposed to end? Killed on the Emperor's orders just because some stupid senator felt hurt when you rejected his intrusive advances and marriage proposal?

"Gods, have mercy on me..."

You should have expected this. Claudius was an arrogant ignoramus who considered himself far superior to any other man except the Emperor. You shouldn't have teased him. Even though you were sure that your refusal was polite and you never let him know that you were happy with his advances...

"Stupid male pride." you muttered to yourself, crumpling the letter in your hands.

How much time do you have? Would you have time to leave Rome? Perhaps you could dispose of the estate, give orders to the servants. What if some Roman legionary is already coming to you to free you from this corporeal shell?

You've never felt so alive before. Almost...

An unexpected noise coming from the entrance reached your ears, and after a while your doorman rushed into the room, bowing low.

"Lady, General Acacius has arrived." he said quickly, "I told him that..."

The man didn't finish because the General unceremoniously rushed into the room, pushing him aside. You stood up abruptly, seeing the sword he was holding in his hand and the madness in his eyes.

"Gaius, leave us." you said quickly.

“My lady…” the man looked at you with fear.

"Now." you glanced at the older man's scared face, "Please."

Gaius quickly backed out of the room.

"General Acacius." you nodded. “I didn't think the Emperor would send you, but maybe it's better. At least death will be quick.”

Has your voice trembled? Your heart was trying to jump out of your chest like it was a little creature, you must have forgotten how to breathe. Every second lasted an hour.

And Marcus? You saw his chest heave with each deep breath that filled his lungs. The hand still gripped the sword blade tightly as if they were one. Even the fire in his eyes and the ferocity of his rush into your house didn't scare you as much as his silence.

"Marcus?"

"You already know?" he croaked.

"Yes, I know. And I'm really glad it's you..."

The loud clang of a sword falling to the floor made you almost jump. In one brief moment, this strong and powerful man walked up to you and fell to his knees, hugging your legs and burying his face in the folds of your robe.

"I just found out. I was rushing to you, afraid it would be too late and I wouldn't see you again." he muttered, "Gods! You don't know how scared I was."

You placed your hands on his shoulders, tenderly tangling your fingers in his soft and damp hair.

"So it's not you?"

"I would rather stab myself with a sword a thousand times than ever lay a finger on you. How could I? Tell me how could I?"

"Who did the Emperor send?"

"I don't know, but if he shows up here, I'll cut him to pieces as soon as he looks at you."

Marcus stood up and you saw that his eyes, although shiny, glared at you with fury. He was a brilliant general, whom thousands of legionaries would follow into fire, and whom all Rome's enemies feared, but you... You knew the real him.

When you met General Acacius for the first time, you felt repulsed by him. A strong and portly man, dressed in white and gold. Favorite of Rome and the Emperor. His skin was kissed by the sun and his brown eyes could tell you about the hundreds of places he had seen.

Maybe this is what fate and the Gods wanted? You couldn't fight it because the reward was so sweet.

His lips roaming your body. Strong hands exploring every inch of your skin and bringing out the sweetest sounds to his ears. The breaths were one and the bodies fit together so perfectly that there was no doubt in your mind. You were meant to be together from the very beginning. Since the beginning of the world.

But you couldn't talk about it openly. Not when wars were still raging in the far reaches of the Empire and Marcus had to serve your Emperor.

But he's finally back, right? He was again a hero loved by crowds. His name was heard on the lips of the inhabitants like a prayer, like a sweet song.

Marcus Acacius, Marcus Acacius, Marcus Acacius.

His warm hands held your face as he rested his forehead against yours.

"I was talking to the Emperor. He was telling me about it with amusement, and I felt like... Fuck! I had so many thoughts in my head, I thought I might explode." he said quietly.

"Hush, honey." you whispered, placing your fingers gently on his lips, he kissed them without thinking, "We knew this would happen. It was just a matter of time..."

"I should tear Claudius apart with my bare hands." Marcus hissed furiously, "But we still have time. There's still something else we can do."

He pulled his face away and looked at your weak smile playing on your lips.

"I will speak to the Emperor." he said in a determined voice, "I'll convince him that..."

"Claudius is his friend." you interrupted him, "You can't..."

"And I am the hero of Rome. Haven't you heard what the people say? The Emperor will give me what I want."

"And what do you want?"

He didn't have to answer anything. When his lips crushed against yours, that was his answer. He kissed you madly, like he was fighting for every breath, like you only had this one moment. You were falling apart in his arms into a thousand pieces. How could you feel dead when Marcus actually made you live? He was your sun, your everything, more than life.

"You can't go to war with the Emperor, with all of Rome, just for one woman." you stuttered, intoxicated by him. “This is insane.”

"You're more than all this. Take it." Marcus pressed his ring into your hand. “I will tell the Emperor that we were married secretly.”

"Marcus..."

"He may be mad, but I can handle it. I will say that we did this before I left. You were married when Claudius courted you. You didn't break any law."

"I can't."

"You have no other choice, Y/N. I won't let you die, do you understand? Even if I have to fight the entire Empire, I will drown it in blood for you."

And you knew Marcus was telling the truth. You pulled him towards you, kissing him deeply. If this was to be your last time, you were grateful for that hope.

"Expect a rider." he said as he picked up the sword from the floor. "If I fail, I will send a trusted man to you. Then you will leave Rome. As far as you can."

"And you?"

"I will find you. No matter what, I will find you." he walked up to you, kissing you one last time. "If everything goes well, I'll come to you myself."

"I trust you, Marus. With all my heart."

"I know. Stay safe, love."

And he left, leaving you completely devastated. You were still clutching his gold ring, your last hope.

Marcus' plan was crazy and you knew it. The Emperor would have to be in a really good mood to believe the story about your secret wedding. Will this enrage him? Even so, he could only take your life. And what would life be without the love you carried in your heart? You were more afraid for Marcus, for his life, for him not to do something stupid.

"Your love is making me crazy." he whispered to you so many times at night.

Eventually you will meet again someday. In this life or another. This is what the Gods wanted, this is what fate wanted.

You couldn't fight it.

General Marcus Acacius surrendered the moment his eyes first landed on you. He was powerless. He made you his Queen and you couldn't refuse him. He was like wine, like incense in the temple, which numbs the senses. He was your beginning and your end. You were grateful to the Gods for this love, but you were also willing to give it up to keep Marcus alive. You were...

The sound of hooves echoed in the yard. You pressed Marcus' ring to your lips and placed it on your finger in anticipation.

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.