Shatterpoint: A Mace Windu Musical Concept Chapter 1: Guide Us

Hunter appreciation post. 💕

I can’t with him

#he was insane for this

PEDRO PASCAL on Jimmy Kimmel Live! | March 24, 2025

For What It's Worth - Part 7

Rex x Reader

Apologies for the long break! Life has been kicking my ass lately! Enjoy me putting Rex through another high-stakes situation!

Summary: Rex preps for the pro-clone rally, you would like him to stop treating you like an invalid already, the big day arrives, and all hell breaks loose

Warnings: Minors begone, The *plot* continues (I'm almost done teasing y'all, I promise), reader is afab, general violence, mobs gonna mob, I play fast and loose with CG protocol, Rex doesn't deserve this stress, mentions of sex, some attempts at sex were made, but Rex's will is made of steel, cliffhanger-y and I apologize, I didn't mean for the plot to plot this much

Tag List: @bambiswriting @jessyhazy @baddest-batchers @bimboshaggy @heylookitworked @eclec-tech @burningnerdchild @liopleurodean @littlemissbshine

If anyone would like to be added to the tag list, please comment below or message/ask directly.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Rex was absolutely exhausted.

Fox wasn’t lying when he said the guard was understaffed. Every day the protest grew closer, and with that came new complications. Complications he usually didn’t have to deal with on the battlefield. 

Like civilians. Not insurgents. Not hostages. Not rebels against the separatists. Real and true civilians with not a drop of combat in their blood (not that they wanted it). And there were so many. The population of Coruscant was out of control, and he made a promise to himself to never, ever settle here. He needed sky. And trees. And occasional, honest silence. Not even his men could conjure such a racket. 

But coordinating route plans through the city, placement of troopers, and escorts for persons of importance weren’t his only concerns. Rex hadn’t been sleeping well. And it was all your fault.

Still not cleared to work by a professional, but almost entirely back to feeling like your former self, you laid around your apartment all day, every day bored. Bored and, well… impassioned.

And you weren’t keeping it to yourself. 

Rex could handle the thorough, suggestive kisses, no matter how hard the thought of your soft lips made him. He could deal with the increasingly short and revealing clothes - it’s hot in here, you’d said - even if he got the ungentlemanly urge to rip them off. He could even stay strong against the way you’d clamber into his lap and grind onto his cock while you watched your nightly shows. He would end every evening achingly erect, too stimulated to sleep, and kicking himself. 

His honor and concern for your health couldn’t be compromised, but the desire to give you exactly what you wanted, what you needed, was all-consuming. Rex wanted to provide for you in every way, and being unable to was eating him up inside. You deserved to be catered and attended  to. Adored. Worshiped. 

You deserved to be fucked. In whatever way you craved. In whatever way you would have him.

And by the force, if he didn’t deserve to get some sleep. It wasn’t just the temptation of you, yearning, delectable you keeping him up at night. He wasn’t sure if it was because of your attack or a result of planning for every eventuality with Fox, but Rex was feeling paranoid. Every morning, on duty, even in the evening with you in his lap, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end. It was like he was back in the field, sleeping in the open, full kit on and one hand curled around his blaster. No matter the trooper on watch or his knowledge of the enemy’s location, it was always impossible to relax. Because of the constant, insistent feeling he was being watched. 

That’s how he’d felt for five days now. Seen. Observed. Under fucking surveillance. 

He admitted it might have been all the cameras and protocols used by the CG. But Rex had been raised by military bases, had been born breathing the air of structure and order. And not once had he ever felt this creeping awareness on his home turf. 

He’d certainly never felt it on yours. And that was the part that really worried him. He’d learned to trust his gut a long time ago, and the fact that all of his alarm bells were going off while you were safe in his arms…while you slept, recovering from an assault on your body and mind…

He wanted to go home. He wanted to see with his own eyes and feel with his naked, ungloved hands that you were alright. 

Instead, he was sitting through another adjustment to the current crowd control plan for the pro-clone rally, and the anti-protest that was sure to follow. 

“Civilians are likely going to cluster in this sector,” Fox repeated for maybe a third time, gesturing to the holomap. “It’s a clear shot from a lot of domiciles and hot spots. Caf shops and casual shopping. Most of them won’t be protesters. They’ll be rubber-necks just looking to say they were there. There’s a clear sight path to the podium. I want as many troopers there as we can spare, ready to get people out if everything goes to complete shit. Thorn, you and your assignees are to hold the lines between the protesters, anti-protesters, and civilians. You boys are the grid by which we operate. If someone gets violent, you pack ‘em up and return to your post as quickly and cleanly as possible. They go to the drunk tanks to cool down.”

Rex nodded along. He’d had the plan memorized since the first briefing. He just wasn’t used to this level of prep time. Usually, he’d follow a certain Jedi’s first thought and just, well, make it work.  

Fox continued, “Hound, your unit is patrolling the perimeter of the event with the massifs. Do not appear in force. Spread out. Keep the massifs calm. Make no moves unless you hear from either myself or the other commanders.” Hound’s “yes sir” was almost entirely lost, because Fox, clearly exhausted by this point, kept going without pause.

“Thire, you’re to take your unit into the two buildings on either side of the protest site. Keep an eye out. We have very public, very divisive figures in attendance and the last thing I need on my hands is a downed senator. If you see signs of a sniper, if you see a hostile assailant rushing the stage, you sound the alarm and take the shot if you can manage it.” 

Rex then felt his brother’s attention on him, and sat up straighter. Fox’s visor met his own, and he inclined his head, “Captain Rex will be commanding the line between the podium and the crowd while I act as escort to the VIPs. That means that most of my rally unit will be assigned to a different commanding officer while I take a smaller squad to escort public figures to, through, and from the event. It also means that I will be absent for portions of the day, dealing with the struggles of our dear politicians. If any of you, any of you at all have a problem with taking orders from a decorated, battle-hardened commander who just happens not to be of CG origin, too fucking bad. You will follow Rex’s orders as if they come directly from me, understood?”

“Sir, yes sir!” rang through the hall. 

“Damn straight,” Fox growled. “One more thing. Captain Rex will be more noticeable than you lot. He’s a well-known poster boy for the war, thanks to Jedi Master Skywalker, and his armor is bound to attract attention. I’ve requested his help at great sacrifice to his General and the 501st. I’d like to return him in one piece. That means look out for him, Thire, your unit in particular. The anti-protesters will be gunning for a figure like him standing out in the open.”

There were a couple of snickers amongst some of Rex’s more well-known acquaintances, but by and large the sea of red and white helmets regarded him with a mixture of reverence and, dare he say it, protectiveness. He felt like a very well cared for massif. 

Fox dismissed the boys and sat down at the command table, taking off his helmet and rubbing his eyes. Somehow, the circles under them had gotten darker, “Sorry Rex, didn’t mean to make you sound like a damsel in distress.”

“You didn’t,” he chuckled. “I appreciate the manpower and the potential cover fire. You may have given them an overinflated view of my military record, though.”

“Please,” Fox rolled his eyes. “How many times have you been medalled?”

“Five out of seven times it was instigated by Amidala,” Rex snorted. “She gives me all the medals Skywalker isn’t allowed to accept.”

His brother let out a weak, but very genuine chuckle, then sobered up, staring glass-eyed down at the table, “This needs to be over.”

“Yeah,” Rex shook his head. “I’ve…had a bad feeling for most of the week. Like something’s wrong and I just don’t know what.”

Fox nodded, “Something is going to go wrong at the rally. I feel it. But there’s no way to prepare for every eventuality. All I can do is hope not too many people get hurt.”

Rex scanned his brother up and down, the tired eyes, the slumped shoulders, the gray streak in his hair, “You need a vacation.”

That prompted a single, hollow laugh in the back of Fox’s throat, “Sure, I’ll just submit my PTO request to the emperor. Shed the armor, turn off my comms. How’s Naboo this time of year?”

“I’ll have a word with Ularen’s secretary, she can join you.”

Fox sat up stick-straight, “That’s not funny, Rex.”

He shrugged, “I’m not laughing.”

“That’s…I can’t,” Fox shook his head, eyes wide and sad. “She’s not, we’re not-”

“How about this,” Rex leaned forward on his knees. “I promise, when I get back to the Resolute, I’ll get her to comm you.”

But his brother glared back at him, “She won’t do it. She’s…we’re not on the best of terms.”

“All the more reason,” Rex insisted. “She’s on a warship, Fox. You will never forgive yourself if she gets hurt and you didn’t get the chance to tell her whatever you need to tell her. Trust me.”

Fox looked away and stiffly put his helmet back on, coming back to his persona diligent control, “You’re a meddlesome idiot, brother.”

“Look who’s talking.”

*********************************

Your fingers were stroking his cock again. 

“Ah, cyare,” Rex mumbled into your hairline, blinking in the flare of morning light. He reached down and removed your hand from his shorts. “None of that.”

You groaned, leaned forward, and scraped your teeth on his bare chest, “C’mon, Rex. You know I’m well enough.” 

“Not till another, not-motivated-by-sex medic says so,” he gathered you up, pressing sweet kisses to your face, which was looking brighter and healthier by the day. “You’ve got your check-up tomorrow. Not too long now.”

“How do you have this much self-control?” you whined.

“A man can do anything with the right motivation,” he grinned down at you. Stars, you were beautiful. “I’m excited too.”

“Hmm, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he trailed his nose across your cheek, blowing warm air down to your ear. Your breath hitched. “Nothing I want to do more than sink into you, feel you wrapped around me again…except, maybe, lap at your pretty clit until you spill down my chin.”

You let out a tiny high pitched mewl, “That’s not fair, Rex. I’m so horny it hurts, and you’re leaving soon.”

Just like clockwork, his vambrace began beeping from across the room. 

Rex kissed your nose, “You haven’t exactly been making this easy on me either, cyarika.” He reached down to grab at your hips. “The kissing and the stroking and the grinding. But I’ve been very nice, I know how hard this is for both of us. Just be good for me a bit longer, and I’ll give you everything you want.”

You sighed, properly chastised, “Okay. But maybe I could still come to the rally-”

“Not even if you held a blaster to my head,” Rex interrupted firmly. “We’ve talked about this.”

He got up to go and check the message on his vambrace while you huffed, “I don’t like the idea of you out there, dangled like bait for the worst of the anti-clone movement.”

“Fox and I both agreed that it would be best to keep the protesters focused on a trooper instead of the politicians.” Speaking of his brother, Fox was calling him in for the final briefing before they moved out this afternoon. 

“But if I just waited at a caf shop a few blocks away-”

“I’d be out of my mind with worry the entire time,” he started pulling on his armor. “And I wouldn’t be able to do my job.”

You went quiet, which was surprising. The both of you had gone over this repeatedly last night. Rex could understand your anxiety, but he had his skills, he had his plastoid, and he had an entire branch of the GAR convinced that he needed to be protected at all costs. He suspected Fox felt guilty about using him for this, and was hyping up the troopers about his record, his legion, and maybe even the fact that he had someone to come home to. 

He chanced a glance back at you, and felt his heart seize. You were teary, jaw clenched and staring out the window. 

“Hey,” he strode over, breastplate hanging off him loosely. “Hey now, cyare.”

You threw your arms around him, pressing your body against the ridges of his armor, “Be careful, Rex. Please”

He held you, swaying slightly to the rhythm pounding in his chest, “I will, I promise. Give me ten hours. I’ll be home before you know it.”

“I’ll be watching you on the net,” you sniffed.

“I’ll wave if I see a camera.”

*********************************

That’s how he left you, curled up back under the covers and promising you’d take it easy. You were asleep again almost immediately. 

The briefing was quick, and loading into the transports went by even faster. Fox wanted everyone in position before the first of the protesters gathered. 

The troopers spread through the open space like they’d done it a thousand times. Rex only had to mind his own placement at the north corner of the stage and admire their precision. Fox had trained them well. 

Protesters with homemade accessories (like buttons), colorful signs, and makeshift masks to look like GAR helmets started filtering in. Most of them looked like the pro-clone crowd. 

An hour later, some anti-protesters arrived. The grounds became considerably louder, the air charged with electricity. Rex ordered a screaming man who approached the stage to be taken to the drunk tanks. 

News crews pulled their speeders up, unloading all of their expensive equipment. They looked considerably calmer than Rex felt. 

The space filled up faster than he could have anticipated. Every time he scanned the area, the burgeoning pile of bodies seemed to have multiplied. But the lines of troopers were holding well. 

Another hour passed before the speakers arrived. Fox sent a ping to each commanding officer, and a moment later Bail Organa, Padme Amidala, several representatives, a net star, a reclusive philanthropist, and - Rex’s eyebrows raised - Shor Ryesim filled onto the stage. He guessed Shor wasn’t lying when he said he was the organizer of the event.

Organa’s speech opened the rally. It was well-written, level, and reassuring. Rex never understood what special quality made someone a good public speaker, but he was sure he didn’t possess it. Bail apparently had it in spades. Even the anti-clone folks calmed down a little. 

The speakers began to blend together as Rex continued to scan the crowd. The representatives were supportive, if a little dull. He couldn’t blame them, how hard must it be to follow Organa? The net star came off vapid and brief, but at least he was using his position for something meaningful. The philanthropist looked almost embarrassed to be present. And Amidala…well, she was Amidala. Direct and spirited, passionate and definitive. She kept turning in his direction throughout the speech, and Rex fought the urge to give her the recognition she deserved. As far as the public knew, he was not familiar with her in the slightest. 

The crowd began to pick up on her energy. Loud clashes of voices rose up. Rex caught a few troopers keeping brawlers apart. The anti-crowd began hurling insults and, in one case, a rock in her direction. It missed by a hair.

“Don’t bother with the drunk tank for that one!” Rex commanded. Amidala and the other politicians were ushered off the stage. And of course this was all streamed across the net. Skywalker was going to kill him.

“Are they calling it?” He commed Fox. “The crowd is rising.” And he wasn’t exaggerating. The pros were clamoring for the anti’s arrest. Insults and accusations flew.

“Hold on,” came his brother’s answer. “No, the organizer wants to give his speech, finish up with what they came to do. I’m taking the others out of here.”

Rex felt a stab of annoyance. Fucking Shor…

“Hold steady, boys,” he said to his troopers. “We’ve got one more speaker, then they’re gonna send ‘em home.”

Ryesim took to the podium with very little ceremony. He shouted into the mics, trying to maintain the attention of his audience. 

“Friends! Friends!” he called. “If you’ll lend me just a bit of your patience! Remember, this event is for changing minds, not causing violence!”

Rex rolled his eyes and ordered two more brawlers led away. 

“However, we must be willing to fight to defend what is good and just!”

What the fuck is he doing? Rex called for his troopers to be on high alert. Shor was apparently abandoning the idea of de-escalation.

“Enough violence has been committed in the name of slowing progress!” Shor yelled, smacking the top of the podium. “We are here to demand the full rights of clones be recognized! We, as full citizens of this great Republic, have a responsibility to understand the plight of those less fortunate than us! To put ourselves in the way of those who would harm our clone compatriots, who are no less valuable, no less deserving than we are. Citizens of Coruscant, we are under threat! A war has started, much like the one clones heroically pursue across the galaxy! Too many clone supporters have been met with barbarity on the streets where they walk every day!”

The screen behind the podium alighted, showing the image of a young man, nose clearly broken, with glass sticking out of his cheek. 

“Take Kiran Serril!” Shor shouted, spit flying from his mouth. “Brutalized in his own home for a sticker on his door supporting clone citizenship!”

The mob screamed in unison. The lines of troopers between pro and anti groups were starting to break down. 

“Fox,” Rex growled. “We need to end this. Now.”

Fox’s response came immediately, “Copy. I’ll comm the others. I’ve just put the VIPs in their transports. I’m on my way back.”

Shor was still screaming, riling the throng up with yet another disturbing image, “Ellebet Diranae is an elderly retiree, but that did not stop thugs from following her home and giving her a concussion for daring to read a pro-clone pamphlet in her local caf joint!”

All Rex could see were angry faces, brutal intent. He was done waiting.

“Form a wall boys!” he yelled, and his troopers started pushing the protesters back from the stage without hesitation. The ones keeping the two factions apart began getting serious, and the line down the middle reformed. “Blasters at stun only! Order them to disperse! Hound, get in here now, start getting those on the fringes to go home! Leave the massifs in the transports, they’ll just incite panic!”

He was so busy he didn’t hear Shor’s next introduction, didn’t see the transition to another exploitive image. Only when the crowd began falling back did Rex begin to register words again.

“- worst of all, this heroic, kind woman is a medic! She saves lives for a living! She lives in Coruscant, like all of you, not too far from here! I’ve known her since childhood, and they demolished her for the crime of wearing pins on a backpack!”

Rex’s hot, racing blood suddenly turned to ice. Slowly, or maybe it only seemed that way in the chaos, he turned back to look at the new picture on the netscreen.

No.

*********************************

You were having trouble breathing.

Wheezing, you raised a hand to touch your netscreen, running a finger down the little stage made of data and pixels. You hovered over Rex, who had his back turned to the mile-high image behind the podium. He was frantically trying to get the crowd under control. 

Shor was shaking his fist, shouting like a lunatic. You wanted to squash him.

You caught the moment Rex turned and saw the screen behind him, could practically feel the moment he registered what had happened.

Shor had shown your face, battered as all hell. With multiple pictures, plastered on a surface taller than your building. From multiple angles, so the damage couldn’t be ignored. 

Shor had screamed your name to the entire city, the entire planet. With that, someone could find your address. Find your place of work. 

You’d be on the news in a matter of hours. You and those other poor souls Shor undoubtedly didn’t get permission to showcase. You sobbed. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

As you watched, Rex prowled towards the Twi’Lek, who didn’t even notice a murderous clone in his periphery. Fox appeared on the other side of the stage, and rushed to intercept. You weren’t sure he would make it in time. 

Rex ripped the microphone clear off its stand, the podium screeching in protest. That move gave Fox the time he needed to get in between the two and slam Shor to the surface of the podium. He put his other hand on Rex’s wrist, and even though it was hidden behind the rest of his body, you knew Fox was stopping your boyfriend from drawing his blaster. 

A moment while they stood, staring each other down through their visors. Finally, Rex stepped back, and Fox cuffed Shor. With his other hand, the commander looked to be talking into his comms. Your brutalized face disappeared from behind them. 

A moment later, your own netscreen went black.

Nothing to see here, just some Pilot Hunter with his scrunchy determined face

Bonus:

^This one is literally me and my sister on a late night maccas run lol

against the wind | marcus acacius

summary: you have the whole world at your feet as the daughter of the emperor. his war dog, general acacius, wants to see you at his. when lust turns to love, and passion ignites into flames, it’s hard to hide it all from the world.

warnings: age gap, cheating, mentions and descriptions of death, war, violence, miscarriages, & pregnancy, angst heavy, a lot of smut (oral, unprotected piv, creampie, breeding kink, sir kink, general kink, biting, fingering, etc.)

a. note: ok sorry i am obsessed with him. as in him i mean the version i’ve created in my mind. sorry not sorry. also this is a long one… the word count is prob like 8263749254 gazillion. that’s what it felt like at least LMAOO. enjoy my babies xx

The cell was dark, not even the moonlight could soak through. There was a drip in the corner, a soft little tip tap noise from the leaking water falling against the ground.

All you could feel was the cold stone beneath your body. You were sure your heart hadn’t beat in days, positive there was no longer feeling in your toes.

You were hungry, weak, devoid of any sort of life that you may have once carried with you.

The air reeked with the stench of decaying flesh, and your eyes traced the splatters of blood across the floor, too old and hardened to ever come off of the rocks. Forever stained with the memory of the men who once held that blood, forever destined to rest beneath the feet of guardsmen and senate officials.

All of this was new to you.

You had come from a life of frivolity, a life of dancing and pleasure. No more were your purple lined stola’s and gold laced sandals. You were now a prisoner, a slave to the arena.

In twelve hours time you would be placed in the coliseum, the first woman to fight in over a century.

All because you defied your father.

You looked over at the mass of muscle beside you, and your hand gently fell to an aching shoulder, your fingers tracing a line into his tan skin. You counted the lash marks across his spine.

One, two, three, four, five- twenty three lash marks.

Each one dedicated to the months your affair had gone on.

In the humidity of late spring time, they were already festering. A few stray flies buzzed, landing upon the ripples of broken skin, until you swatted them away with your weak fingers.

“You must get up.” You spoke softly. You were pleading with him now. “We have to do something.”

The man beside you, the fabled General Marcus Acacius, shook his head. What was there left to do? He had resigned. His death certificate had already been written up.

In his mind, he wondered about all the things he could have done differently, pondered all the ways he would slaughter your father if he could. Forced to the arena for the death of an Emperor- that was a fitting punishment. But being made to pick up the gladius for love?

He wasn’t sure what his offense was, and the sentence he- the sentence you- had received, was not befitting of the crime.

Each night in this cell, General Acacius dreamt of all the corpses he had slayed on the field, of their stench so rotten it was almost sweet. His dreams turned sour when he saw your lifeless body amongst them, covered in red poppies, bloated with the curse of death, the handle of his sword sticking from the cage of your ribs.

Even in his own mind, Marcus was tormented.

The lashes, the torture, this prison cell, it was nothing. He had far worse done to him. But to see you go through it with him, to see your once beautiful face beaten by the harshness of vitriol, as if you were some backwater thief, that was an entirely different experience.

“I’m half of mind to take my spear and drive it through your father’s heart tomorrow.” The voice was cold, angry, laced with the bitterness of resentment that had been growing deep within his belly for weeks.

“Marcus, carissimus, please.”

“You don’t understand.” He snarled out the words before his face dropped. And then, in the midst of his confusion, he laughed. A deep, guttural laugh, the kind that made his chest shake with glee.

The General sat up, wiping at his cheek with the back of his hand. He turned to you with a wince, his tongue swiping across his lower lip.

“You don’t understand.” Marcus repeated, his syllables much softer, before reaching out and touching your cheekbone. He dragged the pad of his thumb across your skin, shaking his head. “What he’s asking me to do. To you.”

“Dum spiro, spero.” You murmured, crawling towards him until you were pressed against his chest. Your body rose and fall in unison with his breaths, your souls still entwined after everything you had been through.

“While I breathe, I hope.” He spoke the words you had just whispered, resting his cheek against your head. “You have always been wiser than me, my heart.”

You breathed out a quiet laugh, peering up at him through your wet eyelashes. “Tomorrow, I want you to kill me. You must. Quickly. Get it over with, just… however you do it, make sure it is done. That’s all he wants, and then you can go. You can be free of this, free of me.”

“You are my heart, my anima mate. The very thing which keeps me beating. I can’t do it.”

There was a warm breeze on this particular night, a soft, gentle trickle in the summer air. Palatine Hill was awake and lively, full of wine carafes and platters of cheese, fish, honey- the finest of the sort, more delectable than anything the common folk would ever graze upon.

The Emperor only wanted the best, and the best is what he got. Always. As his daughter, that rule applied to you.

Tonight was a celebration. The end of the war, the welcoming home of heroes from the home front. No more Gauls, no more oncoming threats of invasion- tonight, Rome was safe, and within her walls, a party that would last a fortnight was brewing.

You had found yourself stuck in the midst of idle chatter, and the heavy leaf fanning you did little to alleviate the thickness of late July. You looked out through the pillars, watching the glimmer of wind shake at the leaves of the olive trees.

Pushing yourself away from the group of women, you excused yourself, grabbing another serving of mulsum before finding yourself alone, blissfully and happily alone, overlooking the wide stretch of the hills as you drank.

You wished your husband had been killed in battle.

Married off to him too young, you had been groomed from an early age to be a dutiful wife. But as the daughter born from the blood of a strong, wealthy family, you had a wild streak. A taste for the finer things, a longing for adventure, a desire to be free.

You wanted to argue with the senate, be taught how to wield the blade. You wanted to bet on gladiators and talk to the slaves, learn the secrets of the dusty parts of the city that you weren’t allowed in. You wanted to vote, to shout about politics in a room full of men whose families stretched all the way back to Romulus and Remus.

You wanted to be an Empress. The center of the stage. You wanted to have power, authority, a voice.

Oh, would that you could.

But you were trapped.

Stuck.

And you had been, for some time.

A loveless, meaningless life with a man who had yet to give you a child. A strong son, an intelligent daughter- neither of them anywhere to be found. He was thoughtless and impotent, a waste of space fluttering about in your life, taking up every corner of your home.

Enter: General Marcus Acacius.

You remembered him from the days of your youth. He seemed so large then, so domineering and jarring. A man that was more beast than human, bloodied and bruised almost every time you saw him.

Now, well into adulthood, you were irresistibly drawn to him. You wondered what brought you so close to him, like a moth to flame. You knew it was wrong to think of him that way, but you couldn’t help yourself.

He was strong, capable, demanding.

A man after your own heart.

On this particular evening, he was a hero. The General who led his troops to victory, a valiant warrior who fought tooth and nail to protect his beloved city.

When you saw him across the room, the bridge of his nose was yellowing with the kiss of a fresh bruise, and his eyebrow sported a deep gash that you knew was painful. And yet still, he walked proud, sauntering over and shaking hands, making his rounds the way a proper military man should. His paludamenta bellowed behind him, and you weren’t sure when you had seen a man so engaging, so…. captivating.

It made your mouth water. You wondered what he would taste like on your tongue, what it would be like to swallow his-

You turned your back to him to stare across the canvas of green grass, your cup nearly empty. The wind tousled your neatly made hair, a stray tuft falling into your eyes, and you tried to swat away the thoughts which infiltrated through your head before they could get any worse.

“Princess.” You turned to face the voice which had called you, and found the General towering beside you, his arms behind his back as he stared out towards the same valley.

“General Acacius. Congratulations on your victory, it was hard fought.” You hoped you didn’t sound too terribly excited to be speaking to him.

He chuckled a smooth, honeyed chuckle, and looked down at you. In a moment of tenderness you had not expected from the warrior, he gently pushed the stray piece of hair away from your face.

“Marcus, please.” He corrected you, a glimmer of excitement lingering behind the umber depths of his eyes. Like oceans of rich soil, they captivated you, like crystal orbs that held all the secrets of the future. “I’ve not seen you for quite sometime.”

“And I, you. It’s nice to see your face again. I’m a married woman now, my duties have taken me away from the Palatine.” Your voice fell flat. You wanted to add: Unfortunately.

“Your husband is the captain of my guard.” The General didn’t sound too pleased either as he spoke.

“He’s a coward. As fit to be a Captain as I am to be a gladiator.”

Marcus laughed, and you looked up at him with a smile. He nodded in unspoken agreement. A long, gentle, comfortable moment of silence passed over your bodies, before you decided to speak again.

“Do you remember when I was a little girl, and you would watch over me while I ran through the city streets?”

“Oh yes, I do. I was a glorified wet nurse for your father in the days of your youth.”

“A very well armored wet nurse.” You corrected him with a laugh, no longer biting back your smile.

“You were a rowdy little girl.” He reminisced with a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, his lips chapped with his injuries from the recent battle. “Always picking up rats and studying bugs. It was hard, keeping you in line.”

“Have you not heard, Marcus? I’ve turned into a rowdy woman.”

“Is that so?” His voice was soft, deep, and you wondered when your bodies had become so close. Marcus’ fingers lingered against the dip of your waist, his lips slightly parted as he sucked a soft breath of air in.

“Yes.” You whispered, the noise of the party drowned out by the rush of blood beating through your ears.

“Well, isn’t that nice to know?”

“I can show you, my General. Tonight.”

Marcus finally let himself touch you, the warm palm of his hand cupping your waist, moving down until he had a fistful of your draped fabric. It was a welcome respite from the countless months spent around grit and carrion, a welcome touch from a woman as gentle and angelic as you.

“You’re a married woman.” He murmured, the tips of his digits digging in to the suppleness of your sides.

“Barely.”

“Barely?”

You let out a soft breath as he massaged in to the dip right above your ass, pulling you closer until you were flush against him. You felt each ripple of his muscle, the heat of his chest, the bulge behind his tunic.

You excited him. You filled him with a sense of life anew.

He wanted you. He craved you. There was a hunger in his eyes, a primal hunger that not even war could satiate.

“My husband- he’s useless to me. He’s never given me a child, never taken care of me, never brought me any pleasure. For months I prayed to the gods that he wouldn’t make it home, for months I prayed for someone different. Someone like…. Well, someone like you.”

Marcus stepped away, taking two full chalices off a passing servants tray, handing you one. He brought the honeyed liquid to his lips, his eyes stalking you, watching the way your own mouth parted to welcome in the sweet ambrosia.

Tonight, you were immortal.

Tonight, you were divine.

And tonight, you were going to lay with General Marcus Acacius if it was the last thing you did.

Your mind was made, the letter had been writ.

You looked up at him from the brim of your cup, your eyes narrowing with a smile. He nodded back, clearing his throat as he scratched at his jawline, facial hair prickling about his tattered skin.

“If I knew this, I would have made sure he never made it back.” Marcus bit down on his lower lip, his gaze glancing across the expanse of the room, like two trained telescopes making sure no one was watching, making sure that no one could see your fraternization.

“Come back to my villa after the party ends. A goddess as divine as you surely needs to be worshiped. And I am a very capable man, meum corculum.”

His little heart. The newfound term of endearment made your breath catch in the back of your throat.

“Oh, indeed you are General. Indeed you are.” You extended your hand to him, and he pressed a chaste kiss to the inside of your wrist.

When you got home that night, you bathed. A long bath full of oil, until you smelled like rose petals and nectarines, until your skin had soaked away the stench of the day.

The stench of your title, the stench of your husband, the stench of everything. Tonight you would be born again, in the arms of Marcus.

You knew where his villa was like the back of your hand. Childhood evenings spent with your parents, talks of battle plans and feasts for a table of politicians as long as the eye could see.

His home was made of the finest stone from the nicest quarry, and a long line of pomegranate trees led up to the front door, an arched entryway that spat out the golden embers of light that rested within.

Marcus opened the door as soon as you stepped up to it, taking your hand and welcoming you inside. He ditched his battle attire for a white tunic wrapped tightly around his waist, his chest bare and glistening beneath the candlelight of his foyer.

You reached out, touching a deep gash that had ripped across the tract of his pectoral. “You’ve been hurt.”

“I always am.” He explained with a raised eyebrow, taking your palm in his hands and bringing it to his mouth. He kissed the tips of your fingers, resting it upon his cheek.

The General was right.

He was littered with scars, some nearly faded, others fresh and bandaged. You brushed your thumb across the height of his cheekbone, closing the door behind you.

“I know of some things that could cure your ailments.” You said with a grin, walking around his house, taking in the scene around you.

The hide of a lion stretched across the tricinium, three couches before tables adorned with bowls of fruit and jugs of wine resting inside. Outside the pillars there was a fountain, a statue of Mars spitting water in the middle of it all. Flower beds, stones, intricately carved pathways- anything coin could buy, Marcus had it.

His voice snapped you away from your observations.“Do you now?”

“Yes. Haven’t you heard? I’m the greatest nurse in all of Rome.”

“Pray tell, my darling nurse, how you would fix me?” He walked towards the stair case, and you followed suit, a giggle tumbling from your mouth.

You reached his bedroom, and he sat at the edge, watching and waiting for what you would have to say next.

“Oh, well…. let’s see. A soldier as bloodied as you? I would have to take extra good care of you, pay extra close attention.” You explained, a finger tracing down the expanse of his collarbone.

Marcus quirked an eyebrow. “Intriguing. Much better care than the nurses on the battlefield.”

“For you? Only the best care at my hands. You won’t even know you’re injured. Pain free when I’m done with you.”

“You must be very good with your hands then, to be so skilled in the ways of…. pleasure.”

“Oh yes, most definitely.”

“I think I need some of your curing.”

“Then my curing you shall get.”

Marcus stood, bringing you up with him. He grasped your chin tightly, edging your face upwards so you were peering up at him. His lips were pursed with desire, eyes swirling dark with arousal.

“Get on your knees.” He commanded, his chin tilting upwards in dominance. “For your general.”

You sucked in a sharp breath of air, falling down before him.

“Your hands.” Marcus grabbed ahold of your small palms once you extended them, moving them to hem of his tunic. “Undress me.”

“Yes sir.” You breathed out softly, and he groaned ever so slightly at the new title you had bestowed upon him.

Untying his tunic, it dropped to the floor, revealing his hard, throbbing cock. You wet your lips, memorizing every detail of his body. The small mole on his hip bone, the thick grin that was painted alongside his twitching length.

“You see what you do to me, meum corculum? How I yearn for you?”

All you could do was nod.

Marcus grabbed ahold of your face, forcing you to look at him. “Use your words, darling girl.”

“Yes, sir.” You moaned out, your wrists tight in the grasp of his other hand. “I do.”

A smirk danced across his mouth. “Do as your general orders, and fix it.”

You squeaked out a yes sir as his heavy hand rested gingerly upon the back of your head, slowly guiding you towards his cock.

You opened your mouth, allowing the length of him to slide against your tongue, a gentle gag at the sheer size of him eliciting a moan from the man that stood mighty before you.

His fingers tangled themselves within your hair, and he watched the tip of dick disappear behind your lips, heavy eyes aflame with adoration for the woman that knelt before him.

Marcus kept one of your hands in his, occasionally resting it on his stomach to hold you closer.

The General was a man of infinite composure, and his resolve was legendary. He didn’t buck his hips, he didn’t pull your hair, he didn’t push your head- he allowed you to do as you pleased, allowed you to pleasure him how you saw fit.

You could feel your core ache with need, and it only fueled your desire to make Marcus cum. You wanted to taste him. You wanted him to fill you up until you had no room left within you.

His thumb tenderly brushed across your brow, his gaze intent on your bobbing head. You let out a soft whimper at the sound of a stray grunt, and your eyes fluttered shut as your swirled your tongue around the head of his cock, tasting the saltiness of his arousal.

“Just like that, my darling girl. Just like that.”

You sucked harder, took him as deep as you could, your nails gently pressing crescent moons into his abdomen.

“Look at you.” He cooed through gritted teeth. You swore his eyes had gone soft, full of a tenderness you had rarely seen from him before.

You could recall him being rather soft with the stray dogs, you could recall him smiling at babies that waved towards him on the streets- but in his day to day life, General Acacius was hardened, tough, determined.

And to be looked at like that, by him, to be gazed down upon so gently by a man that had shed so much blood, well, it was better than being blessed by the gods. It was a promise. A love. Something you had never known before, something you would never know again.

His cock twitched against your tongue, and you knew he was close. His nails gently dragged alongside your scalp, and your name fell so beautifully off his tongue as his orgasm washed shook through his body.

You swallowed his spend, his taste forever imprinted upon your tongue, and licked him dry.

Marcus extended his hand towards you, helping you off the ground.

“Marcus, I-”

He pressed his lips to yours, your tongues tangling together as he lowered you upon the bed, his fingers working at the knots of your stola, his mouth moving in perfect unison with yours.

You had never been kissed like this before. So hungrily, so passionately. He kissed you like he wanted you, like he needed you, like you were the very breath that filled his lungs, like you were the pollen that fed the flowers, like you were the moon that pulled the tides.

Like you were the only thing that mattered to him.

Marcus pushed you back onto the bed, his lips never moving from yours. Skillfully, he derobed you, until you were as naked as the day you were born, spread open for his eyes, and his eyes only.

He was tender with you, his fingertips light across the length of your body as he felt you, his touch delicate- as though you were a statue that could break at any moment. He was going to take his time with you. He was going to devote himself to the religion that was your weeping cunt.

At the end of the night, his name would be the only name you ever remembered. The only name you ever wanted. The only name you ever needed.

Marcus pulled away, dipping his head down to take one of your hardened nipples in to his mouth, his tongue tracing across the bud of flesh, suckling gently as you moaned his name. His title sounded like a prayer on your mouth, a secret whispered only for him.

And it was.

He peeled your legs apart, his kisses peppering down the length of your body until he reached your cunt, aching with your desire. He could smell your need, the sweet scent of your body.

Marcus peeled open your pussy, revealing your glistening slit to his hungry eyes. He watched the way your arousal pooled at the tight hole of your cunt, the way your clit hardened at the feeling of the cold air. Your hands snaked down to his head, and you dragged your fingers through his hair, his name falling from your tongue as your eyes met.

“Let me take care of you.” He whispered, leaning forward to kiss your swelling clit.

“Yes sir.” You smiled playfully, and he gently bit into your soft thigh with a chuckle.

The General swirled his tongue around your clit, lapping up your wetness before pushing into your tight folds, fucking you slowly with his mouth. You moaned for him, your back arching so high off the bed he had to anchor your hips closer to his face.

You never wanted to leave this bed.

His fingers dragged down your body until he pulled his mouth away from your aching core, and you both watched him sink his middle finger deep within you, until the tip of his digit pressed into that soft sponge that made you cry out in pleasure.

“That’s it. Sing for me, my heart.” His voice was laced with arrogance, but you didn’t care. He fucked your clit between his lips, rolling it gently before tracing numerals into the throbbing bud.

“Oh. Oh! Carissimus, my beloved, please.” You cried out for him, nails digging deeper into his head of hair as you drew him closer, grinding your hips into his face until it glistened with your arousal.

His chuckle vibrated through your core, a second finger pressing into your pussy as he fucked your with his fingers, hooking them each time he thrusted in. Your clit was still in his mouth, his tongue unrelenting with its gentle strokes.

Your legs were already shaking with an oncoming orgasm, and his name ripped from your mouth like a guttural cry to the gods as your flood gates finally broke. Your climax hit you like a thunderstorm, and Marcus lapped up every drop of your sweet cum until you were clean.

He climbed on top of you, his cock already throbbing with a second wave of arousal, and met your mouth with his. You tasted yourself on his tongue, the thought making you moan. Marcus pulled you up, your chests pressed together from where he sat, and you wrapped your legs around his waist.

The length of his dick rubbed into your swollen folds, making you ache for him again, and you both watched the leaking tip of his member slowly sink inside of you, your moans in perfect unison as he filled you up. Your body melded in to his, two puzzle pieces cut from the same slab of stone.

“Do you feel that, my heart? What you’ve done to me?”

You nodded through a gasp of pleasure, the sting of being stretched by him the most wonderful sensation you had ever felt before.

“I do. Oh, I do.”

He leaned forward, gently biting down on your neck as he fucked himself into you, his hands steady on your hips.

“I could give you a baby. I could you fill you up until you were swollen with my child, beautiful and radiant with the promise of a new life.” You gasped out as his words, his lips marking a bruise upon your skin. His voice was heated, quiet, right against your ear as he thrust deeper.

“Is that what you want? I could give you the world. A son, a daughter- whatever you wanted.”

You whimpered, grasping ahold of his broad shoulders. Marcus groaned against you, nuzzling his face closer into the crook of your neck.

“Yes, General. Please. Fill me.”

“I will. Again and again. Until the only cock you ever crave is mine. I’ll fuck you so good you’ll ache with the ghost of me for years to come.”

You threw your head back, pulling him closer against you- as close as another person could be. He was panting like a dog, and your mouth was full of drool as he pounded into you, the sound of his skin slapping against skin bouncing off the walls.

“Just like that, Marcus. Oh, gods. Fuck me.”

He growled out your name, so deep it almost sounded threatening, and pushed you down onto your back, your legs pressed to the sides of your head as he rutted in to you. You reached your hand down to circle your sensitive clit, a tiny whine leaking from your mouth.

“You feel divine.” He groaned, his forehead pressing in to yours as he fucked you so deep you were almost folded in half.

“And you do, too. You stretch me so good. Fill me so…. oh. So nicely.”

The General chuckled, gently biting your jaw. You giggled at the feeling of his facial hair tickling your skin, and he nipped at your ear lobe, hoping to illicit the same sweet sound of laughter. He did.

Rubbing at your own clit had your second orgasm approaching much faster, and Marcus felt you tightening against him.

“That’s it. Cum for me, soak me.” He was almost begging if you didn’t know any better.

You came at the sound of his voice, and after a few more thrusts, Marcus was filling you up, groaning out a series of profanities you had never heard from him before. He rode you through your orgasm, finishing with a shudder before collapsing beside you.

Part of you wondered if it was all a façade.

If he would turn his back to you and fall asleep, if he would kick you out and never make eye contact with you again. You wondered if it was all a front he had put on in the hopes of getting some, if this was his way of celebrating a victory without attaching any strings to someone.

But, after he caught his breath, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you so close to him you were practically resting atop his chest. You could hear his heart beat, the way it slightly sped up at the feeling your hands on his thick biceps.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Marcus?”

“Yes?”

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

“You can stay with me for however long you want. I am yours, until your desire for me burns out.”

You kissed his chest, placing your cheek on his shoulder until your faces were closer, the top of his nose pressing into yours. “I would be a fool to let that happen.”

“And I would be a fool to cause it.”

You smiled, kissing his mouth once more, before the sweet hand of sleep guided you into dreams of him. Marriage, children, a home.

When you awoke, he was right there, and he greeted you with a gentle kiss.

For months, you kept your affair a secret, until your love became so much to bear you had to do something about it.

You escaped for a weekend to the hills up north, and he gave you a necklace to wear around your neck- a testament of his love, proof of his devotion, a sign that you were his, and his alone. You gave him a ring in return, a ring he wore on his pinky.

A ring he never took off.

No one knew of your love. That’s what made it so special. A secret shared onto between the two of you, a love which ran so deep, not even societal conventions could stop it.

What mattered showed itself at the end of a long day, when you would always manage to find one another, laying together and discussing every little thing you could think of. It showed itself in the way you would always manage to return home to each other, if only for a small moment of time.

It was the following winter when you found out you were pregnant with his child.

Your pregnancy didn’t last long. You never got to see your stomach swell with the pride of carrying the General Marcus Acacius’ baby.

When your husband, your actual, lawful husband, found out you were pregnant by the touch of another man, he hit you so hard you bled for days, your thighs slick with a coat of crimson, your stomach bruised in the shape of his knuckles.

The night Marcus found out, he broke into your home under the cover of dark, and beat your husband until his eyes fell from his skull. You couldn’t scrub the blood away, it was soaked through the floorboards, splattered across the walls- a reminder of what happens when you mess with the one Acacius loved.

When the news broke that your husband had been murdered, Marcus was the first to be taken to prison- no trial to clear his name.

The senate was out for blood.

But you were a different story. You were delivered to your father first.

“You have besmirched my good name.” He spoke, his nose pointed away from where you knelt on your knees. The man could hardly look at you.

A woman’s adultery, conspiring to murder the one whom you were entangled with- that was the greatest crime of all. And you, one half of the whole criminal.

“He hit me, father. Marcus was protecting me. That’s what a good General does-”

“Do not proceed to tell me what a good General does. A good General does his duty. He does not fornicate with the children of Emperors.”

Your eyes widened with the realization of what your father knew. “What are you-”

“You think me a fool, child? Your husband was many things, but virile was not one of them. Why do you think I married you off to him? Because he was not a threat to my power. For too long had Rome had her emperor stabbed down, like common cows off to slaughter. I was protecting myself, protecting you, when I gave you that man. Now you stand before me, saying there was once life within you- and the only culprit I can see is General Acacius. Would you like to convince me that I am wrong?”

You took a long moment to process what he was saying, but you couldn’t lie. Not to him. Not to your father.

Not to the man who once walked through fields of flowers with you, braiding together daisy chains to place atop your head. Not the man who helped you how argue in the mock senate trials he would create for you in the dining room, not the man who helped you sneak fresh honeycomb from the kitchen late at night.

Not the man who had raised you, the man who had once loved you.

You just couldn’t lie to him.

Slowly, you shook your head, hoping your honesty would win you his favor.

It did not.

“So it is true. The bed has been made, child. You both will be sent to the cells. And come next week, you will fight.”

“You’re killing me? Your only daughter?”

He stood angrily, turning to leave. “I’m not killing you. But he will. You will know fear when you step into that arena. And when the man you loves slays you- perhaps that will teach you your lesson.”

“And what is my lesson, father?” You shouted after him, attempting to stand to your feet. Two guards forced you back done. “What’s my lesson?” You screamed, watching as he left the room.

Again, you shouted. “What’s my lesson, you coward?”

But he never answered. Instead, he turned the corner, and the final thing you saw was his purple toga bellowing behind him.

You were left without answers, another criminal in his eyes, stripped of your title, your inheritance, your livelihood.

Almost everything had been taken from you. And one day soon- everything would be taken.

That was the last time you saw the Emperor.

The pain of your father’s betrayal stung like a wasp for the days to come.

When you were reunited with Marcus, he was more bloodied than you had ever seen him. Still, despite this, his eyes ignited with the brilliance of one thousand suns at the sight of you.

“Omnia vincit amor: et nos cedamus amori.” Marcus whispered to you, gently grabbing your chin.

Love conquers all: let us, too, surrender to love.

He took you on the floor of the prison that night, holding you tightly to him. Like so many nights before, he filled you to the brim, covered you in marks, made you his own. He embraced you all through the evening, whispered softly to you when you awoke with a jolt from a nightmare, kissed your tenderly when you began to cry about what was yet to come.

No matter what, he made sure you felt safe.

If you closed your eyes, everything felt normal for a brief moment of time. Thanks to him.

When you opened them, when you came to, you were exactly where you had been, a prisoner to this cage, another notch in the belt of Rome’s many victims.

You knew the days would drag by slowly, but you were not prepared for the conversations that had yet to come, for the realizations you would soon have.

“-You are my heart, my anima mate. The very thing which keeps me beating. I can’t do it.”

“You must, Marcus. You must. I know my father better than anyone. He loves the dramatics, he wants to see me die. I betrayed him. Just… just do what is needed to be done, and kill me. Quickly.” You were half begging with him now, tears pricking the corner of your eyes as you held tightly to his arms. You felt your nails digging into his skin, and winced with guilt.

Marcus shook his head. “I will not.”

“Carissimus, what is there left to do?”

The General thought for a moment, before finally speaking.

“Tomorrow, when the time comes, we will walk into that arena and lay down our swords. I will not fight you, I will not kill you. If the Emperor sends out the lions, I will slay them. If they send in the Secutor, I will end him. If they send in an army of armed slaves, I will cut them down one by one. The Heavens above could part, and Mars himself could come down, and I would banish him to the Realm of Pluto for the rest of eternity.”

“Oh, Marcus. Why? Just… you could go free. I heard the guards say that was the plan all along. All you need to do is kill me-”

“I will not!” He raised his voice, his guttural bark reverberating off the walls of the prison. Quickly, his face softened, and he took your face in the roughness of his calloused palms. “My heart, don’t you understand? For you, I would rip this world in half if I knew you would remain unscathed. I would fight basilisks, minotaurs, hunt down nymphs- whatever was needed of me to keep you safe. Anything.”

There was a short moment of silence before Marcus spoke again.

“What point is there in going free, if I cannot share my freedom with you?”

You fell into him gently, your arms slithering around his waist. For a moment, you listened to his heart beat, allowed the thunderous thump lull you into thoughts of sweet nights shared naked between sheets, and morning kisses stolen between juicy bites of apples.

“Okay.” You finally whispered, nodding against him.

“You trust me. Don’t you?”

“With my life, General.”

He hummed out in approval. “That’s my girl. My brave little heart.”

Marcus pressed a kiss to your forehead, standing up slowly as he tenderly placed you off his lap.

You stared at the wall, before looking up at him with a hint of playfulness on your face. “What if they release two lions?”

Despite it all, Marcus smiled ever so slightly. “Then you, meum , would have to learn to wield the sword.” He joked, gently judging you with his foot.

“I jest.” He finally murmured, leaning down to kiss you softly. You kissed him back, and it felt like the very first time. It always did. Passion surging through you, electricity jolting your every bone. He kissed you with the fervor of a hundred lovers, and each time he made you feel so warm, wrapped up tightly in the embrace of his desire.

You pulled away, and at the sigh of his beautiful eyes staring in to you’re, you understood what your father wanted from you, what the lesson he thought you were about to be taught was.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s the matter?” Marcus asked softly, crouching in front of you to gently grasp ahold of your face.

“My father told me that you would teach me a lesson when you killed me. I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner. He…. he doesn’t think you love me. He wants to see me die because he wants his point to be proven, that my love for you is nothing in the face of war. You’re right, you’re…. when we get there, we must put our weapons down. You were absolutely correct!”

Marcus kissed the corner of your eye. “Then we shall. And whatever happens next, we will go through it together.”

“Together.” Your murmured.

The day of was sickening.

Everyone had filled the coliseum, long before the show was due to start.

The Emperor’s beloved daughter and his blood thirsty war dog- what a delicious show it would be. To see the offspring of their ruler’s blood spilled at the hands of the esteemed General. Who wouldn’t want to see that?

You watched slaves fit Marcus into his armor, and you nervously chewed on your cheek as they did the same for you.

“This armor is for men. It’s too tight.” You snarled, elbowing someone who was getting too handsy on your chest.

“This is all we have, Princess.” Someone said meekly, and you groaned out.

“Fine! Then I’ll go with no armor!” You shrugged off the piece of metal, scowling at the group of people who had surrounded you.

“Without armor? But that’s practically suicide.”

“I’d rather die on my own volition than that of my father’s. Suicide it is then.“ After a few hasty bows, they ran off, disappearing into the shadows as you leaned against the wall.

Your eyes caught sight of Marcus, and he shot you a subtle wink as a slave fitted him into his chest plate. He wore a mask of confidence- there was not an inch of him that was unsure, not a glimmer in his eye that would show he was nervous.

“Omnia vincit amor: et nos cedamus amori.” He spoke to you softly, and a smile graced your lips.

“My carissimus.”

The roaring outside the tunnel was deafening, and if you were actually a fighter, it would have scared you half to death. How odd it was, for people to grow so excited by the show of death. You had understood the appeal in your youth, but now…. oh, it was barbaric. Wasn’t it? Just a show of power by the wealthy overlords who threw these fights together, an unfair trial executed by a panel of men who never cared about the value of one’s soul.

It must have been fifty thousand spectators, piled high onto the stone seats of the arena, if you were judging by the sheer noise which echoed through the walls.

“Come.” Marcus extended his hand, and you gently grabbed hold of it. “Don’t be afraid.”

You took in a deep breath. “I’m not.”

He dragged his thumb across your cheek, a chaste kiss soon following. “That’s my girl.”

You felt the tip of a spear on your back, two guards pushing you down the hall, towards the bright shimmer of light that awaited you at the end.

The thrum of war drums and the scream of chants filled your ears, coursing through your veins as though it were the blood surging through your heart.

“Cursed dogs!” You could heard a group screaming.

“Spill blood!” Another crowd roared.

Marcus took your hand, lacing your shaking fingers into his hand, and the words of those shouting outside fell short. It was just you and Marcus. Against the world, maybe, but together nonetheless.

He stood, durable and steadfast, his jaw tight as he walked into the stadium with you by his side. You had never seen an image of confidence so astounding before.

As you stepped into the dusty Coliseum, your father stood, raising his hands. The whole crowd stopped, simmering down to a hush so quiet it was hardly there.

As the world grew silent you could hear the chirping of the birds, the gentle breeze rushing through the leaves of the trees. When you closed your eyes, it felt like that fateful night, it seemed as though you were right back on Palatine Hill, flirting with the bloodied General who had just come back from war.

When you came to, Marcus looked down at you and nodded. You both dropped your swords.

You could see the anger course through your father’s face, you could practically feel the anger beating upon his ears. He snapped his fingers, and across the sandy arena, the iron gates arose, a lion stalking towards you.

Marcus pushed you behind his back, and raised his sword.

“Like I told you,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving the lion. “I would do anything for you.”

He pushed you back as the lion lunged, and as you fell to the ground , you watched the beast tackle him, and the splatter of blood across your face left you unsure who was slain.

When you opened your eyes, dripping with crimson blood, the sun glimmered into your eye, and you saw the shine of light reflected off of Marcus’ sword. He pulled it from the lion’s neck, stumbling towards you. Deep gashes were imprinted upon his chest, and as you caught him in your arms, you took the sword from his shaking hand.

“Rest, carissimus.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw the Secutor barreling towards you, his egg-shaped helmet sparkling beneath the light of the afternoon sun. At the sight of the man barreling towards you, Marcus found a surge of strength, rising up once more and grabbing his sword.

“Behind me.” He ordered, and you would have been a fool to disobey.

The Secutor raised his spear, a throw that Marcus dodged easily, but grazed you across the arm. His face flashed with a moment of worry, but he had no time to care for you. Marcus brought his sword down about the fellow gladiator’s arm, a cry so animalistic you could have sworn he were a goat, ringing through the air as he fell to his knees.

Marcus made quick work of the Secutor.

And the group of slaves, after him.

And the second blood thirsty lion.

And then the third.

And by the time the sun was setting, Marcus could hardly stand. The arena was on pins and needles, and you both were covered in blood, standing back to back with raised blades. You both had killed, far more than either of you had planned to today.

You had never ached so bad. You had never craved a soft bed and the gentle touch of your lover so bad.

“Carissimus?”

“My heart?”

“I don’t know how much more I can take of this.”

“Then I will carry that burden for you.” He promised, reaching around to grasp at your waist.

Your father stood from his seat, slowly walking towards the edge of the balcony. He raised his fist, and your feet gave way beneath you. Marcus turned in record speed, catching you quickly and holding your body to his chest, his glare never leaving your fathers.

The last thing you saw before sleep took you, was a single thumbs up, and the last thing you felt was the gentle laughter of relief from Marcus.

can not believe i am a fully grown adult and many people my age have kids and degrees and serious careers. i can barely make dinner

Star Wars Cocktail Masterlist

Let's get kriffed up, mudscuffers.

Recipes below the cut.

Gin Erso

No-Moon Rise on Scarif

Pabu Colada

Screecher's Peach

Malastare Mule

This is the Wave

Hunter's Sarge-arita

Tibanna and Tonic

List will be updated regularly!

Happy 1 year of Hunter Bad Batch in “Bad Territory” to all who celebrate (me)

clone trooper that paints his leg armor to look like pants