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pedroscurls · 18 days ago

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letters across time (one-shot)

summary: after having moved to rome for a fresh new start, you begin to receive letters from an unlikely stranger that you begin to develop feelings for... only to come to the heartbreaking realization that the two of you may never meet.

pairing: marcus acacius x fem!reader content warnings: angst (with a happy ending), strangers-to-lovers trope (?), mutual pining, mentions of war and death, sorry - i've got a lack of historical ancient roman knowledge but trying my best lol, deviation from the film (lucilla dies before marcus - sorry, wanted marcus to be single / widowed which only fuels his hatred for the emperors), reader has a nickname (rose), excuse my poor attempt at speaking italian, no use of y/n. word count: 9.4k a/n: so i'm really stepping out of my comfort zone with this one, but i've been obsessed with marcus a since gladiator 2 came out (and honestly who else hasn't lol). also a bit of a tidbit - my first ever tattoo is with the latin saying ad maiora so i had to fit it into this story hehe. if the characterization seems off or if the historical aspect of ancient rome / dialogue is inaccurate, please bear with me - it's my first ever marcus a fic and first time writing in that time period... anyway, huge thank you to @jolapeno for hosting this "dear-uary" challenge <3. my epistolary is letters and my prompt is here. hope you all enjoyed this!

Finally settled in, you walk out to your small balcony and take a seat. It overlooks the famous Colosseum and despite the sounds of chatter coming from nearby, you have to wonder how this place looked centuries ago. Rome had always been a place you wanted to visit, but never did you think that you’d move here.

You don’t speak the language (yet), and the apartment you moved into was surprisingly affordable given the location. An elderly couple owns the small building and when you had approached them about a vacant apartment listing, they were more than eager to have you move in. It wasn’t at all luxurious–the apartment building. It was very dated, remnants of ancient Rome decorated throughout the building. It almost felt like you were transported back to that time period, given the decoration that filled not only your apartment but the entire building itself.

The couple could speak a little English, asking plenty of questions that a usual landlord wouldn’t ask.

American? Yes, you answered.

Married? No, you replied with a heavy sigh–memories of your last relationship flickering in your mind.

A beautiful girl like you, not married? No, you repeated–now trying to end the conversation in hopes that you don’t have to go into detail why you uprooted your entire life into one suitcase.

You had noticed the way the older woman’s smile drops, can see her eyes softening at the sight of you. It’s almost like she knows, like she can understand why you’re here. She’s the first one to say that you got the apartment–the brief meeting lasting only twenty minutes.

It’s yours, she said.

You had told them you weren’t sure you could afford it, given how close it was to the Colosseum and knowing that it was one of the hottest tourist spots. There’s a lot of foot traffic that surrounds this area and you’d be lucky to have found an apartment this fast.

Whatever you can pay, the husband had chimed in. We will accept.

Then, the woman had touched your arm–gentle, light, almost feather-like and you could have sworn the warmth radiated throughout your entire body. This place, this couple–it felt familiar, it felt like home.

You nodded in agreement and you shook hands with the husband before the woman hugged you gently.

And now, sitting in your new apartment, this didn’t feel real. You still feel like you’re running, like you’re looking over your shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But the sun begins to set, the sky soon turns a shade of orange and you let out a breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding.

A flood of relief washes over you.

You’re safe.

This is your fresh start.

And you remember what the woman had told you when they had given you the keys to your new apartment: Ad Maiora, cara mia, she whispered, eyes staring into your own. A fleeting gaze of understanding. You asked her what that meant and she smiled, patted your hand and answered, Towards greater things, my dear.

After finding luck with your apartment, you doubt that your luck would continue. But now, a month later, you have a steady job at a coffee shop that’s within walking distance and the elderly couple–Giovanni and Antonia–have begun teaching you Italian. Most nights, they invite you to their apartment for dinner where they ask you about your day along with a detailed lesson in learning Italian. Some nights, though, they ask you to teach them English–living so close to a famous tourist area, they encounter plenty of Americans and they believe it’d be good for business if they learned how to speak the language.

Rome starts to feel more like home as the days pass. Giovanni and Antonia have welcomed you with such warmth that they soon find out the reason for you moving here. You told them you left America for a fresh start–having just gotten out of a very toxic relationship and a very meaningless job. You wanted more for yourself and you knew that staying in America was only going to keep you complacent, stagnant.

Antonia had given you a hug at the end of that night–a hug that you had gotten so used to receiving, a hug that you found so much comfort in. They reminded you so much of your grandparents that had raised you–those were the only good memories that you dreamt of, a time where you could be a young girl again, running around in your grandparents’ home.

You feel much freer, more at ease, safe now that you feel fully settled in here. And one day after work, you walk up the two flights of stairs to your apartment and unlock your door. There’s an envelope on the hardwood floor–almost like someone had slipped it underneath your door. There’s no writing on it, no name addressed on it, but you pick it up anyway and notice that it isn’t sealed. You set it on your small rounded table and walk to your kitchen to pour yourself a glass of wine–this is routine for nights when you don’t have dinner with Antonia and Giovanni.

You take a quick sip of your red wine and then move to your bedroom, removing your clothes to change into much more comfortable clothing–shorts and an oversized crewneck, your hair now pulled into a messy bun. You’re barefoot when you walk back into the kitchen to retrieve your wine glass. As you pass the rounded dining table, you notice the envelope. Someone must have had to slide it underneath your door on purpose, right?

You take the envelope and then walk out to your balcony, sitting on one of the seats as you set the glass on the small table. Slowly, you pull the letter out of the envelope and open it, the writing in neat cursive. You shouldn’t be reading it, especially if this was meant for someone else.

Confused but intrigued, you continue to read.

Lucilla died today. I was not there to bid her goodbye. I had given her a promise–that this campaign will be my last. All of Numidia–for the glory of Rome… all for nothing. Writing this journal entry surely is treacherous–I could be punished for it, but what is the point of it all? This is not Rome. This is not the Rome I had promised to fight for. Lucilla–I am sorry, my lady. I will love you for the rest of my days and cannot wait until we meet again. Your blue eyes, your smile… Your laugh and your voice–I will carry it with me, my love. I will speak with the Senate. I will–I will do what is right, what must be done. For you. For Rome. Acacius

You’re unsure of what you just read. Lucilla. Numidia. Acacius. Rome. It almost seems like this is a journal entry–the feel of the paper, the cursive writing. Maybe you shouldn’t have read it, but you’re curious. Something inside you tells you to write back–almost like a tug, a pull that you feel in the pit of your stomach. So, you grab a piece of paper and a pen and begin writing–not in cursive, though.

Dear Acacius, I’m so very sorry for your loss. I’m not sure there’s anything anyone can say to make things better and I’m not even sure if time helps either… Shit happens. It sucks, and I want to say that life goes on, but it doesn’t. At least not for the person who lives. I lost my grandparents when I was eighteen–it crushed my entire world and set me on a path that I’m still trying to fix. I know this isn’t the same as losing a wife or a partner and I’m not even sure if I’m making any sense. I just–I know what loss feels like and it fucking sucks. Anyway, I think this might have been sent to me by accident and I’m sorry that I opened it and read it. It wasn’t my intention. So, I’m just gonna send it back to you–somehow–but… I hope things get better for you, Acacius (really cool name, by the way!). Best wishes, A stranger

You fold your letter and place it into the envelope with Acacius’s original piece of paper. You then close the envelope, grab your glass of wine and walk back into your apartment, setting the envelope onto your dining table so that it’s visible for you tomorrow morning to ask Antonia about.

The following morning after getting ready for work, you notice that the envelope is gone. You furrow a brow in confusion, beginning to turn over your entire apartment to find the envelope–contents of your letter along with Acacius’s journal entry inside of it. When you realize that you’re late for work, you decide to call in sick and quickly leave your apartment to descend the stairs to speak with Antonia.

She’s in the community garden, tending to the roses and when she sees you, a bright grin lines her lips. She stands and pulls you into a hug without hesitation.

“Cara mia, no work today?”

You shake your head and ask, “Antonia, there was an envelope in my apartment last night. Do you know who might have slid it under my door?”

“Envelope?” she shakes her head, confusion written across her features. “Like a letter?”

“Well, not really?” you answer. “It seemed like a journal entry. They talked about Lucilla, about Numidia–”

“Lucilla? My dear, she was the daughter of Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius.”

“Wait, that was centuries ago.”

Antonia nods. “And Numidia,” she sighs. “So very tragic.”

“Antonia, who’s Acacius?”

“General Acacius?”

“G–General?”

“Cara mia, cosa sta succedendo?” asks Antonia. My dear, what’s going on?

You shake your head. “Nothing. Um, I’ll have to skip tonight’s dinner with you and Giovanni. Mi dispiace.”

“Cara mia–”

You give her a hug and walk back inside your apartment, determined to find out more about Acacius.

Marcus returns to his chambers, distraught and overcome with grief. His bed–once shared with Lucilla–now remains cold and empty. He can’t bring himself to lie in bed, yearning for his wife who is no longer alive. After Numidia, he was more than ready to return home–returning home meant returning to Lucilla, but when news of her death finally reached him, he no longer found the need to go back to Rome, despite the emperors’ orders.

But Marcus was a man of honor. He would ask Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla for a period of rest from war, to fully grieve the loss of Lucilla. He can’t even think about attending the emperors’ ceremony that’s dedicated to his success in Numidia–how can he when Lucilla is no longer here?

He hears a knock on the door and he walks–barefoot–to open it. He sees a chambermaid on the other side–she has a look of sympathy across her features with a hint of fear.

“G–General,” she mutters. “There is a letter for you.”

“A letter?” he asks, confused.

She nods and extends her hand. Marcus takes the envelope from her and gives her a single nod, dismissing her silently. She turns on her heel and Marcus shuts the door, walking towards the candle that illuminates a small table. He takes a seat, pours himself a cup of wine before he begins to open it. He holds two pieces of a paper–one he’s familiar with and when he opens it, he realizes it’s the journal entry that he had written–and the other, much more smooth, less texture, more white in color. When he opens it, his eyes widen at the writing–all capitalized, not written in cursive.

He reads the first line and realizes that this is a letter to him. He reads it with interest, eyes still slightly widened at the choice of words that he’s not used to.

Shit sucks.

Cool name.

It’s signed A Stranger and he isn’t sure how his journal entry even got into the hands of someone else. He doesn’t have any information aside from the fact that your writing is unusual and the words you use are out of the ordinary.

But, he finds comfort in your letter. He’s known loss before–plenty of his men understand what he’s going through–but somehow talking to a stranger who doesn’t truly know who he is provides a sense of relief. He doesn’t have to be General Acacius in his response to you–he can just be Marcus.

So, he grabs a piece of paper and his quill and begins writing to you.

Dear Stranger, Thank you for returning my journal entry. I am not sure how that fell into your hands and it is quite alright that you read it. However, for some reason, I feel some relief knowing that I am not alone. Maybe my journal entry was meant to find you… Do you believe in that? In fate? Anyway, I am sorry for your loss as well. Loss is… Well, it is a part of life but that does not mean that it is pleasant either. I am sure the path that you are on now will lead you to greater things. There is a saying–if you are familiar–Ad Maiora. It means towards greater things. Also, what do you mean by ‘cool name’? It is quite interesting that my name is associated with some kind of temperature… unless I am misunderstanding. In any case, you may call me Marcus. If you are comfortable, may I ask what your name is? I hope this letter finds you well, stranger. And I hope I get to talk to you again. Best wishes, Marcus

He re-reads his letter, furrows a brow and sighs. It sounds desperate–a plea to get you to talk to him again because he feels less alone when he’s writing to you. He isn’t sure how this letter will get to you, but he keeps his journal entry and your letter and places his reply back into the envelope.

Marcus spends the better part of his night drinking, having ended up falling asleep at his desk and the envelope magically disappearing by the time he awakes the following morning.

You awake the following morning, having fallen asleep on your couch with your laptop and notebook scattered on the coffee table. You had spent the entire night researching Acacius. Antonia was right–Marcus Acacius was a General for the Roman empire, serving under the rule of Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla. Empress Lucilla was his wife, but had died while he was on his way back from Numidia. But all of this–it happened centuries ago. 211 AD. And Acacius ended up dying–right in the center of the Colosseum after he was forced to fight in the arena after the emperors found out his plan of treachery.

There’s no way that the person you had written to the other day was the same man you had researched–he was dead. Surely, you can’t be writing to someone from a different time period and to someone who is no longer alive. Right?

You sit up from your couch and notice the same envelope magically resting on your coffee table. Quickly, you grab it and pull the letter out. Same paper, same writing.

It’s from Acacius.

You read it quickly, a small smile lining your lips and a quiet giggle escaping you. You feel a wave of emotion when you read his reply; it’s obvious this man is clearly still alive but how could it be possible that you’re communicating with someone who lives in an entirely different time period? And how come the envelope is your only string tying you to him?

After you finish reading his letter, you grab your notebook and pen and begin writing your reply.

Dear Marcus, You can call me Rose. It’s my favorite flower and I grew up helping my grandma with her garden, which was filled with roses. You’re cute, Marcus. Cool name meaning… You have a nice name. I think that translates the same? Ironically enough, Ad Maiora is something I’m trying to remind myself when I have tough days. A good friend of mine mentioned it to me when I moved here. It’s been something that keeps me going every day… the hope that I’m moving in the right direction. And fate… I don’t think I believe in it. We all have free will and everything we do in life is a choice we make… like my choice in getting into a relationship with a really bad man. Would you call that fate? I like talking to you too… and I feel less alone too. Can I ask a question, by the way? What year is it? Best wishes, Rose

You take Marcus’s letter and set it aside, folding your reply and placing it back into the envelope. You’re sure that it’s going to disappear during the night and you hope that you can wake up the next day with a response from Marcus.

Marcus attends his ceremony, dressed in white and gold as he feigns a look of pride, a forced smile when he’s standing in front of Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla. It makes his blood boil–the fact that these two young men are parading him around like he’s done something so great, so grand. All he can see is the unnecessary bloodshed, the bodies burning in that pit. All he can feel is the emptiness in his soul–Marcus doesn’t want to be here.

And not once did they give their condolences over the loss of Lucilla. Marcus asks for a respite from this war, but they don’t grant him that luxury. He has a cut along the side of his neck due to Emperor Geta placing a sharp blade along his skin. As soon as the ceremony is over, Marcus retreats to his chamber where the envelope that disappeared that morning magically appears on his desk.

Still in his white and gold attire, he quickly opens the envelope and reads your letter. He lets out a breath of relief as he sits down and reads your words over and over again. It gives him comfort–something he desperately needs right now.

There’s something in the way your words put him at ease. He still has to put Lucilla to rest and he isn’t looking forward to it–that the next time he sees his wife will be in a coffin.

He grabs a piece of paper and begins writing to you.

Dear Rose, That is a beautiful name and a beautiful flower. There are gardens filled with them here. Now, when I see a rose, I will think of you. Cute–I have never been called cute before. That is certainly a first, thank you. I believe in fate, Rose. I believe that everything happens for a reason… But I am sorry to hear that you had to endure a difficult relationship. It pains me to hear that you were mistreated and I surely hope that you are far from him now. I believe that we have crossed paths for a reason. Maybe we will never know why, but I am surely glad that we did. You can ask me any question you like and I will be more than happy to answer. It is 211 AD–do you not know the year? Also, I assume that you live in Rome since these letters are coming rather quickly. The next few days will be… rather difficult. I am planned to bury my wife and I am not sure if I will be available to reply, but if you send me a response… I will do my best to write to you when I can. I am not looking forward to saying goodbye to Lucilla. She was an amazing woman. She had to sacrifice a lot in her life–she was very brave, strong, resilient… I should have been there at her bedside. I should have held her hand when she took her last breath… I failed Lucilla. What kind of man does that make me? If you choose to never respond after this letter, I understand. I just–there’s something in the way your words bring me comfort, puts me at ease, gives me a sense of relief… Anyway, I must go now. Until we speak again, Rose. Best wishes, Marcus

He folds his letter and puts it back in the envelope, ensuring this time that he passes it along to the chambermaid.

Later that night, you come home after having spent dinner with Antonia and Giovanni. You’re welcomed with the sight of the envelope sitting neatly on your dining table. You set your things down immediately and grab the envelope, taking the letter out and sitting down on the couch.

Your heart breaks slowly as you read Marcus’s letter. You can feel his guilt through the words on the page and when he confirms the year he’s living in, it all but crushes you. This is a man that you’re slowly developing a friendship with and you know that it isn’t going to last long.

As you continue to read his letter, you feel tears sting your eyes. So, you don’t hesitate to begin writing your response back to him.

Dear Marcus, With you, I’m starting to believe in fate. Would you believe me if I said the year I live in is 2025? I’m not sure how to explain how we’re able to exchange letters from different time periods, but… here we are. It’s possible. I just don’t have an explanation for it. I can assure you that I am no longer in a relationship with that man and I am very much far from him. I moved to Rome about a month ago and I love it here. I can see the Colosseum from my balcony. I’m sorry that the next few days will be difficult. I can’t imagine the pain that you’re feeling–losing the one person you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with. Lucilla sounded like a great woman, Marcus. I know saying sorry doesn’t change anything, but I don’t know if there’s even anything I can say to make things better. I’m sure Lucilla knew… I’m sure she knew that you did your best to get to her. I’m sure she knew that you wanted to be there with her… And you know, maybe you don’t have to say goodbye. The ones we love don’t ever really leave us, do they? We continue living to keep their memory alive. You didn’t fail, Marcus. Sometimes, things happen out of our control. Not being there for her at the end isn’t a reflection of who you are as a person, or as a husband. I’m willing to bet that if you had it your way, you’d have been there for her. Maybe wherever you were… you wouldn’t have gone if you had a choice. Finally, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, sorry. I hope the next few days give you some closure, Marcus, and when you’re ready, I’ll be right here waiting. Best wishes, Rose

You take his letter and put it on the pile you’ve collected before you place your reply back into the envelope. You turn your back for a moment to grab a glass of water and when you turn back around, the envelope is gone.

Marcus awakes that morning to the sight of the envelope. He can’t explain how it just vanishes and reappears out of thin air on his desk. He pulls your letter out of the envelope and reads what you have written.

2025? Surely, that’s a lie. There is no way he’s exchanging letters with someone centuries into the future. He has to wonder if this is some sort of joke, if maybe the emperors put someone up to this. As he continues reading though, he feels tears sting his eyes, threatening to spill over. Your words–it provides a sensation of warmth that blossoms in his chest. He wants to believe you, wants to believe that he’s a good man.

Marcus rereads your last sentence repeatedly, commits it to memory as he begins thinking of what he has to do today.

I’ll be right here waiting.

He doesn’t have time at the moment to write you back, so he keeps the envelope and letter separate from each other. He takes one last look at your letter before he leaves his chamber.

The next few days, you’re anticipating a response from Marcus. He did warn you that he wouldn’t write back until he’s able, but you still can’t help the disappointment you feel when the envelope doesn’t appear for the next few days. Antonia and Giovanni notice a change in your demeanor since you’ve been receiving the letters–they notice the excitement in your eyes, a much freer spirit, but you tell them it’s because you’re finally feeling more and more comfortable here in Rome.

You learn more about Marcus through your research and you try to find someone who can explain the phenomenon that you’re experiencing. How is it possible that you’re communicating with a man from a different time period? Sure, there are theories about time travel but that never felt real to you.

At the end of the week, you’re already getting anxious. It’s been four days since Marcus’s letter. You have to wonder what he’s doing, how he’s doing. You know how his life ends, and you have to wonder what would happen if you told him. That would change so many things, right? It would not only change history, but it would ultimately change the trajectory of how the world is now.

On the fifth day, Marcus is exhausted. Saying goodbye to Lucilla had only fueled his anger for the emperors. He has a plan in place and he knows what end he will meet if he gets caught, but at this point, he has nothing else to lose.

After he buries Lucilla, he finds some time to ask around if anyone knew a woman named Rose. When someone would respond with a nod, there’s a flutter of excitement that he feels in the pit of his stomach but he’s left disappointed every time. Every Rose he’s met so far has no idea of the letters and he’s starting to believe that maybe you do live in the future–centuries into the future. It leaves him with an unsettling sensation in his chest, a sad reality that there’s a likely possibility that Marcus will never get to meet you.

Now, he finally has some time alone. So, Marcus sits at his desk, rereads your letter once more before he takes his usual paper and quill out to begin writing a response to you.

Dear Rose, I am sorry for the delay in my response. The last five days have been very difficult for me, but every time I saw a rose… I thought of you and it brought me a lot of comfort that I did not realize I needed. I want to express my gratitude to you, Rose. Your last letter–I kept it close to me at all times during the last few days here. Somehow, knowing that you’re waiting for me helped me get through each day… and knowing that I get to write to you again helped me through the difficult moments I endured. Ad Maiora, I suppose. Towards greater things… and I think that greater thing is you. I buried Lucilla yesterday. She still looked so beautiful, but she looked… peaceful. She endured a lot of hardship in her life and there is some comfort that I feel knowing she’s no longer in pain. She no longer needs to fight… and I believe you are right. The ones we love do not ever leave us. We keep their memory alive and Lucilla will always hold a special place in my heart. I must be completely honest with you, Rose. I am the General of the Roman army. I have a lot of blood on my hands… all for the glory of Rome, but you are right. If I had a choice, I would have been by Lucilla’s side from the start. I am conflicted… It is difficult to fight for this version of Rome. So much bloodshed, so many lives lost… all for nothing. I should not be writing this–it is certainly punishable, but I am exhausted, Rose. If you do live in 2025–which does not seem possible–how does Rome look like then? You say you moved to Rome. Are you happy here? I also tried to look for you. Asked around about you, but I did not get anywhere. There isn’t anyone by the name of Rose that knows about these letters. Do you really live in 2025? Lastly, tell me more about you. I want to spend as much time as I have getting to know you, Rose. I hope that is okay. Best wishes, Marcus

He folds his response and places it into the envelope. Right before his eyes, it suddenly vanishes and Marcus is sure that he must be hallucinating. He’s exhausted and hasn’t had much sleep since he’s gotten back, but he has no other explanation for it.

You awake the following morning to see the envelope on your coffee table. Excitement fills your veins and you quickly walk over to the envelope, carefully taking the familiar piece of a paper out. You begin to realize the letters you have begun exchanging with Marcus are becoming longer and longer–it brings a smile to your face and heat rising in your cheeks.

You sit on the couch, pull your legs underneath you and grab the blanket to drape over your lap as you finally read Marcus’s letter. He thought of you–the last five days and he thought of you. When he finally tells you the truth about who he is, you feel a sense of relief. You had been afraid that you’d accidentally let it slip that you know who he is, despite already telling him that you live in the future.

The last sentence in his letter brings you back to reality. You feel the pit in your stomach drop at the realization that this is as far as you’ll ever get with him. Sooner or later, this letters will end but you can’t help the feelings you’ve begun to develop for a man you will never meet.

I want to spend as much time as I have getting to know you, Rose.

It’s almost like he knows what will happen to himself–maybe he knows that the plan he eventually comes up with is a death sentence once the emperors find out.

You know you shouldn’t get attached, but you get your notebook and pen and write back to him anyway.

Dear Marcus, I must say, it’s such a relief to hear from you. I wish I could have been there for you, with you… supporting you. If I’m being honest, it’s hard to hear that you’re going through a difficult time. Makes me want to go back into time and pull you into a hug. Do you think that’s possible? Time travel? You sure know how to make a girl feel special, don’t you? You make me blush sometimes with the things you say. Are you sure you’re real? A lot of the men here certainly don’t talk like you do–you can definitely teach them a thing or two. I'm starting to think our saying is Ad Maiora, isn’t it? Moving to Rome led me toward a greater thing… one after the other, and it finally led me to you. I’d say that’s fate, wouldn’t you? And General Marcus Acacius–sounds so formal, so official. You must be very important, aren’t you? Like I said, I wish I could pull you into a hug. I hope, at least, knowing that I’m here to listen is enough though. Also, if talking about this is punishable, then maybe we should be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to you… Yes, I live in the year 2025. I’d be surprised if someone lied to you and said they knew about the letters we’ve been exchanging. Rome is… different than what you’re used to. There are no emperors. The colosseum is no longer in use–there aren’t anymore gladiators. I’ll attach a photograph of me and my balcony, maybe it’ll help you believe me. Well, what do you want to know? I’m an open book, Marcus. Ask away. Can’t wait to hear from you again. I have missed you. Love, Rose

You sign the letter without thinking, but you don’t bother to change it or rewrite it after you realize the word you used. You hope it isn’t too forward or too insensitive. You grab your Polaroid camera and quickly walk out to your balcony. You face the camera to yourself and smile, pressing the button to take the picture. Once it develops, you go back inside and fold your letter. After a few minutes, the Polaroid develops and you look down. It’s a good picture and gives a good view of the colosseum in the background.

Placing the letter and the Polaroid into the envelope, you close it and surprisingly see the envelope disappear.

“So it is real,” you whisper to yourself, a smile lining your lips as you already begin counting down the time before you receive a reply from Marcus.

Later that same night, Marcus sees the envelope on his desk as he gets ready for bed. He sits down instantly at his desk and uses his candle to illuminate your writing.

But he sees the Polaroid and takes it out of the envelope. Marcus lets out a quiet breath when he sees you. He isn’t sure what exactly he’s holding or how this managed to capture a realistic photograph of you but he’s distracted by your beauty to even notice the colosseum in the back. He’s still reeling over Lucilla’s death, but there’s something in the way your smile and your bright eyes somehow puts him at ease.

“My lady,” he mumbles. “Lucilla, if you can hear me, please forgive me. This woman–She is helping me through this, through your loss.” Marcus shuts his eyes, guilt and desire mixing together. Guilt because he’s still dealing with the grief of losing Lucilla, and desire because you are absolutely stunning. Marcus isn’t even surprised–this is exactly how he pictured you when you began exchanging letters with him.

Marcus turns his gaze to your letter, but his eyes flicker to your picture repeatedly. You really do live in the future and you will always be so out of reach.

Then, he sees the word you sign your letter with. A warmth washes over him. His lips curl upwards just slightly and he begins to write.

Dear Rose, This–This picture, it is you, yes? I cannot explain how something like this exists, so it must be true that you do live in the future. So far into the future. But you are breathtaking, Rose. Absolutely beautiful. Your smile and your eyes… there’s a kindness and warmth to them. The man you had been in a relationship with before truly did not realize what he had because any man would be lucky to have you. The colosseum in your photograph–it looks old. If what you say is true, no gladiators and no emperors, then can I ask… is your world a better place than what it is here? I think I will dream of this, of you, of a different life. This is not to say the life I currently have or have led is not great, but a man can still dream, right? A hug from you sounds very nice. I imagine that I would feel even more at peace with my arms around you. I am not too sure about time travel, but if these letters are any proof of what’s possible, then maybe time traveling is too. Though, if anyone is doing the time traveling, I would rather it be me. I do not want you to be in this time period here, Rose. I do not want you to be around such men because there are bad men here too. Maybe more worse here than there. If I may be honest… I cannot stop looking at you. I believe I’m going to keep this very close to me from now on. I am sorry that I cannot provide the same type of picture of myself–we do not have this here… but maybe I can think of something else… An open book, hm? Well, I know your favorite flower. I know that you are starting fresh here in Rome… I suppose I should ask what do you like to do then? If you are living in the future, what is there to do? I am unsure if you have experienced this yet, but this envelope… it seems to be the reason why we are able to exchange letters. It vanished before my eyes the other day, Rose. I cannot explain how or why that happened, but maybe this is fate. Exchanging letters across time sounds impossible, but for some reason, the Gods wanted us to meet. That sounds like fate to me. I will wait for your next letter, Rose, and I have missed you too. Until then. Love, Marcus

He quickly folds the piece of paper and gently slides it into the envelope, not bothering to wait for it to disappear because his attention is pulled to your photograph. He brushes his thumb across it gently–wishing you were here.

The following morning, you’re awake far too early but excitement fills your entire body when you see the envelope sitting on your dining table. You make a cup of coffee and open it, having grown accustomed to Marcus’s neat cursive. You can feel the heat rise in your cheeks when he compliments you, can feel the butterflies in your tummy.

I think I will dream of this, of you, of a different life.

You feel your heart tug just a little–the harsh truth that you will never get to meet him becomes more and more real as you continue to exchange letters with him.

He’s seen it too–the envelope disappearing without a trace. You can’t explain how it’s possible and there is a part of you that no longer wants one. Time travel–there isn’t a way that’s possible and even if it was, how would it even work?

You grab your notebook and quickly begin writing to him, setting your cup of coffee down. You lift the cup away from the paper, taking note that it left a coffee-stained circle at the top corner of the page.

Dear Marcus, You are very sweet… I’m sure there are more pretty women there. I’m just… me. But Rome… it’s beautiful here. It’s always been a place I wanted to visit. I never did think I would end up moving here and now, I can’t even imagine ever leaving. Considering your time period, I would say the world now is much better. I think you would like it… it might take some getting used to–it’s so very crowded here, but I think you would like it. I suppose that’s all we will have, isn’t it? Dreaming of a different life… Or maybe I’ll learn how to time travel and bring you here. I love the beach. I love the water, the sunsets… It’s calming, almost peaceful to me. There’s just something about the sounds of the waves, the feel of the water, the sight of the sky that just puts me at ease. The beach was the one place that I felt like I could get away from everything. It became my safe haven, my safe place… What about you? General Marcus Acacius–what do you like to do? I have also seen this envelope just disappear. I don’t have an explanation for it either, but maybe you’re right. Maybe there is a reason why we’re able to communicate across time. Do you think we’ll ever get the chance to meet face to face? You know, if I learn time travel… Sometimes, when I go to bed, I pray that I dream of you. I think it’s the closest I can get to ever meeting you. I imagine what you would look like, what your voice would sound like… How it would feel like to be in your arms. I would assume I’d feel like how I would if I were at the beach–safe, calm, peaceful. If by some miracle I’m able to time travel, may I come visit you instead? I think it would be much easier for me to go back in time rather than you come here. Some things might change if you were to leave your time period and come to mine… Looking forward to your next letter, Marcus. Love, Rose

You fold your letter and place it in the envelope, already counting down the hours until you receive Marcus’s reply.

Marcus finally sits at his table after an exhausting day at the colosseum. He doesn’t find the violence entertaining like everyone else. It’s unnecessary and he wants no part of it, but he has to put on a facade for the emperors. He still plans on speaking with the senate, to conjure up a plan to somehow overthrow Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla.

However, he’s conflicted with so many emotions. The grief and loss he feels over Lucilla lingers in his chest, but he feels hopeful–excited whenever he sees the envelope on his desk. If he goes through with his plan and he ends up getting caught, Marcus knows what the consequence will be. He knows that it’s ultimately a death sentence if the emperors find out, but his mind drifts to you whenever he thinks about what his end might be.

His eyes drift to your picture on his desk, a small smile curling his lips. He dreamt of you last night, after he had written his response to you. He dreamt that he was in your world, somehow lying in a bed with you in his arms. It was the first time since losing Lucilla that he had woken up with a feeling of ease–just dreaming about you brought him that sense of peace.

Marcus takes your letter out and reads it with a smile. Once he finishes reading, he begins writing back to you.

Dear Rose, I dreamt of you last night. The Gods answered me and I dreamt of you. I dreamt that I was in your world, sitting on that balcony in the picture I received from you. I have this image of you–smiling and laughing–ingrained in my mind. It puts me at ease. Talking with you has been my safe haven, I suppose. Things have been difficult here ever since I got back and it’s lonely without Lucilla. I am sorry to bring her up. These letters have been able to get me through each day. Your picture, too. Lately, I have been dreaming of a different life than the one I am living. I have been a soldier for most of my life, Rose. I do not think there’s a day that has gone by where I have not fought… And it is tiring. The beach sounds like a great place to just get away from it all, I agree. Here, though, I like to go to the gardens. More so now than before. I am usually surrounded by roses and it makes me feel closer to you. I am ready to retire, Rose. I am ready to spend the rest of my days in quiet–possibly far, far away from Rome. Maybe near a beach, hm? That would certainly be another place where I can be reminded of you. I will pray to the Gods for a miracle that we get to meet one day. I didn’t think it would be possible to exchange letters with someone from a different time, so maybe being able to meet face to face may not seem so out of reach… I imagine that I would feel safe and calm with you near too. Your beauty, your words… The way you have made me feel… It all reminds me of Lucilla, but in your own way. I am a man of honor, Rose, and Lucilla will always have a piece of my heart, but… you have become the reason why I am able to get up every morning. I look forward to the next time I see this envelope because it means I get to talk with you. Maybe tonight, we can meet in each other’s dreams, Rose. Until then, my lady. Love, Marcus

Days turn into weeks and your letters with Marcus become more and more frequent. You’ve tried to teach yourself the theories of time travel, but you’re just as confused as when you first started. The more you talk with Marcus, the more you begin to realize the magnitude of your feelings for him. You try to tell yourself that developing feelings for a man you won’t ever meet–a man who’s already dead–is only going to set you up for heartbreak.

But despite knowing how this might end, you still exchange letters with him anyway.

Marcus is set to meet with the Senate tomorrow and he knows that if he gets caught, it will be his death sentence. There won’t be any way that he will be able to get out of it. He holds onto your letters–and especially your picture–when the days and weeks become more difficult for him. Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla require his presence at the colosseum and Marcus finds it increasingly exhausting to sit there and feign interest.

When he gets back to his chambers every day, the envelope is there waiting for him. He reads your letters repeatedly before he can even write a response. The way you talk about your world–it helps him escape his reality. He begins to realize just how deeply he feels for you and it saddens him because despite how strongly he feels, Marcus knows that you two may never get the chance to meet.

Later that night, you see the envelope and feel the excitement rush through you. However, once you open the letter and begin reading the words on the page, you feel your heart drop–tears building at the corners of your eyes. This feels almost like a goodbye…

Dear Rose, I am set to meet with the Senate tomorrow. In secret. I realize that this might be the last letter I will ever write to you, but I will be praying to the Gods that it won’t be, but if it is… I wanted to write to you one last time. You have given me hope, have made me feel alive when I had lost everything. Coming back to Rome after Numidia, after losing Lucilla–I could not find the will to live, but then I received your first letter. It was fate. You saved me, Rose. You continue to save me. I wish I could see you. I wish I could touch you. I wish I could hold you. I know I said in a previous letter that I would want to spend the rest of my days in quiet… but I think that has changed. If I had it my way, I would spend the rest of my days with you. I imagine what my life would be like with you. I imagine a lot of laughter. I imagine that we would be at the beach or maybe at the garden and we would have plenty of meaningful conversations. I imagine my mornings would be one of my favorite times of the day because I would get to wake up every morning with you by my side. If this is the last time I get to speak with you, just know that you now also have a piece of my heart, Rose. I will carry your photograph with me forever. I will hold onto the conversations we’ve had and the letters we’ve exchanged. If I do not make it… please remember that you deserve all of the good things in the world. You deserve to always be happy. You deserve to live your life the way you want. You deserve to be with someone who will cherish the very ground you walk on because you deserve nothing less. When I sleep tonight, I will dream of you… like I always do, Rose. Yours forever, Marcus

You know what he means when he says he’s going to speak with the Senate tomorrow. You’ve read what will happen–after all, you know exactly how history plays out after having researched the history of Ancient Rome and Marcus.

You can feel your heart breaking–the ache in your chest beginning to throb almost painfully. You know how Marcus’s story ends, but you can’t let him go. You had been hesitant before–altering history–but you have to tell him. You may never get to meet him, but you don’t want this to be the end.

Grabbing your notebook, you begin to write your response. Almost fifteen minutes later, you fold it in half and place it inside the envelope, watching it disappear yet again before your eyes.

Marcus awakes that morning with a knot in his stomach–his eyes glance over at your photo before he catches the envelope. He sits up from bed and walks towards his desk, pulling out your letter and reading it carefully.

Dear Marcus, Don’t. Your last letter feels like a goodbye, and I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to say goodbye, not yet… Not ever. I shouldn’t be telling you this because I’m sure it’s going to alter my own reality, but I don’t care. I don’t want to let you go. You’re going to get caught. No matter how many times you’ve rehearsed it in your mind, you will be caught. Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla will find out and they–they will not take it lightly. They will make you fight in the colosseum and that is where you will die. I know how your story ends and yet, I made a choice to continue exchanging letters with you. I knew that our story would only end in heartbreak, but maybe… Maybe there’s still a chance for us. I am begging you, Marcus… Please do not do it. Don’t go to the Senate. Just–Just leave Rome. Live the rest of your days in quiet–away from war, away from the bloodshed, away from the emperors. You no longer need to fight and I understand… I understand that you made a promise to Lucilla, to yourself, but I cannot lose you and maybe this makes me selfish, but– You saved me too, Marcus. I will spend the rest of my days figuring out how to transcend time… to find a way where you and I can finally meet. Fate brought us together, right? We will figure this out. I will figure this out. This is not the end of your story, Marcus Acacius. Do you understand me? And this certainly isn’t the end of ours. At the end of the day, we still have a choice… If you decide to still go through with it, then I will understand. I know you are a man of honor, Marcus. And if you do decide that you will go to the Senate tonight, then I hope you know how deeply I feel for you too. I didn’t think I would ever love again, but you… You nestled your way into my heart and made a home there. I go to sleep dreaming of you. When I wake up, you are the first person I think of. I love you, Marcus. Yours forever, Rose

He sits at the edge of his bed, rereading your letter over and over and over again. You know how his story ends and you know exactly what will happen when he goes to meet with the Senate tonight. He should have known that you’d be aware of his history–you live in the future after all.

Marcus isn’t afraid to die–in fact, it’s something that he’s come to terms with a long time ago, but for once, he doesn’t want this to end yet. He doesn’t want to let you go either and maybe, maybe you two will never meet, but he would rather die an old man exchanging letters with you.

He reads the last sentence repeatedly and he can’t help the way the words stir something in him–the butterflies he feels in the pit of his stomach, his heart beating faster–you love him.

Marcus knows what he needs to do now.

The rest of the day seems to drag on–the minutes trickling by ever so slowly. Even at work, you can’t concentrate. Antonia and Giovanni pick up on your distraction, but you reassure them with a fake smile and tell them that you’d just rather spend the night alone.

You know it was selfish to tell Marcus the truth, to practically beg him to stay, but you couldn’t imagine continuing to live your life with the possibility that you could save his life. You had only been exchanging letters with him for a little over a month, but you couldn’t help the feelings that you had begun to develop for him. The way your heart races faster when you see the envelope, or the way your stomach flips when you read his letters.

In your free time, you had been trying to learn how to time travel. It seemed almost impossible, but you didn’t want to quit. You couldn’t explain how you’re able to exchange letters with someone who lives centuries in the past–and if that was possible, then surely it was possible to time travel.

Somehow.

You enter your apartment later that night–you can feel the nerves settle in the pit of your stomach when you slowly open the door. You can hear your heart beating in your ears, heart rate slowly picking up when your eyes scan the dining table.

No letter.

Your stomach drops, so you close the door and then move your gaze to the coffee table.

Nothing.

Tears begin to pool at the corner of your eyes and you realize that Marcus had made his choice. You sit on your couch, bring your legs to your chest and cry into it. The sob builds and builds until you let out a quiet whimper, tears now streaming down your face.

He was gone.

Forever.

A week later and you finally get the courage to go back to work. When at work, you fake a smile–feign happiness, but when you get back home, you cry yourself to sleep.

Antonia and Giovanni leave you dinner at your front door, but you don’t bother to open it. You aren’t hungry–you haven’t had an appetite since Marcus’s last letter. You wonder if he ever received your letter and if he did, did he read it?

And if he did read it, what went through his mind?

And when you admitted that you loved him, did that scare him away?

When you open your front door later that night, you set your things down and begin walking into the living room until you finally see it.

The envelope.

Your heart leaps out of your chest.

You waste no time in opening the envelope, quickly taking out the letter and breathing out a sigh of relief when you see his familiar cursive writing.

Dear Rose, I am sorry that I have not written back to you. I had a change of plans after your last letter and had to strategically plan how I would be able to execute it. I am no longer in Rome. You were right–I no longer need to fight. I faked my death–with the help of some trusting men of mine–and am far away from that place. I am living the rest of my days in the quiet–I now live in a small village where no one is familiar with who I am or what I have done. It is almost like a fresh start–a chance for me to live a different life… a life that I might have chosen from the beginning if I had the choice. I want to thank you, Rose. For telling me the truth, for warning me. I am much happier now than I have ever been, and I am more than ready to spend the rest of my days with you. Traveling to this village was not easy, but you gave me the strength–like you always do–to keep going. I love you, Rose. I wanted to tell you that once I was safe–once I was finally settled in. Ad Maiora, right? Towards greater things... So, my lady, what do you say? Shall we continue our story together and maybe–one day–finally meet? Yours forever, Marcus

the end...?

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #marcus acacius #general marcus acacius #gladiator 2 #marcus acacius x female reader #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius fanfic #gladiator 2 fanfic #gladiator 2 fanfiction #general marcus acacius fanfiction #general marcus acacius fanfic #story: letters across time #jolapenosdearuary #marcus acacius angst #general marcus acacius angst

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milla-frenchy · 2 months ago

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3k7 | Marcus Acacius x fem reader | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: Acacius returns from Numidia several months after his departure, and comes back to his wife

Warnings: 18+ mdni. fluff, smut, established relationship, Acacius and reader are married and deeply in love, Acacius is devoted to his wife (he’s soft, protective, caring and slightly possessive), oral (m/f), oil massages, size kink, piv, creampie. No age specified

a/n: this fic is just soft and sweet and I hope it will bring comfort to those who need it. This is my love letter to Acacius, basically, after watching Gladiator 2 (no spoilers towards the movie). I love this character so much. I did some research but I'm not an expert on ancient Rome at all.

Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for always holding my hand and for beta-ing, @joelmillerisapunk for cheering me up, @iamasaddie for being a sunshine- 🫶💓 dividers @saradika-graphics 🙏

You felt his presence before he even spoke.

You knew he was here, because all your worries, all the tension in your body, dissipated instantly. All the weight accumulated during those last months was removed from your shoulders, allowing your body to relax and open up.

"My lady..," you heard.

You stood up and faced him, turning away from the fish pond. You murmured his name then hurried towards him to snuggle against his broad, protective chest, where nothing bad could reach you. His arms surrounded you, as his lips kissed your forehead and your hands slid along his waist to his back. The warmth radiated from him, warming your entire being, body and soul.

"You are here, my love," you whispered, feeling tears well up in your eyes. You had been holding them back for so long. Too long. Because you didn't want to seem weak, and because you didn't want to let your brain swallow you up in its darkness.

But now Acacius was here, and you could allow your fragility to consume you for a moment, to be your true self, letting your emotions overwhelm you. Because you knew that he would want to absorb them for you, to protect you. To be your man.

"I'm finally here. I missed you, you have no idea. You were always in my thoughts, my beloved.”

You hugged each other tighter, and you buried your face in his chest, rubbing against him, like a cat that marks its territory with its scent.

"I missed you too, Acacius," you replied, finally raising your face to his, staring into those soft brown eyes that you missed so much. The eyes of your husband who had returned from Numidia. Returned victorious, as always, but the worry never left you when he was gone. The intrusive thoughts that made you fear that he wouldn’t come back to you, that he had perished. Or worse, taken prisoner. The highest representative of the Roman Empire on the battlefield, the general of Rome, gods only knew what they would do to him.

Caressing his cheek with your thumb, you chased away those dark thoughts to let yourself enjoy the present. Your husband, your love was there. You brushed his wrinkles, as you took the time to admire his slightly grayer curls, before running your fingers through them.

"You are even more beautiful than when I left," he said in a low, calm voice. You smiled when you heard him, moved by his love for you that was radiating from him. Love that had never wavered during your marriage. He always came back to you, as soon as he had dealt with the burdens placed upon him by the emperors he hated.

"Let me feed you, my love," you said. "And bathe you."

You walked toward the caldarium, his arm around your shoulder, yours around his waist, your body pressed against his. You were holding each other close as you were walking, it had been so long since he left for Africa nova.

“I cleaned myself before I went to the coliseum. You don’t have to, you know?”

“I know. But I love to do it, even if it’s only symbolic.”

He smiled warmly and saw you melt under his stare, then pressed a kiss on your temple to forget the fast beating of his own heart.

You undressed him slowly, layer by layer. Taking the time to place your hands on his chest before you would remove the last fabric, to feel his torso rise under your fingers. To process the fact that he was really back with you. He watched you roam his chest, shoulders, arms along his body, face lowered towards you. Smiling, patient. Soothed.

Once you managed to stop staring at his skin, his muscles, the way his body reacted to your touch, you tilted your head up to meet his eyes. You both smiled, happy and relieved to finally find each other again. You always marveled at his softness, that side of him only you knew.

Your fingers ran along his skin, and you frowned at each new wound you felt under your digits.

“You have so many new scars,” you said with a trembling voice. “I thank the gods for bringing you back to me.”

“Thank the soldiers, my love, they kept me alive,” he replied, brushing your cheek with his thumb. He had great respect for his men, treated them well, and had their complete trust. Tears appeared in your eyes again, and he gently took your chin between his fingers to lift your face up to him.

“I’m here now,” he said, his voice still low and calm. He knew you needed to be reassured, that meeting again always made his next departures more difficult, for both of you. He knew you were already anticipating them.

“I know,” you stammered. “I know. I just missed you a lot.” You tried to push aside the worries that were already trying to infiltrate your mind.

“I know, and I’m sorry about that, I wish I never had to leave. But I have great news: I won't have to go for now. I told the emperors that I wanted to rest and spend time with my wife. Darius will lead the next battle, he's ready.”

“This is such great news, Acacius!” you said, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and nestling your face in his neck. “I'm so relieved.”

He held you against him, before cupping your cheeks in his hands and resting his forehead against yours.

You moved slightly aside to pull off the last layer of clothing, freeing his half-hard cock. You thought about it so often when he was away as your fingers were buried inside you.

You covered him in oil and massaged his shoulders to relieve his physical tension. Then his chest, arms, palms and belly, taking your time. Gently, your fingers worked his skin, finding their favorite spots and his. Lingering there.

Finally, you faced him and took his shaft in hand, before jerking him off gently under the pretext of applying the oil, but you both felt the need grow.

You then asked him to sit in the warm water, and got undressed. The expression in his eyes changed from softness to eagerness and desire while he was watching you.

Fully hard, he stood up when you approached the bath, holding out his hand to accompany you down the steps.

“Sit on me,” he murmured in your ear, his beard brushing your skin. You straddled him, placing your hands on his cheeks before playing with his curls. You leaned down and finally kissed him, tasting his warm, soft, luscious lips. You both moaned and it made you smile, as you felt yourself mesmerized by him being finally there, with you.

He caressed your lips with his tongue, then slid it between them. Your tongues found each other, for the first time in months, and you felt dizzy, savoring him again. His hands roamed your back, squeezed your skin sometimes, while your kiss was only growing more feral and needy. Unable to wait any longer, you grabbed his cock and nestled it at your entrance, making him growl from the depth of his chest.

“Slowly,” he stammered. “No foreplay… don’t hurt yourself.”

“Can’t promise it,” you smiled. It was almost a lie, both of you knew it, you couldn’t take him slowly, your need to feel him being too strong. You sank onto his shaft with your arms resting on his broad shoulders, and you had to bite him slightly when the fat head of his cock began spreading you wide open, until you welcomed him fully, leaving both of you breathless for a second.

“That wasn’t exactly slow,” he laughed once he caught his breath, his hand against the back of your neck as you peppered his collarbone with kisses, your cunt full of him.

“Couldn’t wait,” you breathed and kept kissing him, slowly moving up and down his shaft, mixing your moans with his, your forehead against his. Your breaths mingled, similar in their urgency.

“I missed you. I missed you,” you repeated, while one of his hands was caressing your back, the other resting on your hip to accompany your movements, but sometimes pushing you slightly more down his cock.

“Me too, my love. Finally feeling you like that, wrapped around my cock, is almost unreal after all that time. But I won’t last, I’m sorry,” he said in a breathless voice. “It’s been too long since I felt the warmth of your cunt. Only my hand could give me a release when thoughts about you invaded my mind.”

“Now I’m here. Use me. Come,” you added, rubbing yourself against his lower stomach, knowing you would come soon too.

He held you tight in his arms, setting his pace, fast, powerful, to the point that the water overflowed from the bath with every move. He chased his orgasm, growling in your ear, his body surrounding yours, and you let him use you willingly until his grunts turned into moans and he froze, coming inside you. You pulsed on his shaft just after, milking his cock, feeling him shudder inside you.

You let him catch his breath and his wits before facing him, your hands on his cheeks, and covered his lips, cheeks, forehead with kisses. Already thinking about the moment you would go to your bedroom, and finally take the time to rediscover each other.

Washed, you had dinner, and you told him what happened during his absence. Life in Rome, the dream of Marcus Aurelius long forgotten. The emperors were hated by the subjects, and the cruel games were still allowed.

His worry was growing as he was listening to you. Each time he left, he was afraid a revolt would take place and he wouldn’t be there to protect you.

He asked you the question that had been burning his lips since his return, but that he was holding back, afraid of your answer.

“Did… did anyone hurt you while I was away?” he asked, eyes lowered to the ground, your hands in his. Then finally forcing himself to look at you and hear your answer.

“No, Acacius,” you answered quickly, eager to remove that weight from his shoulders and his heart. “Nothing happened to me, don’t worry.” You knew that he would lose his mind if someone hurt you, just like those who had hurt you would lose their heads.

He kissed your hands when he heard you, keeping them between his, brushing them with his thumbs.

“I couldn't stand it if that happened,” he added, voice shaking.

“I know, my love. But the guards protect me. The ones you chose, and trust completely. I am safe.”

He nodded, even though both of you knew he would never be calm during his absences.

Once fed, he told you about the new conquests. You felt the weariness on his shoulders and in his eyes. His anger. The emperors were making him lose patience, every day a little more.

“Enough about this,” he said finally. “I don't want my return to be full of sadness and bitterness. I saw how tense your body is, I will help you relax with some oil, like you did to me.”

“Acacius… you need to rest after these last few months. Not to take care of me,” you replied softly.

“I am your husband,” he said gently but firmly, moving closer to you until he took your hand in his and kissed it. “Your man. There’s nothing else that I want to do more.” You looked at him and smiled.

Once in the bedroom, he asked you to undress and lie down naked on your stomach. He poured some oil in his hands, and rubbed them together. He didn't take his eyes off you until you were on the bed. "You're so beautiful," he said. “I’m gonna take care of you. I missed it.”

He started by massaging your neck, with perfect pressure. Hands flat, he pressed his thumbs against each tense spot, helping to release the tension step by step. You felt your muscles relax at his touch, from your neck to your shoulders. Once satisfied with the way your body responded to his movements, he coated his hands with oil again, then he took care of your lower back. Your pelvis had been stuck for weeks, and you knew that he would do wonders, as always. That the next day, when you woke up, it would be free of its tensions.

“Do you feel better?” he asked, kissing your shoulder, his moustache brushing your skin.

“Better than ever. Thank you, my love.”

“Perfect. Turn around now, please." You rolled onto your back, and you saw his eyes linger on your breasts for a few seconds, nipples hard after his hands on you.

“Well, General?” you chuckled.

“Mmm. I was staring, wasn’t I? I missed them too,” he confessed, blushing slightly, which was cute, coming from him.

He massaged your arms then your thighs, one by one, down to your ankles and feet, careful not to touch your breasts or even look at them, as if that would end the session prematurely. You didn't take your eyes off him, watching his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, his tongue brushing his lip, his teeth nibbling on it.

Finally, you saw his gaze fixed on your pussy, something he had also avoided until then. The candlelight certainly didn’t allow him to see, but he probably knew you were flowing down to the bed. His hand slid from your ankle to your thigh, then brushed your folds before slipping between them, making you whine, as you heard the grunt of approval when his finger got lost in your wetness.

He took a deep breath and said “I’m too eager to taste you, now. But tomorrow I will touch, lick, worship your whole body. I want to kiss you, from your forehead to your toes. Take back what’s mine.”

“I’m yours, always, Acacius. Whether you are here or not.”

“I know, my sweet girl, I know. As I’m yours. Ad vitam aeternam. (forever)”

He got undressed and you loved that he took his time doing it, with a soft smile on his lips. You loved knowing that he would be there with you for several weeks. Every day and every night.

You were never tired of looking at him. His body was a gift from the gods. His strong neck, with veins bulging every time he thrust into you. His broad shoulders, his belly slightly softer as the years passed. His large hands, next to which yours seemed tiny.

His cock.

So massive that on your wedding night you had been so afraid that you had thought of running away. But he had assured you that he would be gentle and go slowly, that he would take care of you. After another hesitation you had chosen to trust him, his tone, his gaze, and two nights later it had seemed that you had been physically made for each other.

But more than his body, his personality, his loyalty, the way he cared about you, made him a loving, reliable, protective husband. You thanked the gods every day for making him yours.

Once naked, he knelt on the bed between your thighs, gently spreading them, finally revealing your pussy. Again, he took a deep breath. His thumb ran over your wet folds.

“You’re drooling for me.”

He lay down, bringing his face closer to your pussy and breathing it in. “Gods, I missed it.”

His tongue traced a stripe between your folds, up to your clit, making you whine. He looked up at you, adding “now, you’re gonna feed me.”

He dove between your thighs, eyes closed, your folds spread by his thumbs, burying his tongue in your core. Feasting, like he did each time he came back, but not only. From the wedding night, and all the others that followed, he had shown you how much he loved eating you out, pulling orgasm after orgasm, sometimes two in a row because he didn’t want to or couldn't stop.

“Acacius,” you whimpered while his nose was rubbing perfectly against your clit. As he had learned during all those years the way your body responded to him.

Back arched, hands lost in his curls, you moved in harmony with his mouth and his tongue, reaching for him, rolling your hips towards him. He pulled back for a few seconds to look at you, and smiled when you cried for his loss. His beard and mustache glistened with your slick and his pupils were dilated as if he had consumed opium to heal a wound. He leaned towards you again, pushing one thick finger between your folds and then sucking your clit. He quickly added a second digit when he heard your needy moans, and licked at your clit. Your hands moved from his curls to your breasts, then to the sheets, your fists clenching on them.

“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come,” you whimpered, pelvis tilted towards him as far as possible, as if he wasn't already so close to you. The pleasure that was growing in your core finally exploded, hands and thighs holding his head against your cunt, not wanting him to stop. Docile, he kept licking and pumping you with his fingers, until you stopped clenching on them and released him.

He straightened up, crawling between your thighs, taking one nipple in his mouth, sucking on it like his life depended on it before moving on to the other, leaving them glistening with his saliva. Finally, lying between your thighs, he kissed you, his mouth and lips tasting like you.

“I want to taste you too, please,” you begged.

“Of course, my sweet girl. You don’t have to ask. I’m all yours.”

You kissed him before he rolled onto his back, and you straddled him. Covering his cheeks, lips, neck with kisses, then moving down to his torso, hands roaming over his skin. You took one of his nipples in your mouth, sucking, nibbling, licking, then the other, without taking your eyes off him. Admiring his beautiful face. You continued to move down, kissing his belly and hips, your breasts brushing his hard, oozing cock. You took his shaft in hand, and licked his balls, eyes still fixed on him, to see him drop his head back on the bed. “Gods..,” you heard him breathe.

You smiled and left his balls to suck on his tip, lingering on it, giving you some time to get used to its width, to savor him in your mouth again. His precum flowed in your throat. He had been gone for so long that you were afraid you had forgotten the taste, but it was so familiar again now. Your head bobbing on his shaft, you wanted to make him feel good, wetness dripping from your cunt, moaning on his shaft, and you closed your eyes until you heard him growl louder. Then opened them to see his head raised towards you. One of his hands was placed on the back of your neck.

“You like it, General?” you asked playfully, then licked his shaft tongue flat.

“It’s divine.”

You crawled towards him, arousal dripping from your core after sucking him, you kissed his body again and then his lips, before murmuring “take me.”

His eyes darkened and in one movement he laid you down on the bed, under him. Pressing his cock to your entrance, this time he didn't wait, hands tight on your hips, he pushed his whole lenght into your cunt. His massive cock, so hard that you lost your breath. He never took his eyes off you, dark gaze lowered towards you, soft eyes forgotten in favor of a feral stare. He was possessive, claiming your body as he claimed cities during battles, like his body and mind needed it. Like you needed it too.

You tried to keep your eyes open, to look at him, leaning towards you, eyebrows furrowed, veins throbbing. But the relentless rhythm of his shaft spreading your walls made you forget where you were, leaving you moaning and repeating his name. You clung to his shoulders, telling him how much you loved to feel him again, how much you needed it.

“Always taking me so well”, he growled, and you hummed with approval.

He slid his hand to the back of your neck, holding you close, his nose against your ear. He breathed you in, focused on your moans, eager to have all his senses filled with you, after months of being surrounded by dirt, screams and blood.

He was home now, you were his home.

“Acacius,” you whined, his crotch rubbing perfectly where you needed it.

“Come for me. Soak me.”

“Oh gods… Acacius… Acacius,” you whimpered, your orgasm rushing over you, making you pulse on his shaft, your clit throbbing against his skin.

“Just like that, squeezing me so hard… you were made for me,” he murmured, his breathing now ragged as his own pleasure rose.

“I’m… oh gods,” he said, just before cumming inside you, long spurts of cum painting your walls in white. You held him tighter against you, as he moaned in your ear. Your general of Rome, now the most vulnerable man in your arms.

His jolts finally stopped and he straightened up slightly, careful not to crush you under his weight. He covered your skin with kisses, from your neck to your lips, before rolling onto his side and welcoming you against his chest, arms wrapped around your bare body. Both of you waited for your breathings to calm down.

“I cherish it, you know,” you said, curled up against his chest.

“What do you cherish?” he asked, caressing your skin with his large, loving hands.

“Having you like this, in these moments. It always seems unreal to me, your softness and protectiveness towards me, knowing that you lead battles for Rome. Everyone who fought near you evokes your cold blood.”

He hugged you closer and kissed your forehead, brushing it for a moment with his moustache.

“I love you. I’m only myself when I’m home, with you.”

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

Follow @millafics and turn notifications on for fics updates

@pascalsanctuary @littlemisspascal @survivingandenduring

npt ❤️ tagging those who showed interest in the wip post, love you ❤️

@jessthebaker @schnarfer @sawymredfox @itwasntimethatdidit40 @mothandpidgeon

@pascalssbabyy @iknowisoundcrazy @thundermartini @604to647 @baronessvonglitter

#marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius #pedro pascal #gladiator 2 #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x female reader #pedro pascal characters #general acacius

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dumbbitchenergy17 · 26 days ago

Text

Viral

Plot: A viral clip of you practicing a fight scene has Paul entranced

Word Count: 1.5K

Pairing: Paul Mescal x Reader

Warnings: fake fight scene, Paul obsessed with his girlfriend, laughter giggles, potential spoilers to Where the Wild Things Are [read here]

—————

The press junket for Gladiator 2 had been an exciting time traveling around the world visiting the sights and promoting a great project they made. While Paul was enjoying this work vacation it would have been a hundred times better if his girlfriend was with him and all the friends she made with the cast. But you were off bouncing between working in Canada or California for the TV series and film you had the joy of being a part of.

Paul unintentionally was starting to tune out the interviewer fiddling with his cuffs his mind drifting to thoughts of his girlfriend.

“This is a question for the both of you,” the interviewer’s voice drags Paul back into the moment, “If you could add anyone into the Gladiator world who would it be.”

It’s instantly when Paul says, “My girlfriend.” This causes a burst of loud laughter from both the interviewer and Joseph who was in the interviews with him.

“I would also want your girlfriend in this film,” Joseph jokes and Paul flushes with embarrassment at how fast he responded.

“Well you have worked with Y/n before,” the interviewer mentions and Joseph nods.

“She’s a delight to work alongside. She gave a hundred-ten percent effort into a Quiet Place, I’m sure Paul can confirm with her other works. I’d think she would’ve been a fantastic addition to this film.” Joseph explains and Paul nods a smile across his face.

“Paul I’m sure it would be exciting to be working alongside her?” he directs his question at him.

“I’d love to work with her, like Joe said she’s dedicated to every project and takes a deep care into every character she works with.” The compliments flow easily from him. He could spend hours praising you for your accomplishments and anything involving you. He was probably your biggest supporter outside of your own family or Pedro one of your closest friends.

“Well this is a perfect segway to more of a comment since you both know or worked alongside her,” the interviewer says swiping on their tablet, “Obviously you both know of her being cast for The Last of Us spin-off show with Y/n playing the lead with your gladiator co-star Pedro Pascal. Well this morning she posted a little behind-the-scenes sneak peek to a sequence, I was able to get Pedro’s comment on it.” That both piques their attention as he turns the tablet around for them to see before starting the video.

The video shows the open stunt space with you standing in the middle, “Ready?” whoever is behind the camera says and you give an enthusiastic thumbs up. On the outskirts of the frame is two stuntmen who look twice your size.

“Alright and fall!” Your body hits the mat hard groaning as if thrown off a horse before it’s a fluid dance. One of the men rushes up to use holding a fake hatchet and swinging it down on you but you swiftly move out of the way. The choreography is seamless as you disarm the hatchet as the stuntman pulls out a knife and it drags across your shoulder. You swing the hatchet with a growl and fake hit the guy's jaw as he falls onto his back where you drive the knife into his throat.

You stumble up to your feet the hatchet still in your grasp and coming up before you is the other stuntman holding a fake rope throwing it over your neck and starting to drag your back the camera following you two. One of your hands grasp the rope fighting violently in his hold with your other hand you drive the hatchet into his leg. Use both of your hands to keep the rope from choking you.

“Bam!” Someone behind the camera yells and the stuntman ‘choking’ you drop to the ground as you fall forward onto your knees coughing heavily while scrambling to grab the hatchet from the side. Pedro with a prop rifle appears as you swing the hatchet to defend yourself but are disarmed by him. You pause recognizing him as Joel before he pulls you to your feet putting pressure on your shoulder ‘wound’.

“Cut!” Immediately the tense energy fades as your pain expression turns joyous as people applaud and cheer at the performance. The ‘dead’ stuntmen get up patting your back and you look over at the camera.

“One of many fight scenes completed!” You smile throwing up a piece sign as Pedro wraps an arm around your shoulder before the video ends.

“Holy shit,” Joseph mumbles and Paul is silent state of awe. It was always a joy to see you act or see your work. But you felt completely natural in this role like it was crafted for only you to play.

“The video was posted this morning and has already gained millions of views. I know if I’m ever in an apocalypse I’ll want her protecting me.” the interviewer says and Joseph and Paul laugh at the comment.

“Yeah that was brilliant really,” Paul is at a loss for words and Joe elbows him.

“Starstruck Paul?” That makes him and the interviewer laugh.

“How could you not be,” He says pointing at the still frame of you and Pedro, “She’s a daredevil to the core, you know Joe if there’s a crazy stunt or anything that potentially causes harm she’s begged not to perform it. But the whole world has seen she’ll always end up doing it.”

Joe nods, “She’s an adrenaline junkie is what she is. During the final scene where my character and hers are running from the pack of Death Angels on the dock. In the film where she trips and I don’t know where it came from like a seasoned pro just completely breaks her fall and rolls through it then is back running until we jump into the water.” Joe shakes his head in still wonder.

“Because she’s a stuntwoman in her past life,” the interviewer says making the two men laugh.

“I’ll be sure to pass along that comment,” Paul chuckles, “But most likely she always likes projects with fight scenes or complicated stunts. Her working on both The Last Of Us and The Mandalorian and Grogu is feeding her craving.” With that, the conversation filters back into the film, and other topics are more focused on the actions.

Paul and Joseph are given a short break before the next interviewer comes in. His hairstylist tweaks a few stray hairs when he feels a buzz from his pocket. A smile crosses his face, seeing who was calling. In your contact photo from your first date together, you’re giving your best smolder while wearing his sunglasses.

“Ahhh, it looks like the loverboy’s got a special call,” Joe teases from his seat. Paul rolls his eyes but answers Facetime. His smile brightens when he sees your wide grin fill the screen.

“Hi, hope I’m not interrupting anything.” You say and he shakes his head.

“No just got a break before the next round,” he says, shifting the camera slightly to Joe.

“Hi Y/n!” He sends a wave with you happily responding giving an exciting ‘Hi Joe!’

“What are you up to?” Paul asks bringing his phone back to show him trying to decipher what he was seeing. You were dressed casually like you were going to exercise wearing one of his graphic tees.

“Got some weapons training, they’re going through all the stuff from pistols to archery. Just wrapped up with archery I’m a pretty decent shot which sucks cause it's the weapon I use the least.” you laugh panning the camera around, showing him the range you were in, “I feel like I’m being trained for war with all the shit I’m trying. Like I completely forgot she uses an automatic it’s very intimidating.”

Paul smiles at your rambling, “Hey if we ever get into an apocalypse you’ll be skilled in all that while I got my sword and skirts.” He prides himself on causing your laughter through the phone, even Joe laughs at his joke.

“If you’re wearing those skirts at the end of the world I’ll protect you with my life,” That makes Paul chuckle, “Alright I gotta go the group just came back. I love you and I’ll call you tonight, well your version of tonight.”

“I love you too, wait baby!” He calls out almost forgetting before you hang up, “I saw your video very impressive.”

You bit your lip to stop the smirk covering your face, “Thank you, oh, and quick news for the Mandalorian they just worked up this stunt where I get wired up and thrown out a window I’m so excited!” Paul and Joe can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of your enjoyment. If someone heard you out of the context that you’re excited to get thrown out a window they would be concerned.

“Well enjoy getting thrown out a window babe,” Paul says and you give exaggerated goodbyes and kisses before he hangs up. Joe gives him a smug look shaking his head,

“Your girlfriend’s crazy you know that.”

Paul can’t help but laugh and sigh dreamily, “Yeah I know.”

#where the wild things are series #tlou fanfiction #tlou #paul mescal x y/n #paul mescal fanfic #paul mescal x reader #paul mescal #lucius verus #lucius versus x reader #gladiator movie #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x platonic!reader #pedro pascal fandom #pedr

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djmaliksmix · 2 months ago

Text

Where the Light Enters

Lucius Verus x Aelia (healer at the colosseum)

warnings: angst, fluff, violence, maybe some cursing??

A/n: Hey guys! Ik it’s been months since I’ve written anything but so much has been going on and I haven’t had the time to do any writings but I’m back ! I just watched gladiator 2 yesterday and loved it (and Paul) so yall already know I had to make this one! Lmk if you guys want a series for this! I’ve been debating but I can’t decide lol. Anyways yes I’m back and enjoy this fic!

The overbearing heat of the sun was so intense that her eyes could barely open, sweat dripping down from her head to her brows then onto the ground. Her sweat hydrated the ground of the colosseum more than rain ever could. Her breaths were getting heavier and the crowds antics and cheers were becoming more deafening.

Gladiators. Her mom and dad. Two of the most bravest, honorable people she knew, had to fight against the worst, most dangerous gladiator of them all. And she had to watch. Her mother and father had gotten into some trouble by senate, which was at the time ran with almost full force of the emperor, and they were forced to fight in the death oval (what Aelia called it).

The senate figured out they had a daughter and forced her to watch. In the senators watch box. They tied her down to a chair in the front row of the box and made her watch everything.

Her mother and father told her to always be strong and keep a positive mind. But how was she supposed to in a situation like this? She looked down at her necklace, the one her parents prepared for her before she was born. It was always a little too big on her as a kid.

Seeing that necklace made her want to cry. She internally knew what was going to happen, even if she didn’t want to admit it to herself.

But she remembered what her father preached to her about being brave. She was always told by her parents that they would get out of there some day and live a peaceful life. That was a lie.

Her heart pounded so fast she thought it might burst. Below, her mother and father clashed swords with the gladiator, their movements desperate yet determined. For a moment, it seemed they might win. Until her father was thrown into the wall.

She screamed. “PAPA!”

His body slumped to the ground, lifeless.

She wailed in agony.

Her mother turned to her at the box and mouthed “I love you Aelia” she was impaled by the blade of the enemy and fell to the ground.

“NO!” “MAMA!” She was mad, hurt, and afraid.

Aelia sat in the chair, feeling numb and undetermined, as the desensitized crowd cheered at her parent’s bodies getting dragged out of the colosseum.

After the crowd left, she was still in the chair.

She heard footsteps approach from behind her.

“Do you see what happens when people defy me?” The emperor yelled in her face.

He came all the way down from his box just to yell in a girl’s face. He was a horrible man.

Aelia already crying just cried more. But this time not a screaming cry just silently.

He grinned, his voice cold and sharp. He mimicked Aelia’s mother’s death, driving an imaginary sword into his gut and stumbling dramatically. “Just like that. Gone.”

Aelia’s nails dug into her palms. She pulled at the ropes until her wrists burned, but it was no use. She refused to look at him, her body shaking with fury.

He laughed and walked off. “Guards!” The guards untied the ropes from Aelia’s wrists and ankles and dragged her all the way out of the colosseum, she didn’t really even notice that she was being put out.

She was in so much pain, mentally and physically, she didn’t even care what would happen to her now. She was left outside the colosseum like she was trash, like she was nothing.

She lay on the ground for what felt like days, and as the night was taking over day, her eyes were closing more and more. Cheeks dry from the tears that streamed down.

“Child.” The voice was soft yet stable.

She looked up, blinking through her tears. A woman knelt before her, older, with graying hair tied back and calloused hands that smelled faintly of herbs.

“Leave me alone,” Aelia whispered, her voice cracked.

The woman didn’t leave. Instead, she reached into a pouch at her waist and pulled out a small vial. “Drink this.” When Aelia hesitated, she added, “It’s for the pain. You’re bleeding.”

Aelia glanced down at her wrists, the raw, skin stinging. She took the vial and sipped. It was bitter, but the throbbing in her wrists began to dull.

“Who are you?” Aelia asked.

“Call me Iona,” the woman said. “I’m a healer. And I think you could use someone to teach you how to survive.”

~~~~~

Present Day

“Aelia! We need more vials! And more cots!”

The shout echoed through the cramped, chaotic healer’s station. Aelia didn’t look up, her focus locked on the gladiator before her. His leg was torn open, blood spilling onto the table like a river. Her hands worked quickly, needle glinting in the dim light as she stitched the wound closed.

The necklace around her neck—once her parent’s promise of love to her, now her anchor, thumped softly against her chest with each movement. She barely noticed it anymore, its weight a part of her now.

“I wish someone like you would always work on me,” the gladiator slurred, his lips curling into a lopsided grin.

Aelia glanced up briefly, smiling despite herself. The drug they gave him was already doing its job, dulling his pain and loosening his tongue. “Thank you,” she said lightly. “That’s very sweet of you.”

He chuckled weakly, his head lolling to one side. “You’re an angel. A goddess.”

She bit back a laugh, tying off the last stitch and pressing a fresh bandage over the wound. “I’m just a healer. And you’re just delirious.”

He chuckled and her assistant walked the gladiator off back to his cell.

The station door slammed open, the heavy wood cracking against the wall. Aelia’s head shot up, her heart skipping a beat. A gladiator stumbled in, his face pale and his arm drenched in blood.

“Help him!” someone shouted from behind.

Aelia’s assistant, a young girl barely out of her teens, rushed forward but stopped short, her hands shaking. Aelia quickly pushed past her, her voice sharp. “Lay him down here!”

The injured man staggered to the nearest cot, blood dripping onto the floor. His breathing was ragged, his eyes wild with pain. Aelia grabbed a cloth, pressing it to the wound. The cut was deep—too deep for anything less than immediate care.

“Hold this,” she ordered the assistant, who obeyed without question, though her hands still trembled.

She turned back to the gladiator, her tone steady but urgent. “This is going to hurt. A lot.”

Then, as she started working, he looked up at her, his gaze locking with hers. His expression was fierce, but there was something else there—a hint of weariness that didn’t belong to the typical gladiator she treated.

“I’m Lucius,” he rasped, his voice rough from the pain. “And you’re the one who keeps all of us alive down here.”

Aelia paused, glancing up at him. Lucius. She of course knew he was a gladiator, but she had never expected to treat him. Knowing that he was one of the best upcoming gladiators the colosseum had ever seen. She felt like she knew that name even be for this. Before he was a known name around the colosseum.

Even though everyone is human, he always seemed not human sometimes. The way he fought it was like nothing she had ever seen.

“I do my best,” she replied with a nod, working to stop the blood flow. “Stay with me, Lucius.”

“What’s your name?” he asked, his eyes never leaving hers.

Aelia hesitated for a moment. It was rare for a gladiator to ask for something personal from her, and usually, she didn’t share such details. “Aelia.”

He gave a small smile, despite the pain in his features. “Aelia. Beautiful name for a healer.”

She concentrated on his wound, not acknowledging his compliment. “This will take a while. You’re going to feel a lot of pain.”

He chuckled, a weak sound. “Pain is what I know best.”

After she finished patching him up, it was night time and she had to clean up everything. Aelia wss so tired she felt like collapsing against the wall.

Lucius got up from the cot and stood up.

You’re strong,” Lucius says softly, his gaze heavy with respect.

Aelia lets out a sigh. “I have to be. I don’t have a choice.”

“It’s more than that,” he replies, “Strength isn’t just about surviving. It’s about not giving in to the system... even when it’s crushing you from the inside.”

Aelia finally un-tensed, the tightness in her shoulders loosening as she gazed into Lucius’s eyes. There was a rawness to them, a mixture of pain and strength that made her heart ache. For a long moment, she could only look at him, as though trying to understand the person behind the fighter.

“You have striking eyes,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Lucius blinked, taken aback by the unexpected compliment. His lips quirked into a faint smile. “Thank you,” he replied, his voice low, almost surprised.

He then shifted on the floor, his body leaning against the stone wall as he sat beside her. For a few moments, the two of them shared the quiet—something rare in the chaos of the colosseum’s healer station. Aelia couldn't help but notice how his presence seemed to fill the space around them, like a force of nature. There was a certain energy to him; brave, broken, yet undeniably powerful.

She glanced at him again, her thoughts drifting. It was as if he’d stepped out of one of those ancient tales her mother used to tell her as a child, those stories of gods and warriors, larger than life.

Except Lucius was no myth. He was real. And he was sitting beside her, in the quiet aftermath of a battle, just a man.

"I never thought I’d be sitting here, talking with a gladiator," she said, breaking the silence. Her voice was gentle but held an edge of wonder, a quiet admission.

Lucius chuckled, the sound warm, though a hint of sadness lingered in his tone. "Most people don’t, I suppose." His eyes softened, though there was still a distant look in them, as though something heavy was pressing on his mind. "I’m not much for small talk, but I’m not always the monster they make me out to be either."

Aelia nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I know. There’s always more to the story, isn’t there? It’s just hard to see it sometimes.”

"Yeah, it is," he agreed quietly. He leaned back, his shoulders relaxing against the cold stone of the wall. “But you, Aelia... you don’t just see the surface, do you? You’re not like the others who pass by, not really caring. You see people. That’s a rare thing around here.”

Aelia felt her heart beat a little faster at the sincerity in his words. She wasn’t used to being seen that way, not in the colosseum. Not by anyone who truly mattered.

She looked away for a moment, trying to steady her racing thoughts. "Maybe it’s because I understand what it feels like... to lose someone you love. To be forced into a life you don’t want."

Lucius was silent for a long moment, his gaze focused somewhere far off in the distance. “I know what that feels like too,” he murmured. Then he turned to her, his eyes soft but firm. “But we fight. We keep going, even when it seems like we don’t have a choice.”

Aelia felt a lump form in her throat at the weight of his words. She nodded, her voice a little more fragile than she intended when she responded. "Yeah. I suppose we do."

The two sat in quiet understanding for a while, the connection between them growing despite the silence. The world outside seemed a little less harsh, a little less overwhelming, as long as they were together in that moment.

A/n: AHHH I HOPE YOU GUYS LOVE THIS STORY AS MUCH AS I DO. I THINK ITS SO SWEET HOW AELIA AND LUCIUS CAN ALREADY FIND PEACE WITHIN EACH OTher. So I have decided there will be chapters to this! hope you guys enjoyed and more chapters to this series coming sooner than later!! pls comment and tell me what I should improve/what I did good on! Love you guys! 😆🤍

#paul mescal #gladiator 2 #lucius gladiator #fluff #love #angst #lucius verus #lucius versus x reader #hanno x reader #gladiator ii #paul mescal x reader #colosseum

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mackk122 · 2 months ago

Text

Tittle: Aquatinted (part 2)

Part One

Pairing~Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 24.k

Warnings~ smut;)

Summary~ part 2. (Younger Sister to the twin Emperors.As you are forced to sit and watch the games, a certain gladiator catches your attention.) Everything changes when you finally meet one another.

Notes: I’ve seen this movie 3 times already- I might have a problem.☺️ Also if there’s any spelling mistakes- ummmm….

.·:*¨༺𓆟༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺𓆟༻¨*:·.

After the first games, you spent all night non-stop thinking of that gladiator Hanno.

“Ugh!” I huffed out.

I had to find a way to meet this man…

It was dangerous when the sun of Rome fell into the cool shades of the night. I covered my body in an old cloak, making sure to blend in when needed. I fast walked through the city until I reached the colosseum. Quickly and quietly I made my way into the building- determined. I dodged the guards searching for the cell he would be in, that’s when I heard a familiar voice speaking.

“Lucius..” A woman spoke.

As I turned the corner to hear more, I saw Lucilla inside the cell with Hanno… or who she believed to be her son Lucius. I was intrigued by this and continued to listen, he started yelling for her to leave and I took that as my queue as well.

‘This is interesting’ I thought to myself, following behind Lucilla.

She made her way back to her house, where I would make myself known.

“Lucilla!” I whispered. She turned around, her tear stained face looked scared now.

I walked out from behind the wall, hood still concealing my face.

“Lucilla… it’s me..” I spoke softy.

“Prin-“ she began to say.

“Shhh” I held my hand to my lips. A look of concern filled her eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Lucilla softly demanded.

“Is that gladiator, Lucius? Is he your son?” I whispered.

Her eyes widened, terrified of what was to happen next. “And if he was?” Her voice shaking.

“I- no worries my lips are sealed. He…I need to meet with him… Lucilla if there’s any way..” I pleaded, a noise from in the house stirred and I quickly left.

Lucilla breathed into the cool musk of Rome. Wondering why the Princess of Rome would want anything to do with a gladiator.

─────── ·𖥸· ───────

*The next games*

As the day went on, your thoughts ran rampant. This was your chance to finally meet Hanno… or Lucius, you didn’t even know what was true anymore.

Everyone was sat, awaiting the sounds of the horns. The arena was filled with water and sharks. It was incredibly terrifying to see.

“Why sister, would you care for a swim?” Caracalla laughed.

“Idiot- she can’t swim” Geta side eyed Caracalla, before chuckling with him.

“Broth- Emperors… I shall like very much to meet the glorious victor from yesterday’s game” I smiled brightly.

“And why is that?” Geta looked annoyed at the idea of me even speaking.

“I believe it to be more exciting to meet him… after all he is the champion” I said innocently.

“If he lives” Geta replied.

“Oh how fun to watch him die, and see your wish not come true. WAR!! GIVE ME DEATH!” Caracalla spoke crazily.

I sighed and turned back to see Lucilla staring at me, I gave a small smile and she nodded.

The trumpets sounded and the games had commenced. Fighting brutally the boats had crashed into one another, men thrown over board were shark food and the fires of the sail filled the air of thick smoke. He fought hard, and as the boats hit the side of the wall, an arrow flew right past Geta and landed into the side of my chair, I watched as the gladiator tried to kill what seemed to be the General. I stared at him, eyes locking again. The look of disappointment and regret filled his eyes. I was confused until I felt the pain from my arm kick in, the arrow had grazed me and the cut bled down, dripping onto the floor. They ushered us out and got the games under control.

“Princess!” Lucilla reached for my arm.

“I’m fine, truly tis a scratch” I smiled.

“Emperors I would like to speak to those gladiators- find out who did this” I said sternly. Geta looked around breathing heavily at what just happened.

“Sister, the arrow struck you- Punishments will be made! Trying to shoot Us!” Geta started to shout. Caracalla had that crazy look in his eyes. From around the corner Macrinus calmly stepped up and walked the emperors down the hall, looking behind at me with a sly smile.

─────── ·𖥸· ───────

The thought of the arrow almost killing the princess replayed in Lucius’s mind.

“Who shot that!” The angry guard spoke.

One by one the gladiators said it was them.

“If it was me with the arrow, it would have found its way to you” Lucius spoke to the guard, before walking away.

As Lucius made his way into his cell to rest, he could here heavy footsteps approaching, assuming it was either a guard or Macrinus, he didn’t bother looking up from where he lay.

“Gladiator!” I said loud and stern. Lucius sat up, and his eyes widened a bit, not expecting the princess to be down here in a place like this.

“Princess…” he spoke dull. The keys in my hand jingled as I unlocked his cell door. I could feel his eyes burning through me, I quickly walked into where he was sitting.

Closing the door behind me, “Am I so awful you try to kill me before we could even speak?” I joke trying to diffuse the awkward tension.The blood still down my arm.

“The General…” his said blunt staring at my arm.

“Ah- For a warrior your aim, ‘tis not very good” I chuckled slightly looking down at my arm. “At last-“ I began to speak.

“Why are you down here?” He said confused, now standing up and slowly walking towards me. And yet I don’t move away.

“What is your real name? Hmm? Are you Lucius son of Lucilla or are you Hanno a slave from Romes raging war?” I look up at him, his body was an arms reach away. His face hardened at my question.

“I know not who I am, but I know the general and his armies will pay, and then your brothers..” his voice was calm yet vicious.

“And yet you still have not answered me” I walked past him deeper into the cell. I looked around, still feeling that burning stare.

“Your mother is a great friend of mine” I sighed. “We both want freed from this nightmare that has plagued Rome and its people.” I turned to look at him now. I could see debate in the face he made, most likely deciding whether or not to try and trust me.

“Right” he spoke.

“Hmm” I hummed out.

“Well I best not keep you, as you need rest, and I shall need to bandage myself ” I smiled and began to walk past him.

“Wait-“ he lightly grasped my wrist, “ I’m truly sorry for that arrow hitting you” his eyes had a soft remorse within them.

“I know, I saw in the arena” I smiled. “Well I shall see you tomorrow then, after all I should get to know the man who shot me” I chuckled. Lucius smiled at the remark, He assumed all of Rome was evil but he was wrong.

─────── ·𖥸· ───────

The days would pass and the princess and Lucius would meet in secret. They shared their lives and their passions. And each time she was about to leave, the longing from both filled the cell with thick tension and yet no one acted on it…

The keys in my hand jingled slightly, trying to keep quiet. It was the night before the third game, and I was worried if Lucius was going to survive.

“Lucius?” I whispered through the door.

“Carissima” he spoke softy leaning against the cell, each arm hanging out, face close enough to feel each other’s breath.

“You flatter me” a slight blush on my cheeks. I smiled a his words ‘Dearest’ the nickname earned after the second night of our meetings.

“Well Lucius… hopefully we don’t get caught” I said with a sly smirk.

“Oh?” His eyes blazing.

“Come with me…” I looked up and slightly pushed the door, he took the hint and stepped back.

“Leave..? Are you trying to kill me now?” His eyes widened, and yet he chuckled.

“We just can’t get caught” I grabbed his hand and lead him to a dark corridor, I picked up speed and we were running through the moonlight of Rome. I came to a halt once we made it to the palace.

“This is how you get revenge for a scratch carissima?” His shoulder gently bumped mine.

“Shhh… and I figured a change of scenery would be good for you… unless you want to go back to a cold lonely cell?” I said looking around innocently.

“Lead the way” he spoke. I grabbed his hand and took him through hidden doors and eventually we made it to my room.

“This is where I stay” I let go of his hand, and turned to smile. I was surprisingly shy at the thought of a man in here let alone the man, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with. He walked over to my bed, feeling the soft fabrics and carvings of the bed frame.

“Fancy..” he jested sensing I was a bit nervous.

“Too fancy” I smiled back, making my way over. “Promise me you wont die tomorrow!” I blurted out. My eyes widened in embarrassment.

He took my hand, “I cannot… But I promise to fight for you.” He took a step closer, still holding my hand, he gave it a soft kiss.

“Lucius” I whispered looking up at his face. “I can’t loose you” I took a deep breath.

“I’m right here carissima” He bent his face down slightly, looking from my eyes to my lips. It felt like we were the only people on this world at the moment and i never wanted it to end.

“Lucius” I said again at a loss for words. My voice was breathy, and our bodies kept getting closer.

“Princess… I don’t think you know what you do to me… when you say my name like that” Lucius said with such raw lust. All I could do was look in his eyes, until he closed the gap between us.

The kiss was light, as our lips danced Lucius picked me up gently. He sat down on my bed and I straddled his lap.

“I need you” I said pulling away for air. The look in his eyes turned primal, and like a predator hunting his prey, the second kiss was harsh. He moved from my mouth down to my jaw and then paraded kisses down my neck. I’ve never felt so alive, my hips started moving back and forth longing for something more. His grip on me tightened, Lucius’s hands roaming my body as they made their way down to squeeze my hips. I could feel how hard he was as he pushed my hips down harder and a soft moan escaped my lips.

“I need you” a breathy sigh came out from me.

“Not yet princess, you’re doing so good.” he smiled,continuing to kiss my neck and keep a steady pace with my hips.

“Please… Lucius I need you..” I breathed out, my hands found their way to his hair, lightly tugging on it- he moaned at the action. The sound he made, made my stomach fill with butterflies. I started to move faster, my body craving more and more. He took note and picked me up, laying me on my back. He crawled on top of me and basically tore my dress off. At the sight of my naked body laid before him he spoke “ you are perfect”.

My face flushed at his words and he slowly began to take his clothes off. Once we were both naked he lower his body down kissing me again.

“You look so good under me” he smiled, he lowered his hand, rubbing my clit. A jolt shot through my body and moans started escaping my lips.

“Lucius…” I moaned.

“Do you like that princess?” He said as he inserted his finger into my opening, still continuing to rub circles around me. He pumped in and out and then added another. I was a mess underneath him, and he enjoyed the slight of Royalty melting under his touch. My hips started bucking up wanting more but with his free hand he held me down.

“I need more” I cried. He smirked pulling his fingers out completely.

“Lucius- wha” I began to speak, that’s when he lifted my lower half with ease, lining himself up and inserting himself into me completely. He gave me a moment to adjust before rocking his hips back and forth. He let out moans and praises as he thrusted into me.

“Feels so good” I said.

He picked up the speed our bodies slamming into each other. It felt like a dream, and I didn’t want to wake up. I started to feel a knot in my stomach, and my moans grew louder. He knew I was reaching my high point and continued to thrust harder.

“Lucius-“ I moaned, as my release came out. He continued to rock through my orgasm and then let out his.

He pulled out of me, breathing heavily and our bodies sweaty, he smiled and put his forehead to mine. We spent some time laying beside each other before he had to return back. Our eyes locked for a moment and Lucius began to speak.

“Your body was sculpted from the heavens, and yet..put into the hands of me, I swear on what good is left in this life, if I survive tomorrow..” he spoke.

“I’m yours Lucius, now kiss me before you leave..” I said before he could finish, and we both smiled.

Part.3…..? Lemme know:)

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#gladiator 2 #gladiator ll #fanfic #gladiator movie #gladiator smut #lucius versus x reader #lucius verus #lucius verus fic #gladiator 2 smut #smut

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0bticeo · 10 months ago

Text

lurk | feyd-rautha

part one of five. (part 2.) (part 3.) (part 4.)

summary:

feyd-rautha.

there he is, strong arms spread wide, dual blades stained black, basking in the glorious aftermath of combat. at his feet, atreides soldiers. dead.

you unsheathe your blade, the dull metal grinding against its sheath.

it is kill or be killed, and you intend to live.

wc: 2k

tw: blood. death. non graphic description of gore (this is a gladiator fight). mentions of eugenics. fighting as foreplay. reader may or may not have a blood kink. knife kink??? reader is more refined than feyd but don't let it fool you she's a freak. uuuh hubris? probable inaccurate handling of dune lore, esp with the voice (forgive me for the creative liberty of assuming the mother of the kwisatz haderach should be a freak. as a treat.)

many, many years ago, the sisterhood deems you ready for the gom jabbar. you enter the room, your mother a looming shadow, hands folded in her sleeves, head bowed before a long figure cloaked in shadows.

it doesn’t sit right with you, this intrusion in your mother’s parlor. how dare that old witch make a servant out of your mother in her own house?

“kneel.”

you do. you fall to your knees. before you, a phalto green box. in it, pain. at your neck, the gom jabbar, its deadly poison whispering into your ear.

it tells you about sweet, sweet little death. it tells you the reverend mother will not put your life in danger. not when you’re the culmination of nineteen generations of careful planning.

you are to be married to a harkonnen and bear the kwisatz haderach.

so you raise your head and put your hand in the box, eyes boring into the old crone’s. you see something flash in her depthless eyes. you think of the calm before mother-storms, the stillness of the air before pounding rain.

it’s rage.

pain shoots through your hand. fire that burns and charrs and eats away at your flesh, consuming one layer of skin after another until you’re sure it reaches the bone below. you almost scream. instead, you bite your lip until metal-blood stains your tongue.

you will endure this pain. you will not let fear consume you — you have nothing to fear, you shall not die, not here. fear is the mind killer. pain is the mind killer. you will let it wash over you and face the eons of bene gesserit knowledge standing before you.

through gritted teeth, you ask:

“am i human enough, oh wise one?”

you were. otherwise you wouldn’t be here, years later, rotting in a harkonnen cell.

(there are things that have been kept a secret from you. you have been raised following your mother’s footsteps in the weirding way. the reverend mother denied you a place under her tutelage with harsh words and a harsher look. you’ve caught wind of her thoughts in shimmering fragments of dreams — what has jessica done?)

it will matter, in the end, that your mother decided to give your father a son. already, you’ve seen it, behind the web of your eyelids, the lone silhouette of your brother, blood of your blood, rising, rising.

he will gather them, the fremen, from the burning sands of arrakis, and rise, blade glinting under scorching sun. lisan al gaib, they already call him, hushed whispers lost in the shifting sands of dunes.

your hand falls to your womb, empty still.

they were scared, the bene gesserit. the atreides line was growing too powerful, too fast. you — the promised daughter, skilled in the way, with tongue and mind sharper than your blade — are to be bred and deliver the one.

but in came paul — beloved little mouse of a younger brother. too smart, too observant, too skilled, too much. your mother’s defiance, your mother’s love for your father led her to commit the unthinkable and defy the order.

it retaliated.

you’ve been betrayed. that, you’ve seen coming. so did your father. so did your mother. even your brother felt it, in his very bones, the low thrum of wrongness. something was bound to happen. something was bound to shake you to your very core.

something happened.

the harkonnens came. house atreides fell. you can still smell it, the stench of death, the bloodied sands beneath your feet as you struck and struck.

all must die, and so they did.

you feel it still, the blood coating your hands, your forearms, dripping from your blade, the old scar on your forearm burning righteous fury.

they caught you, in the end. you, who willingly put a target on your back, allowing your brother and mother’s quiet escape. you, beaten down, bloodied. grinning, voice warping the harkonnen rats’ perception.

“you will not see me as i am.”

the atreides have been set up. offering arrakis has been nothing but a convenient way for the emperor to get rid of your bloodline.

you scoff; in the quiet depths of your cell, your fingers dig crescent moons in your palms.

you’ve been taught to read behind veils upon veils of lies. the truthsayer suggested the eradication of your house. painted you a threat.

being able to breed the kwisatz haderach won’t protect you.

so here you are, eldest daughter of duke leto atreides and lady jessica, older sister to paul atreides. here you are, sitting with your back pressed up against the wall. cold seeps into your marrow, reaching bone. rage simmers low in your gut. you quell it. nurse it until it becomes a living beast eager to feast.

you will need it.

your body fails you. your sight is blurry, your hands tremble. they should not. duncan would have hit the back of your head had he been there. he isn’t. (dead.) breathe in. breathe out. focus what’s left of your attention on the too small bowl of food that’s been given to you, on the glass of water. empty, both of them.

poison isn’t a problem — not with your training, not with the constant shifting and turning of lethal molecules within you. there. prana bindu — precise alteration of the body’s vitals. you will bear your condition for a time, weakened, but alive.

you clench your fist and slam it against the wall. pain surges through you, burning through your joint. good. if fear is the mind killer, pain clears the fog clogging your brain.

here goes: you’re rotting in the cell of your hereditary enemy, malnourished and poisoned. you’ve heard the guards, their off handed comments when they thought you too drugged to understand. your cell is below an arena. you will need to fight. perhaps, they’ll pit you against your men. the atreides house, dying by its own hand. fitting.

you’re neck-deep in trouble.

the door slides open. two guards come in, all dressed in black. harkonnens. harkonnens everywhere, and you cannot do a damned thing as they pull you up, pushing you out of your cell. they’re laughing. those bastards are laughing.

one less atreides scum in the known universe — good riddance!

you will tear into them and rip out their spine with your teeth.

they drag you in a maze of hallways, each darker than the last. you’re ascending, a catabasis of twists and turns and sliding doors. there’s a low thrum in your gut. louder and louder with each step is a pulse. a chant. a name.

the guards press a blade in your hand and push you forward.

the door slides up. shadows part. you blink with a low hiss. light pours down on you, all-consuming, blinding. sands stretch before you, unnaturally white.

the arena.

thousands upon thousands of people gaze down at you. the voice surges forward, eons of your foremother speaking through you.

“you will not perceive me as i am.”

something trickles down your nose. blood. you’ve overdone it. the voice isn’t meant to be used against that many people, not for long.

you wipe it off.

it will have to hold for the time of this fight. the harkonnen won’t rest until the atreides are completely and utterly wiped out. deceit is your only chance at survival.

the thought makes your blood boil.

good thing the crowd is screaming for it. they're all screaming for it. a pulse. a chant. a name.

feyd-rautha.

there he is, strong arms spread wide, dual blades stained black, basking in the glorious aftermath of combat. at his feet, atreides soldiers. dead.

you unsheathe your blade, the dull metal grinding against its sheath.

the noise alone has him turning towards you, head tilting to the side. he’s assessing you, na-baron feyd-rautha harkonnen. he glances up. for a split second, you follow his gaze. above, looking down upon you, is baron vladimir harkonnen, gargantuan mass of flesh.

you want him to collapse. to watch as his bones break under the weight of monstrous grease. you make out the movement of his lips.

happy birthday, nephew.

he’s on you before you can react. your blade raises. steel meets steel. you clench your teeth. his strength surpasses yours. you won’t yield, not to him. but by god is the bastard strong. you’ve got your hands full with just parrying his blows, the force of them echoing in your very bones. your feet slide on the sand below. any more and you’ll lose your footing.

his blades meet yours, again and again, their serrated edge slicing the corrupt air of the arena. they slice through you, too. a vicious cut on your bare forearm has you reeling back, your blade and sheath raising to parry.

this is bad. there’s only so much you can deal with in your decrepit state. fighting to survive isn’t an option — you must kill or be killed.

you draw in a sharp breath.

watchful eyes bore down upon you. bene gesserit. the reverend mother herself has come to geidi prime.

something at your side — you let your guard down. there’s a flash, a metallic clang. feyd-rautha gazes down upon you, apex predator with your death written in the greedy sands of the arena. here, you’re precious prey.

rage grips you by the throat and has you baring your teeth.

there you are, blades intertwined with harkonnen scum, a breath away from his lips. they part in a slow, assessing grin. you feel more than you see his appraising gaze raking over you. you, unyielding, matching him blow for blow, blood drip drip dripping down. under the black sun of geidi prime, it, too, has turned a velvety black.

from above your crossed blades, you raise your head and meet his eyes — twin pools of dark, abysses made to consume you whole. time slows down. you want to drown in the marrow of him and feel the warmth of his flesh beneath yours, lost in rapturous agony. something settles in your gut, low and warm.

you call it fury.

you pivot out of the way and nick him, a thin cut splitting open the skin of his cheek. he laughs. slashes at you with deathly precision. you duck, squatting down, leg springing forth, slamming at the back of his knee. he falls. catches you by the ankle and drags you to him.

you snarl.

“let go.”

how utterly pathetic of you. his grip falters. you hear his blades fall to the ground. you twist, pivot until you’re straddling him, blade pressed against his throat.

there you have it. internal carotid, right below the sculpted edge of his jaw. five minutes until death. five minutes, with his lifeblood coating your hands, soaking your robes, sinking down to your skin beneath.

your hand cramps on the handle of your weapon, in a mockery of rigor mortis. nervous impulse. the tip of the blade pierces tender flesh, drawing a droplet of blood. you follow its path down the column of his flesh, until it reaches the edge of his collarbone.

his hands surges forward, seizing your forearm in a vice grip, yanking you towards him. you feel his breath on your lips with his next words.

“do it.”

his voice sends a shiver down your spine. low, gravelly, it calls for blood. if you don’t spill his, yours will be drawn. yet, you do not move, eyes riveted to his face, to the vicious impatience carved in his features. if you kill him, you’ll be hunted and put down like a dog.

he shifts under you, the nervous twitch of a beast untamed. even through the hard edges of his ritual armor, you can feel the raw power of him.

you feel his thumb trace the edge of an old scar, up, up your forearm, a flash of black teeth and then—

pain.

there’s something in your side, serrated, razor-sharp, twisting. your hand raises to your side. warmth trickles down your fingers. his hand wraps over yours, warm, blood a silky black against the porcelain of his skin.

he watches you, twisting the blade until yours fall to the ground, bloodied hand coming up to your cheek. you lean into it. welcome him, as his thumb smears blood across the edge of your parted lips.

“you fought well, atreides.”

he pulls out the blade.

you fall.

taglist: @kpopnstarwars @jaiuneamesolitaiire

#obticeo writes #dune #dune part two #feyd rautha #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x y/n #feyd rautha x you #@space boo you have inspired me i dedicate this to u #and the bald freak #gotta perpetuate the tradition

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