#Dark!Marcus Acacius

[oceandolores]

ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔦𝔬𝔫 | chapter I

General Marcus Acacius x f!reader

"in her eyes shone the sweetness of melancholy."

summary: In the grandeur of ancient Rome, you are the secret daughter of Commodus, living a quiet life as a servant in the imperial palace. Everything changes when you meet General Marcus Acacius, Rome’s honorable and stoic leader.

Though devoted to duty and loyalty to the princess, Marcus is drawn to you in a way he cannot ignore. A forbidden passion ignites between you both, and an affair begins—one that threatens the very foundation of loyalty, power, and honor. As you fall deeper into your dangerous love for Marcus, each stolen moment becomes a fragile, dangerous secret.

warnings: 18+ only, 14 YEARS AFTER GLADIATOR 1, ANGST, Fluff, A LOT OF SMUT, Unprotected Sex, Exhibition Kink, Age-Gap, Ancient Rome, mentions of violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Politics, Sexism, Forbidden Love, Loss of Virginity, mentions of death, Innocent and pure reader, Loss of virginity, Infidelity, more warnings will be added throughout the story

Chapter I

masterlist!

next | chapter II

The palace is alive with preparation, a beast of marble and gold that never rests. Its veins are the labyrinthine halls, pulsing with servants like you, carrying trays of delicacies, wreaths of flowers, and jugs of wine.

Its heart beats to the rhythm of whispered orders, clinking metal, and the distant echo of the marketplace beyond its gates. Tonight, the beast awakens for another feast.

You adjust the folds of your simple tunic, careful not to brush against the elaborate tapestries that line the walls. Each thread tells a story of conquest, glory, and power—legends you’ve only heard murmured by those old enough to remember.

You are not part of those tales, nor their lineage. You are a servant, a shadow cast by the towering figures who walk these halls.

The kitchen is a tempest. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meats, fresh bread, and sweet figs. Claudia, the head cook, barks orders, her voice slicing through the chaos like the edge of a Roman gladius.

You pass her with a nod, your arms laden with trays of fruit—gleaming apples, plump grapes, the kind of bounty the common people outside these walls could only dream of.

Livia catches your eye from across the room. Her presence is a steady anchor in the storm, her face worn but kind.

“Have you checked the wine?” she asks, her tone soft but urgent.

You nod. “It’s ready, Mother,” you reply, the word slipping out as naturally as breath.

She is not your mother—you know this much—but she is all you have.

The story of how you came to be here is one you’ve heard countless times: a baby abandoned at the servants' chamber door, cradled in a basket of woven reeds, with nothing to mark your origin save for a scrap of fine cloth that no one in your station would dare to own.

Livia found you there, swaddled in whispers of mystery, and against all odds, she chose to keep you.

Raised among the laboring hands of the palace, you were given no privilege beyond survival and no legacy but that of work.

The great marble halls and gilded frescoes became your entire world, a place as eternal and unmoving as the gods themselves—or so it seemed.

The servants’ quarters where you lived were nestled in the hidden bowels of the palace, far from the glittering feasts and marble statues.

You learned to scrub floors and pour wine long before you understood the language of wealth and power that filled these walls.

Your life had been carved out in the shadows, molded by the soft voices and calloused hands of those who raised you.

Today, like every other, begins in service to Rome's ever-churning hunger for spectacle.

The air hums with anticipation, thick with the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine, a stark contrast to the stench of poverty that lingers just beyond the palace gates.

“Are the platters for the atrium ready?” Livia’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“They are,” you reply, glancing at the polished silver laden with grapes and apples, their skins shining like jewels under the torchlight.

“Good.” Livia’s sharp eyes soften, though her expression remains tense. “Take the fruit out yourself. And stay close to the kitchen. Today will bring trouble, I feel it.”

You nod, understanding the weight of her instincts. Years of serving in the palace have taught her to sense the storm before it strikes.

As you lift the platters, Claudia, calls over her daughter, Alexandra.

“Go with her,” Claudia orders, waving a ladle for emphasis.

Alexandra groans dramatically but obeys, rolling her eyes as she grabs one of the platters.

“She can’t let me rest for a moment,” she mutters, her tone more amused than annoyed.

You chuckle softly. Alexandra has always been like this—bold where you are cautious, quick to speak where you stay silent.

She is your only true companion here, older by four years and infinitely more daring.

As you and Alexandra arrange the fruits on a grand table in the atrium, she leans closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “The Princess will be here tonight.”

You nod absently, focused on ensuring the grapes cascade just so. “Of course, she will. She is the Princess after all.”

“No, I mean, I haven’t seen her in years,” Alexandra continues, ignoring your tone. “Not since I was a kid. That was ten years ago. You know she moved out of the palace after marrying the general.”

You don’t reply immediately, your hands steady as you arrange the fruit. Alexandra has always loved to gossip, but you prefer to keep your thoughts unspoken.

“Can you believe it’s been ten years, and she hasn’t had a child? Not one with him,” Alexandra muses.

“Maybe it’s their choice,” you say quietly. “It’s not our place to wonder.”

Alexandra scoffs lightly. “I’m just saying, after her son—what was his name? Lucius?—after he was taken and killed by her brother, Commodus…” She trails off, her voice tinged with something between pity and fascination.

You remember Lucius vaguely, a boy with a quiet demeanor and a sad smile.

You were too young then to understand the weight of his loss, but the servants whispered of curses and tragedies surrounding the imperial family.

“It’s not good to talk about the great emperors like that,” you murmur, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Before Alexandra can reply, the sound of heavy boots echoes through the atrium.

The guards step forward, their polished armor glinting in the firelight. “Make way for their majesties,” one announces, his voice carrying over the growing murmur of the guests.

You and Alexandra immediately bow your heads, the platters forgotten as the twin emperors enter the room.

Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla are a study in contrasts.

Geta, an imposing figure, commands the space with a cold and calculating gaze. His every step seems deliberate, as if the weight of the empire rests on his shoulders alone.

Caracalla, by contrast, walks with an erratic energy, his pet monkey perched on his shoulder. Dondus, the creature’s name, chatters and hisses, a mirror of its master’s unpredictable moods.

You feel the weight of their gazes as they sweep the room. Geta’s lips curl into a smile—or is it a smirk?—as his eyes linger on Alexandra.

There have been whispers, rumors of an affair, though Alexandra denies them with a laugh.

Caracalla’s gaze lands on you, and for a moment, his expression softens. Unlike his brother, he has always been strange but oddly kind to you.

When you were a child, he would find you in the halls, offering you small trinkets or asking you to keep him company.

“Your Majesties,” Alexandra says again, her voice like honeyed wine, sweet but strong.

She curtsies with practiced ease, her eyes cast downward, yet her boldness hangs in the air, unspoken but palpable.

You follow her lead, bowing deeply, but your heart pounds in your chest like the war drums of a distant legion. In the presence of the emperors, the room feels smaller, the air heavier.

To serve Rome, you think, is to breathe in the will of its rulers, no matter how suffocating.

Geta's gaze lingers on Alexandra, traveling from her head to her feet, as though she were a statue he might commission or a possession he already owns.

His smirk deepens, the corner of his mouth curving with an indulgence that unsettles you.

“Alexandra,” he drawls, his voice smooth as polished bronze. “Why do I find the table half-dressed? Are my guests to dine on the promise of fruit alone?”

You glance at the platters, perfectly arranged but not yet fully adorned with the remaining dishes. Your pulse quickens; you know the punishment for displeasing the emperors can be swift, unpredictable.

But Alexandra, bold as always, doesn’t flinch.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty,” she says, her tone measured yet edged with defiance. “The final trays are being brought out as we speak. The delay was unforeseen.”

Geta arches a brow, his smirk turning sharper, more dangerous. “Unforeseen,” he repeats, as though savoring the word.

“I wonder, Alexandra, if you’ve grown too accustomed to... distractions.”

You know the meaning behind his words. Everyone does.

The whispered rumors of their affair swirl through the palace like incense smoke, clinging to every corner.

Her mother Claudia knows, though she turns a blind eye, perhaps thinking it wiser not to provoke the wrath of an emperor.

Beside him, Caracalla shifts, uninterested in the exchange. His pet monkey, Dondus, chitters softly on his shoulder, its small, beady eyes scanning the room.

Caracalla’s gaze falls on you briefly, but it is not unkind. He has always been more erratic than cruel with you, there is a peculiar understanding in his glances—a shared knowledge of solitude.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty,” you say suddenly, your voice trembling like a bird caught in a net. The words tumble out before you can stop them, and the weight of the room shifts.

Geta’s eyes snap to you, sharp as a blade. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake.

But then he laughs—a low, indulgent sound that sends shivers down your spine.

“Ah,” he says, leaning slightly toward you. “The little dove finds her voice. How curious.”

You stiffen under his gaze, your knees threatening to buckle. It feels as though he is peeling back your very skin, seeking something hidden beneath.

“You’re the youngest servant here, aren’t you?” Geta muses, his tone light but with an edge that cuts.

“A curious creature, so quiet and unassuming. And yet…” He trails off, his eyes narrowing, as if piecing together a puzzle.

The weight of unspoken rumors presses against your chest.

The whispers about your lineage, the murmurs that you are more than a servant—that you are the illegitimate daughter of Commodus himself, a shadow of Rome’s bloody past.

You’ve heard them before, though never directly. Livia, your steadfast mother in all but blood, dismisses them as lies, the gossip of bored tongues.

But in moments like this, when Geta’s piercing gaze locks onto yours, it feels as though the marble walls around you whisper secrets only they can hold.

Secrets of your origin, of what blood may or may not flow through your veins, encased in the silent austerity of Rome’s cold embrace. You feel the weight of it, a shroud both invisible and suffocating.

Geta doesn’t believe the rumors entirely, but he cannot ignore them either. To him, you are a thorn he cannot pluck without proof.

If the whispers are true, if you are indeed the hidden scion of Commodus and the only living grandchild of Marcus Aurelius, you would be a danger to his rule.

Rome, after all, has loved its Aurelius lineage fiercely.

The plebeians would rally to your name like vines twisting toward sunlight.

Still, no woman has ever ruled Rome.

The Senate, the soldiers, and the gods themselves would balk at such a notion. But Geta knows that power is not always rooted in precedent—it is rooted in the hearts of the people.

And the people would love a descendant of Marcus Aurelius far more than they could ever love him.

“You wear the palace well,” Geta says finally, his tone dripping with mockery. “A little too well, perhaps.”

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks but keep your gaze respectfully lowered. His words are like serpents coiling around you, their venom lying just beneath the surface.

Caracalla hums softly, breaking the tension. He strokes Dondus, the little monkey perched on his shoulder, as though soothing himself rather than the animal.

“Leave her, brother,” he mutters, his tone flat but carrying weight. “You scare the child.”

Geta casts his twin a glance, his smirk briefly faltering. With that, he straightens, clapping his hands once in finality. “Finish the table,” he commands, the sharpness of his tone slicing through the room.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” you and Alexandra reply in unison, bowing deeply as the emperors turn and walk away.

Their robes ripple like molten gold, catching the light as though the gods themselves had woven the fabric.

The moment they are gone, you exhale shakily, the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding slipping from your lips.

The grandeur of the palace, so often a thing of wonder, now feels oppressive—a prison of marble and ambition.

Alexandra nudges you gently, her smile faint but reassuring. “It’s fine,” she murmurs, though the tightness in her voice betrays her unease.

You nod and return to your work, the routine motions of arranging platters grounding you once more. But the unease lingers, like a storm cloud that refuses to dissipate.

Later, after the feast preparations are complete, you retreat to the servants’ quarters. The hallways grow quieter as the palace begins to prepare for the night’s debauchery.

Your mother, Livia, finds you there, her expression tight with concern.

“Are you all right?” You nod quickly, not wanting to worry her further.

Livia’s sharp eyes search yours for a moment before she exhales heavily. “Stay away from them tonight,” she warns. “There will be soldiers, senators, politicians—men who think they own the world. And women and men from the brothels to entertain them. It will not be a place for a child like you.”

“I understand,” you say softly, though the thought of the gathering makes your skin prickle.

"Go to your chamber and stay there.” You nod, obedient as always, and Livia cups your face briefly before bustling away.

But as you walk toward your chamber, the stillness of the afternoon draws you elsewhere.

***

The sun bathes the palace gardens in a golden light, soft and warm, like an embrace from the gods themselves.

The sky is a flawless stretch of azure, and the air carries the faintest scent of blooming jasmine.

Unable to resist, you veer toward the gardens, seeking solace in their quiet beauty.

You make your way to the small pond at the edge of the grounds, where the world feels simpler, untouched by the weight of marble columns and imperial decrees.

This is your sanctuary, a place you’ve tended with your own hands.

The hedges are trimmed neatly, the flowers arranged in bursts of vibrant color—crimson roses, golden marigolds, and pale violets that seem to glow in the sunlight.

The pond reflects the sky like polished glass, its surface rippling gently in the breeze.

You settle onto the cool stone bench nearby, pulling out a small parchment and charcoal.

Writing has always been your escape, a way to make sense of the labyrinth that is your mind.

The words flow from you like water from a spring, each line capturing fragments of your thoughts and fears.

To live in the shadow of gods is to forget the warmth of the sun.

You stare at the words you’ve written, sentences about Rome and its people, the empire’s endless hunger that devours the poor while the rulers gorge themselves on the spoils.

It isn’t rebellion that drives you—at least, not yet—but a quiet, gnawing sense of wrongness.

You have lived your entire life within the confines of this palace, its gilded walls both a sanctuary and a prison.

Outside, beyond the Forum and its grand marble temples, the streets of Rome teem with despair. You’ve seen it, fleeting glimpses on the rare occasions you ventured beyond the palace gates.

Children with hollow eyes and grime-streaked faces.

Men broken by war or taxation, their shoulders bowed under invisible yokes.

Women clutching bundles of rags that you realized, with a sick lurch, were infants too still to be alive.

These thoughts weigh heavily on you as you sit by the pond, the garden’s beauty unable to shield you from the world’s harsh truths.

You lower your quill, pressing trembling fingers to your lips, when the sound of approaching footsteps pulls you sharply from your thoughts.

You stiffen, the air in your lungs turning to stone. It isn’t one of the servants; their steps are lighter, quicker.

This tread is deliberate, measured, carrying a weight of authority. When you glance up, your breath catches.

The man before you is not adorned with the opulence of the Senate nor the ostentatious silk of the emperors.

You know who he is. How could you not?

General Marcus Acacius.

Rome’s shield and sword, the hero of distant campaigns whose name is whispered with both reverence and fear.

You have never seen him in the flesh, for he seldom resides in the palace, choosing instead to live with Princess Lucilla far from its labyrinth of intrigue.

But his likeness is everywhere: etched in marble statues, painted in frescoes, immortalized as Rome’s protector.

Yet, here he stands, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if the gods themselves have sent him.

The crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders glints faintly in the golden light, its hem embroidered with intricate patterns that seem to tell the story of the empire’s conquests.

His tunic, simple yet stately, is cinched with a polished belt, a gleaming buckle bearing the proud insignia of the wolf of Rome.

Unlike the ornamental decadence of the Senate or the twin emperors, his attire speaks of purpose and practicality—beauty tempered by utility.

And his face—by Jupiter, his beautiful face.

It is a map of victories and sacrifices, weathered yet noble. The lines carved by years of sun and battle only enhance the sharpness of his features, as if the gods had personally molded him for their own designs.

His hair, dark and streaked with silver like the gleam of moonlight on a blade, curls faintly at his temples.

His beard, neatly trimmed, frames a mouth set in the hard line of a man who has spoken a thousand commands and swallowed a thousand regrets.

But it is his eyes that strike you most: deep, piercing, soulful-brown eyes.

They are the eyes of a man who has seen the best and worst of humanity and bears the weight of both.

Your breath catches as his gaze sweeps over you, taking in the sight of a young servant clutching a parchment like a shield.

He regards you with a sharp, assessing gaze, his eyes like iron tempered in fire—unyielding yet reflective.

His presence is commanding, a gravity that draws everything into its orbit. You are struck by how different he is from the emperors.

Where Geta and Caracalla exude indulgence and cruelty, Acacius carries himself with the disciplined grace of a man who has known the weight of true responsibility.

“Not many choose the gardens for their thoughts,” he says, his voice deep, steady, and tinged with curiosity.

It is a soldier’s voice, devoid of the honeyed pretense of courtiers.

You scramble to your feet, clutching your parchment to your chest. “General,” you manage, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

He raises a hand, the gesture more commanding than any shout. “At ease,” he says, a faint flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—crossing his face. “You are Livia's daughter?"

His question hangs in the air like the distant clang of a bell. You nodded, your name feels small in your mouth when you finally say it, barely audible against the rustling of the garden’s leaves.

Acacius nods, as though filing the information away. His eyes flick to the parchment in your hands. “A poet?”

You hesitate, “I... I write, sometimes. Thoughts.”

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming yet strangely grounding. He does not reach for the parchment, but his gaze lingers on it as though he could read its contents by sheer will alone.

“Thoughts on Rome, perhaps?” he asks.

His tone is even, but there is an edge to it, a subtle weight that suggests he already knows the answer.

Your throat tightens. To speak of the empire’s flaws to a general of its armies feels like standing on the edge of a blade.

Yet something in his bearing—a quiet patience, a restrained curiosity—compels you to answer honestly.

“Yes,” you admit softly. “About Rome. And its people.”

Acacius’s expression shifts almost imperceptibly, a shadow crossing his face. He looks away, toward the pond, his gaze distant now, as if seeing not the still water but something far beyond it.

“The people,” he repeats, almost to himself. “The heart of Rome. And yet, the heart is always the first to be sacrificed.”

The words are spoken quietly, but they carry the weight of experience, of battles fought not just with swords but with conscience.

You watch him, your earlier fear now replaced by a cautious curiosity.

"Do you... believe that?" you venture, your voice barely above a whisper, the words trembling like a fledgling bird daring its first flight.

Marcus halts, his crimson cloak swaying like the banner of a legion stilled in the wind.

He turns to you, his eyes—sharp as a polished gladius—softening for the briefest moment, as if your question has reached a part of him long buried under layers of duty and steel.

“Belief,” he begins, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of a man who has lived lifetimes in service to an empire, “is a luxury in the life of a soldier. I deal in action, not faith. But I have seen enough to know that Rome’s strength lies not in its emperors, but in its people. And we are failing them.”

The honesty in his words strikes you like the tolling of a great bronze bell, reverberating through the quiet garden and deep into your chest.

It is not what you expected from a man like him—a hero to some, a sword-arm to the empire—but here he stands, speaking not as a general but as a man, his voice laced with something unguarded. Regret, perhaps. Or hope—fragile and faint, but alive nonetheless.

“Do you believe in Rome, little one?” His question falls like a stone into still waters, and you startle, unprepared to have the conversation turned toward you.

“I—” Your words falter, and you look down at your hands, clutching the parchment that now feels like an accusation.

But then, something inside you stirs—something that refuses to shrink back beneath the weight of his gaze.

You lift your eyes to meet his, the courage in your chest kindled like a flame drawn from embers.

“I believe in what Rome could be,” you reply, your voice steadier now.

“I believe in the Rome that lives in the hearts of its people—the ones who work its fields, who build its roads, who kneel at its altars not out of fear, but out of love. That is the Rome worth fighting for. But the Rome I see now…” Your throat tightens, but you press on.

“...has forgotten its people. It worships marble statues and golden coins while the streets crumble and the people starve. How can an empire endure when its foundation is so neglected?”

Your words spill forth, unchecked and unmeasured, and it is only when you see the faintest flicker of something in his expression—respect, perhaps, or surprise—that you remember who stands before you.

The weight of your boldness sinks in like a gladiator realizing they’ve overstepped in the arena.

“Forgive me, General,” you murmur, lowering your gaze. “I forgot myself.”

But Marcus shakes his head, a wry smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “Do not apologize,” he says, his tone gentler now, though no less commanding.

“You are young, but your words carry the wisdom of one who has not yet been corrupted by power. Few speak with such clarity, and fewer still with such courage.”

His gaze lingers on you, searching, and you feel it like the sun breaking through storm clouds.

“You remind me,” he says, his voice quieter, almost reverent, “of someone. He believed, as you do, in the strength of Rome’s people. He would sit in gardens much like this one, speaking of justice and duty, and wonder aloud whether the empire could ever live up to its ideals.”

Your heart quickens, the weight of his words settling over you like the cloak of a goddess.

The way Marcus looks at you—as though he sees not the servant, but the soul beneath—makes you feel for a fleeting moment.

“I am no philosopher,” you say softly, your fingers tightening on the parchment. “But it is hard to remain silent when I see so much suffering.”

“A Roman citizen has every right to speak of their empire’s failings,” he says, stepping closer now.

“Do not mistake me for a politician, child. I am a soldier. My loyalty is to Rome—not to the men who rule it."

You nod, the words settling over you like a cloak woven of both gravity and reassurance.

The air between you feels charged, alive with the kind of understanding that is rarely spoken but deeply felt.

You watch him, his form cast in the golden hues of the setting sun, the crimson of his cloak vivid against the muted greens of the garden.

There is something about him that draws you—not merely his reputation, not the legends whispered in the palace halls of his valor and victories, but him.

The man behind the titles and statues.

You swallow, your heart a restless bird in your chest. You should not linger, not with him, not now.

And yet, you find yourself unable to walk away.

Words rise to your lips, hesitant at first, but then they spill forth, tentative and careful, like a child offering a wildflower to a god.

“Forgive me, my lord, but shouldn’t you be inside?” you say, your voice trembling under the weight of its boldness. “The palace is bustling with your celebration—wishing you fortune for your campaign, for Rome’s glory.”

He turns his gaze to you, the faintest flicker of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “Rome’s glory,” he repeats, as though tasting the phrase on his tongue, finding it bitter.

He lets out a soft chuckle, low and warm, a sound that feels oddly out of place amidst the solemn grandeur of the garden. “Let them feast. Let them toast. I’ve no appetite for gilded words tonight.”

You blink, surprised by his candor. He is not what you imagined—not the marble statue immortalized in the Forum or the hardened general whose name echoes in the chants of soldiers. He is… more human than that.

“I’m waiting for my wife,” he adds, his tone casual, though his eyes seem to linger on you as if measuring your reaction.

Princess Lucilla.

The name hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of legend. Rome’s Princess. The only daughter of Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor. You’ve never met her, though her shadow looms large over your life.

“She was delayed,” he continues, glancing toward the palace, though his stance is relaxed, unhurried.

Princess Lucilla, her legend precedes her, a name spoken with reverence, and sometimes, in hushed tones, with fear.

Your mother, Livia, has served her since she was but a girl.

Livia, who moves through the world with a quiet dignity, has always spoken of the princess with unwavering loyalty. “She carries Rome on her shoulders,” your mother would say, her voice tinged with both pride and sorrow. “The weight of a crown rests on her brow, even though it does not sit there.”

Your thoughts drift, but his voice pulls you back to the present.

“Your mother,” Marcus says, his tone shifting to something softer, more contemplative, “she’s a loyal servant to our household, isn’t she?”

You nod, feeling a strange warmth rise to your cheeks. “She is, my lord. My mother adores the princess. She always speaks highly of her.”

At this, Marcus smiles faintly. His expression, though guarded, carries a warmth that feels rare, as if he’s allowing himself a brief reprieve from his usual stoicism.

“Livia is wise, then. Lucilla is… more than most know. Rome sees her as Marcus Aurelius’ daughter, but to me—” He pauses, his voice lowering to something almost reverent.

“She is a woman of strength, far greater than any man I’ve known. Her loyalty to Rome and its people… it humbles me.”

For a fleeting moment, his mask of a hardened general slips, and you glimpse something deeper.

A man bound not just by duty but by love.

His words hang in the air, gilded with affection, and you feel a pang of longing, though for what, you cannot say.

“I’ve never met her,” you admit, your voice quieter now.

He turns to you, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “Lucilla?”

You nod, feeling suddenly self-conscious beneath his scrutiny. “I’ve only heard stories. My mother always told me about her strength, her grace. But we’ve never crossed paths.”

Marcus regards you for a long moment, as if seeing something in you he had not noticed before. “She would like you,” he says at last, his voice steady, though something lingers in his tone, a note of intrigue.

“Are you coming to the feast tonight?” he asks, the question catching you off guard.

You hesitate, glancing toward the palace where the distant hum of celebration filters through the evening air. “Servants are not permitted to attend such events, my lord,” you say, lowering your gaze. “I am only a servant after all,"

His brows furrow slightly, as if the answer displeases him. “Rome is built on the backs of those it calls servants. Do not diminish yourself.”

You blink, unsure of how to respond. There’s a weight in his words, one that feels both heavy and freeing.

Before he can say more, hurried footsteps echo through the garden. You turn, and there stands Alexandra, one of the palace attendants, her expression tight with worry.

“My lord,” she says, bowing her head quickly as her wide eyes catch sight of Marcus.

The respect is immediate, almost reflexive. General Acacius commands not just authority but admiration.

Men respect him, but women… they speak of him in hushed tones, a figure both distant and impossibly magnetic.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” Alexandra continues, her voice trembling slightly under the weight of his gaze. “Your mother is looking for you,"

Marcus looks at you, his expression softening. He steps aside, the movement graceful despite his formidable frame, as though making room for your escape.

"Tell Livia my apologies for keeping her daughter here," he says, his voice low yet deliberate, as though each word is a promise carved in stone.

His gaze lingers on you, longer than it should, and it feels as though he is reading something beyond the surface—a map of your heart, perhaps, etched in the lines of your face.

For a moment, the world narrows to just this: the garden bathed in the golden light of a setting sun, the faint murmur of the distant feast, and the weight of his eyes, heavy yet strangely gentle.

There is something about you, his expression seems to say—something unspoken but undeniable.

You feel it too, a spark that flickers to life beneath the layers of duty, expectation, and fear.

“I’ll see you at the feast tonight,” he says, the words more a statement than an invitation, leaving little room for protest.

There is a finality to his tone, yet also a quiet insistence that stirs something within you.

Before you can respond, he dips his head ever so slightly—a gesture of respect, or perhaps acknowledgment—before turning and striding away, his crimson cloak flowing like a banner in his wake.

You bow reflexively, watching him disappear into the shadowed corridors of the palace, his figure swallowed by the grandeur of Rome itself.

Yet even as he leaves, his presence lingers, an echo in the air, a weight in your chest.

As soon as the sound of his footsteps fades, Alexandra is at your side, her face alight with barely contained awe.

“Was that… the general?” she whispers, her voice tinged with something between disbelief and reverence.

“Yes,” you reply, though your own voice feels distant, as though it belongs to someone else. Your thoughts are still tethered to the garden, to the quiet intensity of his gaze.

“By the gods,” she breathes, clutching your arm as though you might disappear. “He’s… he’s even more handsome up close.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Careful, Ale,” you chide gently, though there’s no malice in your words.

“I’ve heard so much about him,” she continues, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“About his loyalty to Maximus Decimus Meridius—the late general—and how he served under him during the great campaigns. They say he adored the princess even then. Some even whisper that his loyalty to Maximus was why he stayed so close to her after his death, marrying her to protect her.”

You glance at her, your brow furrowing slightly. “You know far too much for someone who spends their days in the laundry.”

She grins, unrepentant. “The laundry is where all the palace’s secrets come to dry.”

You shake your head, though her words gnaw at the edges of your mind.

You’ve heard the stories too, in bits and pieces from the older servants: tales of Lucilla’s love affair with Maximus, and Marcus’s steadfast devotion not only to his commander but to the empire itself.

A marriage born of loyalty, they say, not love. And yet, there’s something in the way Marcus spoke of Lucilla earlier that makes you wonder.

As Alexandra chatters on, her words a tide of gossip and speculation, your thoughts drift back to Marcus.

To the way he stood in the garden, his form framed by the soft glow of the setting sun. To the depth in his eyes, like wells carved by the gods themselves—deep enough to drown in, and yet you couldn’t look away.

You feel a strange restlessness in your chest, a stirring you can’t quite name. It isn’t admiration, nor fear, but something more complicated. Something heavier.

Marcus is unlike anyone you’ve ever known—unlike the indulgent senators with their honeyed words, unlike the cruel twin emperors whose laughter carries the sting of a whip.

He is a man of iron and fire, tempered by years of battle, yet beneath that hardened exterior lies something softer. Something… human.

And perhaps that’s what unsettles you most.

You’ve spent your life surrounded by women: your mother, Livia, with her quiet strength and unshakable loyalty; the other servants, who taught you to navigate the palace’s labyrinthine halls.

Men were distant figures, their power felt but never seen up close. Fathers, you’ve only heard about in stories—abstract concepts, not flesh and blood.

But Marcus is no abstraction.

He is real, tangible, a presence that feels larger than life yet undeniably mortal.

To see him, to feel him, is to glimpse a side of the world you’ve never known—a world shaped not by whispered orders or silent sacrifices, but by action, by conviction, by the weight of decisions made on the edge of a blade.

You shake your head, trying to banish the thoughts, but they cling to you like the scent of blooming jasmine in the garden. “It’s nothing,” you tell yourself, though your heart betrays you with its restless rhythm.

“Nothing at all,” you murmur, though even the words feel like a lie.

[romancherry]

caged in silk (2) – escape attempt

pairings ➝ dark!joel miller x dark!javier peña x dark!marcus acacius x female!reader

summary ➝ your escape attempt fails. after they bring you back, marcus punishes you himself.

warnings ➝ smut, spanking, dark!fic, manhandling, aftercare, 18+, MINORS: DO NOT INTERACT.

word count ➝ 2.940

author's note ➝ hi again! came back with a longer chapter for this series. hope you like it and if there are any warnings i forgot to include, please nudge me 🩷

do NOT repost, reupload, translate or plagiarize my work.

you don't know when you started planning it. maybe it was after one of joel's suffocating lectures about how dangerous the outside world is, or after javier kissed your forehead and whispered a honeyed threat in your ear, "don't run, cariño. it won't end well for you." maybe it was when marcus gripped your wrist just a little too harshly, his cold eyes telling you that resistance was pointless.

but you refuse to accept this life with these sick men.

so, you wait. you watch. you memorize their schedules.

the way joel double-checks the locks but gets sloppy when he drinks.

the way javier smokes out on the porch at night, lost in his own thoughts.

the way marcus dissapears for hours at a time (thankfully – he's the hardest and scariest to deal with).

then, finally, your chance comes.

joel's passed out on the couch, whiskey bottle loose in his grip. javier is in the backyard, smoking a cigarette and distracted by a phone call. marcus is gone.

now or never.

you move quickly, heart hammering as you unlock the front door, slipping barefoot into the night. the cold air bites at your skin, but you don't stop. you run; past the old fence, the trees. past the point where they ever let you go alone.

and for a while, you feel free. but not safe.

you make endless plans for when you arrive in the city. where it's safest to go, who to approach, how you should behave in order for someone to take you seriously.

you follow the road religiously. you run, and when your legs almost give out, you stop running and instead walk as fast as you can. always looking back, checking your surroundings and hoping for a car to stop by and save you.

you do hear a car. a truck engine, roaring in the distance. tires kicking up dirt. headlights slicing through the darkness.

your stomach drops.

you push yourself harder, lungs burning, but it's useless. the truck skids to a stop in front of you, cutting off your path. the door swings open, and joel steps out first. he looks... devastated.

"goddamn it," he breathes, raking a hand down his face. "why'd you do this, baby? why'd you make us come after you?"

javier is next. he doesn't say anything at first; just leans against the truck, watching you. when he finally speaks, his voice is too soft.

"you really didn't think this through, hm? did you, cariño?" he pauses to light up a cigarette, the stress evident on his furrowing eyebrows and tense stance. he looks like he held his breath the entire trip and finally relaxed when he saw you in flesh and bone.

and then there's marcus. he looks so fucking angry, dissapointed. he looks at you, slow and deliberate, like he's already planning your punishment.

when he takes a few more steps towards you, you shake your head, turn around and make a useless run from it. tears fall when joel grabs you, his arms caging you in, crushing you against his chest as he shushes your frantic cries.

"shh, baby. it's over now. we got you. we always got you."

javier moves in next, tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at him. his fingers are gentle, but his eyes burn.

"tell me," he murmurs, "who put these stupid ideas in your pretty little head? hm? who made you think you had a choice?"

you don't answer. you can't.

"you see, sweetheart, you broke joel's heart tonight. you dissapointed me too. but most importantly, you made marcus very, veeery angry," he points a finger towards him and your lip trembles in fear as your eyes follow. "and you know what happens when marcus is angry, don't you?"

as you close your eyes and more tears fall on your cheek, you barely flinch when javier hesitates before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

he remains at your level as he whispers, "i can't promise he'll be gentle, sweetheart. but i can promise that next time, you'll think twice about running away."

---

they don't take you back right away.

joel is still holding you, his grip tight enough to bruise, his heart pounding against your back. javier is standing so close you can feel the heat of his body. and marcus hasn't stopped watching you, his sharp, assessing gaze taking in every little shake, flinch and desperate breath.

you feel cornered, trapped. because you are.

joel exhales sharply, his fingers tightening around your arms. "you scared the hell outta me," he mutters, his voice shaking. he turns you around, forcing you to face him. his expression is tight, his jaw clenched.

"you coulda got yourself hurt. you coulda died. or worse – someone else, a bad man, coulda taken you 'way from us. do terrible things to ya. that what ya wan', doll? don't we treat ya good enough?"

"fuck. you." you snarl before spitting in joel's face.

you don't get a chance to see the anger on his face because he hauls you over his shoulder so suddenly it makes your head spin.

you scream, thrashing against his hold, but it's useless.

javier laughs, "guess we're doin' this the hard way, huh?"

---

the ride back is suffocating. you sit between joel and javier in the back of the truck, your legs trembling and your hands curled into fists. marcus drives, his grip steady on the wheel, saying nothing. he doesn't even glance back at you. not even once.

joel keeps an arm around you, pressing you against his side, his other hand resting on your thigh.

javier says nothing. keeps his mouth shut for once and decides to glance at the surrounding views through the window.

when you get inside the house, the atmosphere shifts. it's heavy. tense.

javier clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "now what do we do with you, cariño?"

joel sighs, dropping on the couch and rubbing his forehead. "she needs to learn."

marcus finally speaks. "she will."

that's the only warning before you get shoved against the wall by marcus. your head got hit so abruptly you felt like your conciousness was slipping between your fingers. there's no sweet talking your way out of this. no escaping.

"what were you fucking thinking, huh?"

"marcus," javier warns carefully.

"no," he bites back at his younger brother. "she needs a fuckin' lesson."

"i... i just wante-"

"to leave?" marcus interrupts.

you swallow. nod.

marcus lets out a humorless laugh. "that ain't ever gonna happen, stupid girl. you're ours," he ranks a hand through your hair, his touch so soft it almost makes you want to lean into it. but this guy is a fucking psychopath, worse than his two brothers. he barely talks, but when he does, he switches between different personalities so quickly you can barely process his intentions.

"you should be thankin' us. we gave you an escape ticket from the shithole you called living, and brought you to fucking paradise," he leans in towards your ear and practically screams the last two words, his voice hurting your brain. "ain't that right, boys?"

joel rises from the couch and comes next to marcus to graze his thumb from the apple of your cheek to your bottom lip, stroking it carefully and not liking the way a small amount of blood seeps through the chapped borders of your pouty lip. his eyebrows are furrowed in concern but his gaze remains stern. "he's right, doll."

a short moment of infuriating silence occurs. you study marcus' gaze and by the look of it, he's most likely thinking of all the possibilities to hurt you. punish you for your disobedience and trying to decide of a way or more on how to make you behave. because if there's one thing marcus hates, it's disobedience.

"what are we gonna do with you, hm?" he hums dangerously, cocking his head to the side. his tone seems mocking, inhuman. as if you're a stray dog in urgent need of taming.

"please," you try to beg, hoping for mercy. he fucking laughs in your face.

"please? no, baby, begging won't do. it just... won't do. you wanna act all innocent? you should've thought of that before trying to fucking escape," he is sincere. straight to the point. unyielding. his eyes are following your trembling eyes, glossy with tears you fight holding back. he sees right through your failed attempt to hide the regret of your unsucceeding plan.

"you wish your plan worked, huh? you wish i wasn't here, leavin' you to play the victim card with joel. hell, he might've even believed you, baby. he's the only one keeping me from choking you right where you stand."

you take a slow look at joel and you let a few tears fall free on your cheek. he looks dissapointed, broken. he was the only one who tried to make your stay as comfortable as possible. he held you tight at night and kept you warm, dressed and fed. and you failed him.

marcus taps your cheek twice with his rough hand, turning your attention back to him. "he ain't gon' save you now, sweetheart. he knows you fucked up. and now, he's gonna watch you get disciplined."

"no!" you let out a broken yell when marcus grabbed you by your arm and hurried you towards the couch. you try to slow him down by tugging on his arm and putting all your weight upon your feet, pressing the soles straight on the wooden floor, but his strength outranks yours.

he sits down on the couch and wastes no time in molding your body to his will to succesfully manhandle you over his knees. your abdomen presses painfully over his big thighs while your head hangs down beside the couch, your left cheek barely grazing the soft cover. marcus contorts your hands behind your back and locks your wrists together using his left hand while the other one tugs harshly on your sweatpants, revealing your ass.

"oh, would you look at that piece of cake," he groans in pleasure, his calloused right hand coming down to massage the plump flesh of your buttcheeks. "and this little string," he tugs at your panties, pulling them upwards and then quickly releasing the material so it slaps against your pussy. "looks so good, baby. beautiful body you got on ya. such a shame to ruin it."

he pulls your panties down in one brutal move, the cool air of the room hitting your bare pussy and making you shiver. marcus spreads your asscheeks and brings his face closer, staring between your legs. you can't see him, but the way your smell invades his nose makes his head dizzy. he fights the urge to bury himself in your cunt and absolutely devour you like a man starved. but tonight is about making you feel sorry, not good.

"come here, boys. look at this fuckin' treasure." he gestures to joel and javier and they both come behind you to glance at your wet cunt. all the stress, thrill and danger left not only a traitorous transparent spot in the center of your panties, but also evidenced your swollen pussy in the light of the room. you feel their hungry gazes staring directly in your center, and you have never felt more ashamed. you try to shield your dignity by clenching your asscheeks and thighs together, but marcus had none of it. he swatted your right cheek as a threat, the abrupt and fast contact with his hand forcing you to instantly relax and let him spread you apart even further.

"don't you fuckin' do that again, sweetheart. we have every right to see what's ours."

"jesus, cariño. you're fucking soaked," javier sighs.

"i know, right? barely touched her and she's drenchin' my lap," marcus mocks, and you roll your eyes in disbelief, wishing you had the guts to throw the snide remark that sits on the tip of your tongue. definitely not soaked because of you, fucking old creep.

"but this ain't 'bout makin' you feel good, darlin'. no. tonight i ain't gonna take care of your pussy. but that bratty attitude you got goin' on..." he slowly massages your ass, warming up the flesh, preparing you for what's to come, "oh yeah. now that's a fucking problem, huh? you gotta know your place."

his hand rises up from your flesh and before you can even think about bracing yourself for the impact, his hand comes down just as fast and brutal, making the soft skin ripple in waves from his touch. your body slightly shifts forward but the tight grip he has on your wrists holds you still. a warning. a threat. the more you move and struggle, the longer this will take.

he repeats his assault on each asscheek. his strikes are quick and they fucking sting. he doesn't hit you with his entire hand yet. his fingers are enough and prove to be very efficient.

you wonder that, if his fingers leave such a pain in their path... how much would his entire palm hurt?

it will surely leave marks. red hot and bruising. so painful they will remind you of the aftermath of your punishment for days to come.

and as if he can hear your thoughts, he makes them come true.

he swats three more speedy slaps on your left cheek, one after the other, leaving you no time to recover. and then, as you barely caught your breath, his palm connects with the right cheek so hard the sound vibrates against your ear.

he massages the tender area in a soothing manner, but it is useless. in fact, what he considers as a tender action, actually makes the pain worse; incorporating it into your entire fiber. making you bite your lip, flowing your head with high hopes that this will be over soon. if you behave, he might take pity on you.

joel comes forward and kneels on the ground in front of you, lifting your chin to meet his gaze. you can tell he feels sorry for you.

"good girl," he coos softly, "such a good girl. just take it," his free hand wipes the tears and the hair off your face. he tries to distract you while marcus' unrelenting assault never ceases to stop. his soothing voice does nothing to stop the horrifying feel of being completely held down, helpless and used like a rag while marcus keeps his promise to the very end.

after what feels like a long time, you slowly drift towards unconciousness. your lower half goes completely numb as your body accomodates to the pain and perceives it as normality. all you feel is an immense amount of warmth enveloping your asscheeks and an irritating, disgusting feeling of a slick liquid dripping slowly from your cunt and making their way down your legs. imprinting on the rough material of marcus' jeans.

your head is dizzy and you can barely form coherent thoughts inside your mind. joel's soothing words fade like background noise, and the awful smell of javier's cigarettes becomes your only source of oxygen. marcus hits, and slaps, and swats relentlessly until he's utterly pleased not only with his artwork, but the way you become soft and pliant underneath him.

you didn't even notice how he let go of your wrists so long ago. yet you still keep them in place as if he still holds them.

if you had eyes in the back of your head, you'd scream in agony at the sight of your ass. the colour of your skin is unknown, overshadowed entirely by a sea of red which marcus carefully crafted with the skill of his hand.

he isn't oblivious to the river pooling down your legs either. but you don't deserve to be satisfied yet. he isn't pleased with joel's weakness for you anyway, and the fact that you will be sleeping in his protective embrace tonight is enough of a reward for you. if it were marcus' choice, he would have you sleep on the wooden floor all night. no blanket, pillows, or even clothes to keep you warm.

when joel notices that his brother is finally done, he immediatelly sweeps you into his arms and carries you to his bedroom. he is careful in maneuvering you into the mattress, arranging you on your belly so that your ass is protected. he brings a small bottle of aloe vera gel from the bathroom; he collects a small amount on his fingers and warms the content in his hand before applying it featherly soft on the affected areas. you shift and sniffle in pain, and he comforts you as best as he can.

joel joins you in bed after he's done tending to your wounds. he notices the way you reach for him in your sleep and mumble inaudible words from your dreams. he hates how soft he is for you and how you have succeeded in affecting him so much in the short time you've been around and you don't even know it.

he dreams of a near future where you are happy and content in their presence. where you cook and tend to their every need while they take turns in worshipping your body and building your happiness.

he wants to spoil you so bad. hell, all of them do. but you have to earn it. you have to accept your new reality and the fact that they're never letting you go.

once you do, you'll be their queen. and they will do anything for you.

[ozarkthedog]

not me thinking about dark!Marcus on his way to conquer a new city and then me 🤭

[gomilktea-blog]

Dark!Marcus Acacius and the Emperor Caracalla.

If Acacius had been a man who enjoyed war and was ambitious for power, he would have used Emperor Caracalla to become a proxy emperor.

The point in time after the death of Geta. <Caracalla enjoying murder after the death of Geta.<Caracalla is stuck in a room and in a worse state of mind than before.

[mamustreads]

THIS ONE! THIS ONE IS THE GUILTY ONE THAT NOW I GOT UP IN THE PEDRO PASCAL THIRSTY TRAINNNNN!!!! IT WAS YOUUUUU!!! WITH THIS MASTERPIECE THAT'S GOT ME GOING TO THE LATE FUNCION OF GLADIATOR II AT 22:15 PM AND DRAGGING MY MOM WITH MEEEEE!!

😂😂😂

The first fic I read of Marcus Acacius and got I'm drooling for Pedro Pascal, that beautiful man and my own countryman!

Thank you for opening my eyes with this delicious piece! can't wait to read more!

Lamb to the slaughter

Summary: Your husband, the Great General of the Roman Empire, wishes for you to perform your wife duties

Pairings: Dark! Marcus Acacius x Priness! Reader

Warnings: Non con, marital rape, arranged marriage, abusive and toxic dynamics, choking, riding, slight spanking, verbal abuse, forced breeding, breeding kink, I want to make this a series, reader is Geta and Caracalla's sister but there isn't any physical description, size kink, Acacius is just huge, reader is afab, legal age gap (Reader is in her 20s, Marcus is in her 40s)

"The people of Rome are hungry."

You bellowed at your brother, glaring at him amidst the climax of your fight. He wouldn't listen; Geta had been as stubborn as he was as a child. He stood before you, draped in fine silks and gold, infuriated that you had disturbed his feast to talk about these matters.

"The people of Rome wouldn't be hungry if we had enough land to import food from." He grunted at you. "Our main aim is to conquer these lands in order to have so, is that clear, my dear sister?"

You laughed at his excuses. "You greedy little bastard, you could have the entire world and still find something to blame for your poor governing."

He glared at you, fingers twisting madly as he stepped, slowly, towards you. The slap resonated through out the empty corridor, drowning the sounds of the party just at mere meters away. Before you could place your hand in your aching cheek, his ringed fingers covered your neck, quickly cutting the air.

"I believe I have granted you too many liberties, my dear sister." He whispered with trembling calmness. "I believe you forget that if you eat, it is because I feed you, if you breathe, it is because I allow you to, and if you speak...it is because I haven't cut off your tongue yet."

You attempted to remain stoic, but the lack of air brought tears to your eyes. He watched you, grinning slightly from your position, before he let go.

"I have decided your fate;" He smirked, decisively. "I am to find a man to marry you. That will tame you."

As you gasped for air, your eyes widened, fearing whichever man your brother may choose for you. And you were right to fear it.

Two days after the fight, you continued praying that your brother forgets the threat, as he most usually does; however, as General Marcus Acacius returned from Numidia, with ships filled with fresh slaves and land conquered, the gods have decided to frown upon you.

You watched as he was paraded into the main palace in dashing white robes, certainly a spectacle fit for a Hero. He reached the steps as people chanted his name, and went directly to talk with the Emperors, not sparing even a glance at you, sitting along with your brother's pet monkey, Dundus. You caught a whiff of his scent; eucalyptus, mint and leather.

You were busy observing your nails as a shadow casted itself upon you, and you glanced to see Geta and the General standing right in front of you. You had never seen Acacius so close, the battle scars smearing into his skin, the streaks of grey in his dark curls, and his piercing dark eyes as he observed you back.

"Do you think you can handle her, my General?" Caracalla questioned, perching on his shoulder. Your brows furrowed in confusion, before it all doomed on you.

"No!" you whispered, to no avail.

"If I can handle Barbarians from the other side of the sea, I think I can handle a spoiled princess." Acacius replied, his eyes wandered down the neckline of your dress, which he could see as he was towering before you. You couldn't do more than stare into those eyes as your brothers laughed, demonically.

After that evening, you had done everything in your power to postpone the wedding. Ditching tailoring appointments, sending back any flower arrangements proposed and avoiding Marcus Acacius at all costs. But you couldn't miss the games thrown in his honor.

His presence emanated an aura of masculinity and ferociousness as the Colosseum chanted his name; you smelled him before you saw him, eucalyptus, mint and leather. You were taken a back when he sat next to you, being too immersed in thought as Geta and Caracalla announced your matrimony.

You watched as a group of slaves was tossed into the arena; as they fought and as one of them was notoriously more skilled than the others; Hanno, he was called. You wished for a second that your brother had decided to marry you to one of them instead, perhaps they'd be more discreet about staring at you, unlike Acacius.

The wedding day came, a sunny morning with games planned to be celebrated in the afternoon as an honor. Acacius stood in the altar, clad in white like the day of his parade, and you couldn't help but wonder about how little you knew about him; not a single word had he crossed with you. His face was stern, not a single ghost of a smile on his face. The evening went by quickly, quicker than you expected, and soon enough you were in his Villa, the place were you would now reside.

You barely noticed the decor of his chambers, the paintings and sculptures, the soft wool cushions and the white and crimson sheets. He walked in confidently, as one walks into his room, and you stood, long white robes and golden embellishments, looking the most gorgeous you ever felt, but the fear was overwhelming.

What did he expect of you, certainly? you were well educated, but no one had ever explained you what actually happened in a wedding night. You had some idea, a naive concept, but as Acacius disrobed himself, any idea of what to do slipped your mind.

He was soon standing in all his naked glory, and your lips parted. His shoulders were broader than you have seen, a muscled stomach scarred with evidence of his battle experience, thick thighs, and a cock that slowly grew before your eyes.

"Why are you stilled clothed?" He inquired; the first words ever directed to you. As you stumbled with your words, he neared you dangerously. You felt the warmth emanate from his body as he unwrapped your dress from your body.

"Wait," you pleaded, tugging at the dress. "I have never been with a man."

He looked at you; and for the first time, he snickered.

"You think that will change anything?" He questioned, taking the silk from your hands; he ripped his way through the fabric until you were bare, only the gold on you. His hands, rough and calloused, palmed your stomach, smoothing the skin as if inspecting you. Tears welled up in your eyes.

His fingers smoothed over your nipples, making you squirm, he observed and then he pinched them, enticed as you let out a yelp. One hand trailed down your abdomen, pointer finger touching your skin until he reached your mound; tears now poured down your cheeks. His finger graced your slit, feeling sudden wetness you haven't anticipated. His scent, eucalyptus, mint and leather.

"Have you ever rode a horse?" He asked, intrigued. You nodded, brows furrowing in confusion. "It would be pretty much like that."

Before allowing you to respond, his hand wrapped around your forearm, pulling you behind him as he made your way to the bed. Any effort against it was futile, he would easily overpower you.

As he laid against the pillows, still gripping you, he nodded at his cock, now fully erect. You stared in awe, as even the veins on it looked huge; his tan skin melting into the red hot tip, weeping precum, standing proudly enough, you thought that if could tear you apart, reach your guts.

"Put it in." He demanded, because he couldn't just rape you like a barbarian, he had to force you to do it. You breathed, trying to recollect any previous knowledge as to how to do it. Impatiently, he grabbed a handful of your leg, forcing you to straddle him. His thighs were so wide, the stretch from your legs hurt.

You let out a breathe and grabbed it, careful of hurting him in fear of his anger. Angling his cock with your entrance, you attempted to push it in, only securing a searing pain. As more tears sprouted of your cheeks, Acacius spat on his hand and pushed yours away, pumping his cock with slick. His fingers then found your cunt, and his grip on your arm tightened. Wet with his saliva, he circled the spot that sent waves of pleasures towards your stomach. Wetness grew down there, and he slipped one of his thick fingers.

You gasped from the sudden intrusion, feeling as he pumped the digit, stretching you for him. Before you could feel pleasure building up, he had taken his hand and lined his cock. Your other hand fell to the middle of his chest, seeking support as he stretched you with his mushroom top. Every ridge and vein took its place inside of you, forcing your mouth agape. He fed your cunt slowly, inch by inch until you felt as full as you could possibly be. Your crying had seized as your body processed the new feeling, of being split open.

You felt him stop, nudging at a curve deep inside of you, and you felt a slight relief that it was over before his hands went to your hips, forcing you on the half his hand had preciously been wrapping around. Quick and rough, you doubled over, attempting to find a spot were it wouldn't press against you like it did. Acacius grunted in pleasure at how your walls fitted tightly around him.

"Was that so hard, foolish girl?"He barked, and you looked at him between the strands of your hair that had fallen away from your laurel wreath crown. His hand slapped your ass, leaving pain the size of his huge hand. "Move."

You physically couldn't; shaking your head, you tried to plead for him to stop, but all he did was seize your neck with his hand, pressing similarly to your brother months before. He gave you a warning look, eyes glossy from pleasure, and you attempted to move, guided by the grip on your hip.

"There you go,"He groaned. "Didn't think you could take it."

You attempted to keep the pace of his hand, staggering. Through your droopy eyes, you could see his face illuminated by the candle light; a scar across his cheek that didn't maim his handsome face, the grey in his scruff and his hands moved you to fuck him, his brown eyes were closed in pleasure as his cherry tainted lips parted, allowing grunts and moans to escape. You felt his desire as he increased his speed, his cock burning into you in every thrust as he commanded you with his hands. He seemed to be fighting his pleasure, his eyes rolling back every now and then as he attempted to keep his gaze on you.

"That's it," he guided, voice gruff. "You look much prettier like this."

Your gaze, that had been stuck to his chest in effort to advert his eyes, rose to look at him. Oh, he was entranced by the way your crown had knocked to the side due to his maneuvering, the way tears glistening in your blushed cheeks, and how small your hands looked pressed into his chest. And finally, how your cunt pulsed around him every time he slammed you down onto his hips along with the sweet whimpers you emitted.

His hands departed from the place they have stuck to, roaming to cup your ass for more support. You gasped as he effortlessly raised you off his cock, letting it slip out with a faint "pop". Without a word he tossed you to the side of the bed.

"Enough of my amusement," he groaned as your face slammed into the pillows. He was everywhere as he positioned you on all fours, immense chest stuck against you and hands arranging your limbs. His hand fell across your cheek, igniting fire in his touch. "I am going to fuck a heir into you, stay still."

He said it with such easiness in his command that you knew he was used to giving this type of orders.

"No no please," You attempted, thrashing around to persuade him, but his cock was already lined between your legs. "Please, please don't-"

The scruff of his chin scratched against your neck a he bottomed inside of you, quieting you definitively. You could feel him in your guts, balls sticking to your clitoris due to the wetness he had caused.

"What can make a foolish little girl like you to behave more than carrying a General's heir?"

He began his assault on your core, one hand grasping the hair on your nape as he fucked you as a animals do.

"Your brother told me-"He grunted between thrusts, allowing himself to go inside, all eight inches of him. "You doubted his reign."

As you wept into the pillows, moans escaping your mouth, against your honor. He halted, hand pressing against the back of your neck.

"Answer me." He pressed, pushing your face even deeper into the pillows. "Did you?"

"Y-yes." You choked out, cock so deep inside you couldn't string a coherent word.

"Good." He admitted, to your surprise, continuing his pace. "Your brother is a foolish man; proved it himself when he gave you to me."

Your knuckles wrapped around the bed sheets, attempting to suppress the waves of pleasure that erupted as he picked a strong pace. Your cunt became wetter and wetter as it clenched, unwillingly, around him.

"What can a war torn general do to a tiny princess like you?" He mused between his sighs and groans. "Foolish Emperor."

As he said the last part, he rested once again his chest to your back, both covered in sweat from the heat of both of your bodies. His arm, strong and rough, wrapped itself around your lower stomach, holding you in place as his lips sucked your neck. The closeness felt awry, even if you were newly weds.

"Once I have fucked a child into you, no one could deny it's place in the throne."

That took you by surprise, but your eyes were closing off from exhaustion and your lips were too busy whimpering from the hot fire he had ignited in your core.

"Oh," he chuckled against your salty skin, dipping his other hand in between your body, tracing a path until he found that spot. His pointer and middle pressed against it, recollecting moisture from your pussy before circling it slowly. You felt the pressure build, as if you urgently needed to go to the bathroom. "a gentlemen as myself needs to make a girl cum before painting her insides. How could I forget that?"

He teased, managing a rhythm with his hand and hips. You felt a knot building right where he was rubbing, spreading through your nerves to make your whole body become limp. You let him fuck you, body tired and sore and unable to pose any more resistance other than gentle whimpers, swallowed by his loud groans, the sound the bed made against the floor and the squelching of his cock drilling into you. You were too gone to process any more than the pleasure washing over your body; pain bloomed, but in the most exquisite way as you felt yourself cling around the thick thing drilling into you.

"There you go," He cooed, closing his eyes as he felt it too. "there, there..."

Your mouth suddenly opened agape, as a hoarse whine left your throat and you felt it. You came undone so easily, beneath him.

He attempted to last, at least a few minutes more, prolong his pleasure, but the way you looked over your shoulder at him, as if attempting to understand what just happened, drove him wild.

It took him three final thrusts to come; You could count them as each was more punishing and rough than the previous, despite being hammered into you quickly. With a final grunt, you felt his burning hot cum pour into your insides, and his huge body collapsed on top of yours. You waited patiently for him to pull out, but as a child smitten with his favorite toy, he rolled over and continued to hold you close, hot breathe fanning in your neck.

He panted, regaining his breathe, before he actually spoke to you, who was quietly laying in his bicep. You felt tears spring from your eyes again.

"You will birth me an heir to claim the throne after your brothers have fallen."

Marcus Acacius had spoken.

[amarmoria]

Love and Legion

Summary: 𝑳𝒖𝒄𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂 𝑨𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒖𝒔 adopted you almost 14 years ago, after a catastrophic invasion of your country from the two tyrannic Twin Emperors of Rome, only just two years after sending her son away, she can't help but feel pity and guilt at a little child who was just a years younger than her son should've been right now and in an indisputable argument with some of the senators, she successfully stole you away from the hands of your unknown parents.

Lucilla meets her beloved husband and courageous General, 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒖𝒔 𝑨𝒄𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒖𝒔 many years later, and marries him in hopes of finding protection and love she once seeked in another-- and she did of course. Only a few years later when tensions began brewing between you and your beloved 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑-𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓, a tension that should not and should've never existed in the first place.

And even more chaos prevails when 𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐, a Gladiator brought by the war catches your mother's undivided attention. You don't know why she's so interested in some vicious gladiator until you confronted him to cure the growing dislike h̶a̶t̶r̶e̶d̶ you have towards him.

𝑨 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑-𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒖𝒔 𝑨𝒄𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒖𝒔 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝑳𝒖𝒄𝒊𝒖𝒔 '𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐' 𝑽𝒆𝒓𝒖𝒔 𝑨𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒖𝒔 𝐹𝑖𝑐

➪ 𝘿𝙊𝙉'𝙏 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘿𝙊𝙉'𝙏 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘗𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘺.

➪ 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘴 𝙁𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡, 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙡, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦.

➪ 𝙉𝙊𝙉𝙀 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘎𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳 1 𝘢𝘯𝘥 2.

➪ 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦. 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴.

Series Masterlist

You don't know why you remember so little from before. You recall only Lucilla, your now adoptive mother, cradling you back to her tent, washing off the dirt and grime from you in her tub, you remember feeling like you forgot something, not like you can remember everything you did when you were 5, only a glimpse of your faceless 'parents'.

You remember a big argument from the outside, you heard voices yelling and squabbling, one which belonged to your mother while her maids tended to your food and clothes. You remember her looking so tired but pleased after an hour of arguing.

Then she proceeded to help you with your hair, twisting and braiding and vice versa as she hummed that beautiful song she sang to you every single night after that.

"You're an Aurelius now. My daughter. My Carissima"

Then just several years later, you were standing in mere spaces behind your mother, and her groom, General Marcus Aurelius, feared but not feared, the one who leads rome's army to victory every time.

You were wearing a dress, an exact copy of your mother's. Your attire mirrored almost every detail of hers, a reflection of your bond. While your mother's dress was woven from fine, unblemished white wool, and tied with the intricate Knot of Hercules, yours was simpler, its fabric softened and unadorned, lacking the symbolic complexity  but retaining the elegance.

Your hair, though styled in the same six braids as your mother’s, was left without the ornate pins and embellishments that crowned the bride.

Instead of the full flammeum that veiled your mother, you wore a delicate orange scarf that draped lightly over your shoulders, the hue a faint echo of your mother’s fiery veil. A small garland of fresh flowers circled your head, a token of your innocence and role as a silent witness to the sacred union.

You held your breath during the whole ceremony, even as your mother said those words that would finally hammer the nail.

"Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia"

'Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia'

Despite your initial resistance over having a new father— step-father, you can't deny your mother her love, because one day you'll have to find one yourself, and marry him and move in with him and leave your mother alone. But now she has her spouse, her husband, you're not sure if you're relieved or worried.

The day after the occasion you moved into his mansion, and to your surprise he had you made a room of yourself, not that you had one at home, you didn't really know him, or talk to him, but he went out of his way to carve you a space in his home, maybe that earned him point to you.

You jumped out behind your mother's back and ran around the spacious chamber, almost forgetting they were there. You hastily got on the bed that looked almost too tall to be one and bounced and bounced, even your bed at home didn't make you bounce this high.

Out the corner of your eye you see Acacius approaching the foot of the bed, his arms crossed each other as his smile widens impossibly big, he didn't have that much grey hair then, but he looked very young and joyful, you see your mother just farther behind him at the doorframe admiring the both of you.

You knew it was then she wanted both of you to get along, and you love your mother so much you didn't want to disappoint her. Your initial impression of him was questionable, the first thing that came up your mind was that he was evil, and he'd lock you down the dungeon and torture you like those step-parent books you read, and one that caught your eye was the story of Rhodopis.

And just moments later you bounced to him and jumped, you snorted at the face he made when you landed on him, your hands coiled around his neck, going in for a hug.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" You heard him laugh above you as his arms circle around your back, trapping you in a hug.

You shivered involuntarily as his fingers ghost the skin of your back. Maybe that's where it started? Everything that went on then as the years came by, you didn't draw attention to it, just pondering and pondering what it was.

Then years later you're here, standing beside your mother as she held a small white cloth to her tear stained eyes, a lavender in her other hand occupying her nose to cancel out the foul smell of Rome, you sneezed a second time, does Rome even know how to bathe?

Your thoughts were stolen away when you heard Acacius's heavy boots approaching. He was wearing this dazzling bright red cape with intricate gold embroidery in the edges, it was clasped together with a gold plated pendant. His heavy black armor designed with Medusa's head at front with gold clicked expensively as he nears the two of you, you notice how gold was also lined on the edges of his armour a big sign that he is a general.

You wonder if this time they were going to a bigger country, seeing how many battalions Acacius had behind him, they were boarding the ship one by one and the others were carrying the boxes loaded with weapons.

He didn't wear his helm yet so his curls bounced as he halted in front of you. And even if your mother was already hugging him, it felt as though his eyes were still on you, you fiddled with your dress while looking down, opting to stare at the interesting floor than look into his rounded brown gaze.

You thought he'd leave then, after bidding your mother and you goodbye, but he paused as your mother seperated from him, busy wiping her tears and refilling her lavender, you hear him laugh, his chest rumbling in the armour, his knees slightly crouch to your view, but you don't budge as you avoid his eyes still.

He suddenly reached out, his rough, calloused fingers brushing against your jaw with surprising gentleness. Slowly, he lifted your chin, coaxing you to meet his gaze. The motion was subtle but deliberate, his touch firm yet tender as it guided your face upward.

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes flickering to his lips, before your gaze finally rose to meet his. The world around them seemed to fade as his eyes locked with yours, an unspoken tension thickening the air between you and him.

"A-acacius—"

"Won't you bid me goodbye, amor?" He whispered a breath, his voice soft and low as his head tilts to the side, almost like teasing you.

"I-I was. But I wanted mother to go first." You murmured, practically embarrassed he even noticed.

"I shall be away for a good while," He clears his throat, straightening his attire.

You nod, fiddling with your dress yet again. "How long?"

"I've no certain count, but I'll be back," he paused, smiling warmly. "And quick."

You return his smile, laughing gently. "Of course you are, you're the invinsible general,"

"Oh? Am i now?"

"Yes, you are, don't try to humble it." Your smile grows wider as he laughs. "I don't think I understand what you're saying, Amor."

You roll your eyes, folding your arms over your chest. "Don't fool me, old man"

"You're calling me old now?"

"Aren't you?"

He was about to retort a comeback when you mother strided to where you were.

"Safe travels, my love," she sighs. "We will pray for you,"

"I will, Caro" he leans down to take her hand, kissing the bones of her knuckles. And for a split second you see him look to your direction "I will."

𝑵𝒆𝒙𝒕

[koshkamartell]

My first non Joel fiction- I'm a little nervous! I hope you guys like it, please let me know what you think.

summary: DDDNE one shot. General Acacius conquers your village and keeps you prisoner with the intention of making you his mistress.

warnings: dark!Acacius, reader held captive, noncon piv, violence, assault, degradation, pain, choking, head lock, breath play, unspecified age gap.

A chill danced over the bare flesh of your shoulders when the silk sheet was ripped from your body. Your eyes snapped open and you quickly sat up on the bed; you had only let your guard down for a few minutes, just long enough to lightly doze, but now all your senses were alert and tense. You craned your neck to look around the darkened room, your panicked vision impaired by the unfamiliarity of your surroundings.

You gasped when your eyes settled on him standing at the end of the bed. His burly figure seemed so tall and ominous, the scowl of his rugged face partially shroud in the shadows created by the moonlight pouring in from the balcony. His dark brown eyes bored into yours, baleful and stony. The white gown wrapped around his form, leaving his torso half naked, his burly chest and solid arms on display. The greying curls of his hair appeared slicked, like he had just freshly showered.

"I saved you from the miserable existence as a prisoner of war. But do not be so naive as to think that I have spared your life out of the goodness of my heart." His voice was deep and rumbling, with a stern firmness that left no room for argument. "For I am not famed for my kindness."

You knew that. There was not a shred of kindness or humanity shown when General Acacius and his army had invaded your village just yesterday. They had slaughtered almost everyone before burning the township to the ground. The general had found you himself, cowered in an alleyway between a cluster of homes, and he dragged you to the makeshift camp where the prisoners of war were held. He had ordered his men to not touch you. After the army had transported the survivors of your village to Rome he had personally sought you out from the crowd and whisked you away from the city prison. He brought you to his quarters without saying a word to you, and instructed his servants to bathe, feed and clothe you.

You had been so traumatised by what you witnessed during the conquest of your village that you hadn't fought. You hadn't begged for freedom. You had simply wept, silent in your despair, wishing you had been shot in the heart with an arrow, just as your sister had. You hadn't the clarity to understand just why the general had taken you.

Until now.

"I saved you because I have use for you." General Acacius stepped around the massive ornamented bed frame that you sat upon, his intense gaze never leaving you. "I have chosen you to be my mistress."

Tears welled in your eyes and you shook your head slowly, disbelief robbing you of speech. Acacius came to stand at the side of the bed, towering over you. He shrugged off the white night robe and unwound the material from around his hips. As he moved you could see the scars marring his skin, the definition of his thick muscles as they flexed. Your heart drummed inside your chest.

"All that is required of you is to be a wet hole for me. You will remain in this room, and you will please me whenever and however I wish. "

"No," you croaked, your throat dry and hoarse.

The remaining length of his robe dropped to the floor, revealing the soft middle of his stomach, the solid meat of his thighs and the intimidating sight of his thick cock, already half hard. You gasped and pushed yourself to the other side of the bed, panic coursing through your body.

"You have been given the honour of being my mistress," Acacius snapped. "And now you will thank me for being so merciful."

"No!" You cried out, scrambling to stand up from the bed and try run. You hadn't even placed your feet on the ground before he sprang into action, tackling you face up onto the mattress. You yelped as he pinned you down, his thighs straddling your hips while one large hand wrapped loosely around the your neck, completely immobilising you. You could feel the heat of his skin radiate through the thin night dress you wore, as well as the erect length of his cock jutting against your mound. Your panicked eyes locked with his smouldering gaze.

"There is no where for you to run," Acacius sneered. "There is nothing for you outside of these walls. This is where you belong now."

Your body quaked with fear, warm tears streaming from your eyes as you stared up at the powerful older man. You couldn't believe this was your fate; just yesterday morning you lived a peaceful life tending to the village crops, and now you were to be held captive as the general's sex slave. You turned your face to the side and cried helplessly.

"You will come to appreciate your good fortune. Until then I suggest you do as I say."

You felt Acacius's other hand skim over your thigh up to your hip, his calloused palm prickling over the smooth material of your dress. He gripped a bunch of the fabric and tugged it upward, exposing your bare cunt.

"Spread your legs," he ordered.

You ignored him, your body wracking with muted sobs, head still turned away. He let out a growl of irritation and squeezed tighter around your throat, a warning.

"Do not test my patience, woman. Spread your legs."

You quickly parted your legs and he slotted himself inbetween them, the expanse of his hips and thighs keeping you spread wide. The head of his cock slapped against your naked mound.

"Good girl," he cooed. "Now look at me. I want to see your eyes when I split you open."

You choked out a scared sob but summoned the courage to tilt your face to look at him. It was the first time you had come face to face with the ruthless conquerer, the man who was renowned for decimating cities and slaughtering innocent civilians on behalf of the Roman empire. Trapped beneath him like a hare caught in a snare, so close you could smell the sweet wine on his breath, you could properly absorb the features of his face; the crinkles around his eyes, the scar on his cheek and on the bridge of his nose, the chilling hunger that swirled in his dark eyes.

General Acacius was undoubtedly a handsome man, but his looks did little to assuage your terror. You knew the violence he was capable of, had heard the nightmarish rumours of women and girls raped and enslaved by the empire. You needed to comply, lest you make your fate any more abysmal.

"There you go," he crooned, hunger and something wicked swimming in his intense stare. "Such a pretty mistress you are."

Acacius released his hold on your neck and reached down to fist his dick. He pressed the tip against your puffy lips and the heat made your whole body jolt. Your hands tangled in the silk sheets underneath you with anticipatory dread.

He angled the tip against your hole and then drove his hips forward to penetrate you, but his attempt was met with resistance. You were too dry and he was too big.

He grunted, annoyed, and sat up on his knees. He brought his hands to your pussy and spread your lips open with his thumbs, making your stomach roil with shame. He pursed his lips and spat a wad of saliva right at the entrance of your cunt before spreading it around with one of his thick digits.

"Please," you whispered tearfully, a plea for some kind of leniency. "Stop."

Acacius ignored you, focusing instead on holding his cock to press once more against your hole. You were too scared to watch, your muscles tensed for the imminent pain; he had not prepared you with his fingers, had not even tried to work you open, and you knew it was going to hurt.

When he propelled his hips forward and the fat head breached your entrance you let out a shriek of pain. Acacius lowered his front down to hover over you, one hand planted by your head. His eyes flickered back up to your face, your eyebrows knitted into a wince.

"Keep your eyes on me," he growled.

You obeyed and forced yourself to meet his deviant gaze, your bottom lip trembling. He sunk his tip further inside you, a satisfied groan rumbling through his chest at the pleasurable sensation of your tight heat enveloping him. Your stomach tensed and you cried out, fisting the silk sheets tightly in your grip.

"How long has it been since you have had a man take you?" Acacius purred.

Without warning he thrust half of his fat length into you with one forceful stroke. Your back bowed and a scream ripped from your throat, the burning stretch of his girth agonising. The corner of his mouth quirked into a smirk at your reaction. The hint of cruel delight in his expression caused a fresh set of tears to well in your eyes.

"I thought all you village girls were sluts," he whispered. "But you are so tight - perhaps you have not laid with a real man before."

You hadn't yet adjusted to the fullness invading your insides before he rammed the rest of his thick cock into your pussy. Your mouth fell open as you wailed a loud, ear piercing cry, your hands flying up to press against his broad chest in a futile survival reflex. You felt the skin around your hole tear as his heavy ballsack pressed against your ass.

"Struggle all you like," Acacius murmured, unfazed by your torment. "I enjoy a fight."

He slowly withdrew halfway from your throbbing pussy before impaling you once again, earning another anguished cry from your lips. His hand came up to sweep a lock of your hair from your face, an almost tender gesture.

"Is it too big for you?" He asked, his eyes adopting a look of faux concern. "Does it hurt?"

You sobbed and nodded your head pitifully, tears still pooling within your eyes. Acacius cradled your cheek in the large palm of his strong hand and brushed his thumb over your lips. This time he drew back his hips all the way, slipping the head of his dick outside of your hole. It was only a split second reprieve before he fed the entirety of his dick back inside you with a single brutal slam. Your face contorted with pain and you let out a strangled screech. Your nails clawed at his chest like a weak kitten.

"Beg me," he growled, his brown eyes glinting with cold blooded intensity. "Beg me to stop, just as your people did when I slaughtered them like pigs ."

His vile demand repulsed you, flaring a flicker of defiance and anger deep within you. The general had destroyed your home and murdered your people, had ruined your life with not an ounce of remorse, and now he was defiling not only your body but your pride and honour.

You refused to give him the satisfaction of begging for his mercy.

Boldly you flung your head to the side and clamped your mouth shut. You heard him huff a noise of aggravation before he cruelly dug his fingers into the sensitive flesh of your cheek and wrenched your face back to him.

"You will speak when I demand you to," he snapped angrily.

To punctuate his point Acacius began to drive his cock in and out of your cunt with savage, punishing thrusts, his hand still gripping the side of your face. Your vision blotted with stars each time his tip kissed your cervix.

"Do you understand me?" He spat, his mouth curled into a snarl. "As my mistress you will submit to me, without argument and without insolence."

His opposite hand grabbed at your breast and squeezed hungrily, using the added leverage to pump you even harder.

"It hurts," you managed to croak, throat cry from weeping so much.

Acacius yanked the top of your night dress down and roughly pinched your nipple. You squealed and writhed uselessly, unable to escape his grasp with his cock still impaling you.

You swear you could feel the lips of your pussy bruising with every stroke, the contraction of your pelvic muscles with every heavy smack of his balls. Your hip joints started to ache from the pressure forcing your legs apart. He was everywhere all at once, violating each one of your senses.

"If you refuse to submit, I will make it my mission to break you each time I fuck you."

He abruptly stopped his movements and pulled out of you before effortlessly manhandling you onto your stomach. Despite his age and size Acacius was agile and swift, able to utilise his strength effectively without being slowed down by his mass. You squeaked in shock, completely dazed by the change of position and the feeling of emptiness in your core.

He knelt between your legs and shoved his cock back inside you, too impatient and uncaring to gather more saliva to lubricate you. The stinging stretch made you hiss and grit your teeth in pain. Acacius caged your back with his massive body, restraining you against the mattress. He wrapped one arm around your neck, cradling your head in the crook of his bicep, while his other hand grabbed a hank of your hair.

"I am going to give you a taste of just how wretched this can be for you," he breathed in your ear. "Then we will see if you still dare to defy me."

He resumed his ferocious rhythm from behind, the new angle so intense and deep that that you swear you could feel his cock churning in your guts. He grunted and panted like a feral animal as he fucked you, pulling guttural groans from you that sounded more like a beast than a human woman. Your eyes rolled back in your skull.

"This is how whores are treated when they are disobedient. Do you like being used like this?"

The onslaught of his desecration became more intense with each tortuous second. With your body smothered underneath his weight and your neck locked in his strong bicep, you struggled to breathe. Your head began to swim and your lips tingled. Your tongue felt heavy and swollen in your mouth. You felt yourself teetering on the precipice of unconsciousness.

Perhaps this was your fate, to die not by the general's sword but by his cock.

As you started to slip away from reality your imagination projected dream like images inside your mind; you could see your family going about their day to day life in the village, a montage of the mundane happenings that had encapuslated your once peaceful existence.

Your mother in the kitchen with your baby brother on her hip, trying her best to prepare a meal. Your father and younger brother toiling in the fields, harvesting crops alongside other villagers, including the man who was to become your husband. Your older sister sitting with her friends and weaving baskets together.

You could finally be reunited with your loved ones.

Just as you were about to pass out Acacius shifted his arm and loosened his hold on your throat, finally allowing you to inhale some much needed air. Your eyes flew open wide and you let out a rasping howl as you were suddenly brought back to your current state of agony. Pain immediately assaulted all your senses. The delicate skin around your entrance was torn and throbbing, irritated further by the scratch of his wiry pubic hair. The ache of your pelvic muscles was made worse by the constant prod of his dick against your cervix. Your scalp seared from the pull of his fist in your hair, the discomfort flaring when he gave your head a rough shake.

"Have you had enough?" Acacius sneered tauntingly.

He continued to snap his hips against yours, his veiny girth pummelling in and out of you, balls clapping loudly against your labia. A ragged, miserable scream clawed it's way up your parched throat, a pathetic sound of distress and defeat.

It was too much to bear.

"Are you ready to beg?"

You could go on no longer.

"Y-yes," you spluttered inbetween broken moans. "Please."

"Louder." He ordered simply, slightly breathless from his exertion yet his pace never faulting.

"I b-beg you," you gasped. "P-please stop." Salty tears cascaded down your puffy cheeks and intermingled with your snot before trickling into your mouth, stinging the cracks along your swollen lips.

Acacius gave a sharp thrust and buried his cock to the hilt, sinking himself so deep inside your battered cunt that you feared your stomach would rip open.

You screamed again, all of your limbs vibrating uncontrollably. "I beg you!"

He stilled, keeping his fat appendage nestled snugly in you. You felt it pulse momentarily.

"There we go," he murmured silkily, smug intonation clear in his voice.

You cried loudly, unabashed and ugly, completely devoid of pride or dignity. His massive hand moved to smear your mucus and tears across your face, rubbing your shame all over your skin with his palm and fingers.

"You will be the prettiest whore in all of Rome. And you will only be mine."

Thank you to @saradika-graphics for the divider.

[romana-after-dark]

Sacrificial Lamb

Darkish!Marcus Acacius x Virgin!fem!Reader

Masterlist

Co-written with the bestest @ariundercovers thank you so so so much for helping me with this and adding so much!!!!

Summary: Desperate to win a battle, Marcus Acacius sends a request for a maiden to sacrifice her life and her body for the good of your city.

Warnings: NOT COMPREHENSIVE! This is a DARK FIC, treat it as such. Illusions and talk of human sacrifice, virginity loss, knife play, blood play, (it's not really play they are going at it), body carving, public sex, ritualistic sex, PIV sex, dark content but everyone is having a funky good time.

Immersivity: Reader is fem, had long hair, is called "little lamb" but that's not a reference to her size. Reader refers to herself as roman.

I'm a history major but this is not meant to be historical lol anchient history is not my area of interest. I tried to include things I knew, like Roman values, but thats about it.

4.5k words

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You’d sacrifice yourself on his altar again and again if he made you feel like this.

To feel his hands explore your body, rough skin with a gentle touch. To feel him kiss your lips, undressing you as dozens watched. To feel the prick of his knife defile you just as he did.

“Look at me. Look at me, only me. I am your god now.”

*

You were to be sacrificed for the greater good, for the gods to favor general Acacuis in this vital battle, a battle that would decide the fate of your city and all those in it. Should his armies fail, all those you held dear could be sold into to slavery, killed, or suffered much worse fates. So, when General Acacius put out a request, the highest calling a woman could offer outside of bearing sons, it surprised you that no one took it by the time word reached you outside the city. 

General Acacuis made a call to all the virgins of your city, asking to make the ultimate sacrifice, and when you stood in front of him in all his beauty, you were not fearful. You were resolute in your decision.

Now, he leans against his throne, eyeing you in your robes as you remain knelt to the ground on both knees, your body bowed before him in his parlor.

“Do you understand what you are sacrificing, little lamb?”

You don’t look up. You don’t dare. “Yes, my lord. I am to sacrifice my life so that my city and my people are safe.”

You can hear the sound of robes russling. “Not only that, but your maidenhood. The ceremony will require me to deflower you on an altar. Publically.”

Swallowing hard, you force down your anxiety. “I… I did not know that, my lord.”

He walks towards you, the sound of his footsteps the only thing signaling you of his approach. Suddenly, his voice is right in front of you. You dare not open your eyes. “Does this change your decision?”

You hesitate, body shaking. You would say yes, because of course you would, you just needed to breathe. “I… I-”

Sudden but gentle, you feel his hands on your face, coaxing you to look up at him and you do as he urges. His features strike you, angular but soft. His nose was aquiline, strong as he was, a symbol of his power and the genes he would breed into whatever woman he lay. Still, there was a softness about him, full cheeks and eyes that pooled in brown. His arms were like oak trees, dark and strong; freckles smothered his face but were only noticeable from this close. 

The General’s hands held your chin firm.

“Is this your decision, fair lady?” His eyebrows raise, frown lines in his face a telling sign of his age. “It is only yours to make, none other.”

Basking in his warmth, in the glow of his pained eyes, you nod. “Yes, my lord. It is my duty and my honor.”

He gives your face a little squeeze. “Good girl.” Releasing your head in favor of taking your hand, he speaks louder now, more formal. Gone is his warmth, once again your lord. “Rise.” He aids you to stand, hands moving to your arms, playing with the sleeves of your dressage. “Now, I must inspect you. Are you ready?”

You take a steadying breath, and when you release, you agree.

Slow and steady, the general pulls down the sleeves, relieving your breasts, stomach, and soon your unscathed womanhood. Your dress pools at your feet, your nakedness laid bare before your lord. General Acacius takes a step back, admiring you as he looks down from where he stands tall and proud, in his armor. He was practicing in the courtyard when you answered his call, and he had not changed, smelling such of masculinity that you craved him, carnally. Marcus Acacius paces around you, eyeing every inch you had to offer, viewing you like an animal at the market.

“Beautiful…” The general murmurs to himself before walking up behind you. The metal plating of his chest plate connects to your back, and a shiver of cold strikes your body, but when he wraps his arms around your person you are once again comforted. His body is so warm, fire and burning, burning, burning power so evident in his grasp. A sun god in your presence… Apollo in the flesh.

He caresses your body, his large right hand rising up to hold your breast, his left lowering to your untouched maidenhood. He tweaks your nipple with his fingers, tugging at it experimentally, and the other one peaks and stiffens in response. He groans in satisfaction and dips his head to mouth at your throat, lips and teeth scraping across your exposed skin. His fingers travel across your chest to the other side then, pinching and tugging at that nipple and you gasp at the way it sends a shock straight to your core.

But his other hand… that hand teases at your mound, fingers raking through the hair there. His hand parts your legs then, stepping wider to accommodate him. When his finger parts your folds, you hear a low chuckle. “Wet already, my maiden?” His fingertip trails up and down your crevices, catching at your untouched entrance once, then twice, and then hesitating at that bundle of nerves, swirling around it a few times. The way he plays with your folds makes you whimper, eyes closing as you rest your head back against his chest, worried that you might faint at the feeling of his hands all over you. You can feel him smile against your neck before he removes his fingers from you, but not before another long swipe through your soaking wet folds, collecting some of your slick that he’s managed to make pour out of you already. “You must wait for the ceremony, I fear… Still, a taste won’t hurt…” 

The general presses his fingers to your mouth, and you’re unsure for a moment, one hand lifting to grasp his thick wrist, cuffed with metal links. “Open, little lamb,” he commands, and you obey. You can only ever obey. His fingers press into your mouth, against your tongue, and you close your lips around them. The taste is foreign to you, but not unpleasant, and you start to greedily suck on his fingers, licking the tangy sweet arousal from the rough pads of his fingers.

He pulls away from you all too soon, hands groping your abdomen and ass for a long moment before he groans in displeasure and leaves you, alone and naked and overwhelmingly heated with arousal.

*

You were moved into the palace immediately, as preparation for the ceremony would take a few days. You say a tearful goodbye to all your friends and family; they are who you are doing this for, to protect them.

Still, you’d be lying if you had said you hadn’t found a new motivation, something else that piqued your interest. You hadn’t forgotten the general’s touch, his smell, his face. Marcus Acacius was angelic, a figure sculpted by the gods themselves; you could swear you’d seen his likeness on a statue somewhere. 

He watched as you bathed, handmaids scrubbing you down every day, washing your hair. Then, he sat there still as you stood, scanning over you as the maids doused you in perfumes and oils, clothing you in silk. You were to live your last days as royalty. Since entering his home, you were treated with nothing but utmost respect, feeding you the finest foods and wines, things you’d never been afforded in your simple lifestyle. You loved that he watched you naked, and you hoped you were pleasing to his eye.

He stood. “Leave us,” General Acacius ordered, his eyes directly on yours and never leaving as your handmaidens filed out. You’re standing in the tub still, your lord offering his hand for you to step out. You should be ashamed of your nakedness, you know it, but he was to deflower you in 2 days time, mark you with his sigil and that of Mars, piercing your heart with a knife in a prayer to Mars himself. 

General Acacius scans your body, his palm on your hip sliding up to cup your breast. He liked to play with your flesh, you’ve noticed, intimate moments such as these where he held you close, held you fast, comforted you even though there was no future for you past these final days.

“My beautiful sacrifice…” He murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours as you stand with heavy breaths. “Such a waste, such a shame…” 

“It’s not a shame, my lord…” You assure him, firm in your stance. “It is for the good of my city, my family.”

A quiet tsk, tsk, tsk falls off his lips.  “So much honor in such a young thing.” His lips brush yours, and you gasp.

“General Aca-”

“Marcus.” His voice is gruff, stern, ordering you to comply with this infringement on formality. “I will be inside you, soon enough. You may use my given name.” He places a hand on your cheek, thumb against the plush of your lips.

You nod against him. “M-Marcus, should we-”

He pressed himself fully against you, kissing you tenderly. When he pulls away, his eyes have the blackness that often accompanies these hushed encounters. As Marcus deepens the kiss, he squeezes your face so that your mouth opens to him.

“Such a shame…” He repeats, a low rumbling from his throat, pulling at your lip gently between his teeth. “To waste such a beautiful, honorable young lady… how is it no one has taken you as their wife, hm?” Ever careful not to harm his sacrifice, Marcus wraps his large hand around your throat as he licks a stripe up the column of your neck. “That no one has ever taken you to bed, ravaged your sweet body, claimed your maidenhood as theirs… seems almost unbelievable.”

Gasping at the implied doubt, you pull your face away from him but his hand remains on your throat, looking him in the eyes with earnesty, begging to be believed.  “M-my lord! I would not lie, I swear to you I am intact-”

He squeezes on your delicate neck, cutting off your words and just a little bit of your breathing, his eyes, usually dark chasms, are fiery and alight, not only demanding your submission but taking it. His clothed body presses against your naked form.

Still, his voice is comforting. “I believe you, sweet lamb. No one would lie in order to die by my hand in a ritual sacrifice. Relax, enjoy these final days.” Swift as lightning, Marcus’s lips were at your ear again. “And resist the urge to stuff your fingers in your cunt tonight. Let me be the one to break you, not the fantasy.” And with that, he left you standing there in the bathing room, your legs dripping with something other than water.

*

Your bare feet are cold on the marble floor. The rest of you is hot with anxiety.

Your last day on this earth, before you meet your painful end and join the souls of your lost loved ones in the otherworld. Paying your sacrifice meant no others would join you until their just time.

You were bathed, your hair brushed with expensive oils before it was woven in intricate braids at the top, falling freely at your shoulders. You were crowned in a laurel wreath, painted in gold. Loose white robes fell around you, a symbol of your purity, and you were draped in a purple sash. You were royalty, if only for today.

Were there drums? Or was the beating from you? The thud-thud, thud-thud of your heartbeat made it impossible to hear the people speaking to you, so you merely nodded along. Prayers were said by your handmaidens, all of them wailing to the Gods, crying out that this not be in vain. You’d grown attached in the week you’d been together, and for only a woman you’d wished you’d been brought to the general for a different purpose, brought to become Lady Acacius.

But your wishes were short lived.

You were raised to follow all things that made a good Roman. You were brave, honorable, respected authority, respected the household gods, loved your city and your family. All this came into play when you offered your body to the general. All this was in your heart as you walked through the opening door, leaving your attendants behind, and entering a room filled with only men.

Although the strange and distorted faces in the flames of candles scared you, your eyes were quickly pulled to him.

Him.

General Acacius stood in front of the altar, clothed in white and gold; he wore a matching gold laurel wreath to yours. 

The lighting accentuated his sharp angles, the shadow cast by his nose on to his cheek made your breathing stutter, drawing ever closer to him. Step by shaking step, you approached your fate.

Strong hands steadied you. “It’s alright, little lamb.” He assured you, speaking low and deep for your ears only. “I’ll take care of everything. Have no fear.”

And you don’t. Your heart rate drops to a normal pace, your body temperature cooling, save for your frigid toes. Nothing to be done there. Marcus undoes your robes, letting them fall at your feet in waves of purple and white-turned-orange by the flickering flames. When it’s all said and done, you were to be burned in a funeral pyre, the same flames burning down your body for the good of your people. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

Next, he lays you down on the altar. The cool slab of marble sends a run of chills over your skin, but Marcus stands between your spread legs, warm hands rubbing on your goosed flesh. He makes it feel better. You try not to think too hard about the fact you are bare naked for at least 2 dozen men, but it was okay. Marcus was there. A stranger walks up and takes your hands and at first you gasp simply in shock.

“Do not worry, he is acting as instructed.” 

The man goes to tie your hands, and you passively protest. 

“My lord, I need not be restrained, I promise-”

“It is not to keep you here, little lamb.” He assures you, still caressing and kneading the meat of your thighs. It was incredible how large he was, how broad; his shadow swallows your body. “I do not wish to have anyone here who needs to be restrained. This is to keep your body taut as I mark you.”

When you die, you are to go to the underworld as all shall. When you meet Pluto, you are to show him the marking on your stomach, and he would know you were sacrificed and inform Mars, whose sigil would be marked next to the house of Acacius. If Mars finds your sacrifice worthy, your virginity, your life, your beauty and youth, he will grant the General good favor. 

But first, your maidenhood.

The room was dead silent as the General stripped down, unfastening the clasp at your shoulder. In wonderment, you watch as his body is revealed to you, even as the candles largely shine on his back. He was stunning. The peak of masculinity, of manhood, not only his body but his stature and presence so all encompassing that you can’t help but wonder if he was Juptier himself, come down from the heavens to take another maiden as his. You would gladly suffer Classisto and Io’s fates for once chance with him.

As your eyes travel down, you can still see some scars in the dim lighting; raised pieces of flesh that make you wish you could have tended to his injuries… but your thoughts are soon distracted. You’ve never seen a cock before, barely knew what it looked like, but as the General strokes himself approaching you, you were mesmerized. It was thick, thick enough you weren’t sure it could fit, but you’d never even tried to fit anything inside you, so how would you know? The tip was covered by a layer of skin that pulled back to reveal the head with every upstroke of Marcus’s hand… fat, blunt, ready to split you open. You’re well aware of the liquid leaking from you to the altar.

“Perfect offering, aren’t you?” He asks, but it's rhetorical, his eyes distracted as he reaches between your legs to play with that sensitive spot, that place your hand wandered to on cold, lonely nights, seeking comfort in your own touch. You weren’t completely clueless, you’d pleasured yourself plenty without breaking yourself open and you had done so minutes before beginning the ceremony. You wanted to be wet for him. Marcus’s eyes connect to yours as he touches your slicked up center; he knows what you did.

“I am ready, my lord.”

“It seems you are.”

*

His cock spreads the lips of your cunt with agonizing slowness, your voice not even trying to hide the moans of pain and pleasure to the crowd of men, many of whom you noticed were entering states of undress. Your body is already writhing, the slow pace driving you mad and you can already tell you’re moments away from begging for more, willing to be remembered as the young woman who died begging for cock. Just as you were about to burst, to scream at him to just do it, Marcus bends over you, pressing his forehead to yours. His eyes glow in the candlelight. One hand reaches up to where you are bound, interlacing with your fingers. “Hold on to me, little lamb.”

You do as you are told, as he thrusts into your body, breaking open your hymen and spilling the blood between your legs onto the altar, staining it with you forever. Your memory would lay here in his home the rest of his life, speaking to him even in prayer. 

Marcus fucks you now, his fat cock dragging in and out of your channel, claiming you again, and again, and again, and for a moment you forget where you are. You forget you’re being watched. You forget you are to die until Marcus slows his movements, pulling out the freshly sharpened knife meant for your skin.

“My little lamb, my offering, my perfect sacrifice…” He kisses your lips, something not a part of the ritual, and makes a show of him claiming your face for his audience. Marcus will take care of you, and your name will go down in honor for the rest of time.

Stuffed full of him, Marcus never stops fucking you, never stops sliding himself in and out of your cunt, teasing you as he pulls away, placing the knife at your stomach. It wouldn’t be deep; there wouldn’t be time to heal so it didn’t need to be. There was no sense in hurting you more than need be, he had said to you.��

Stretched out, your arms above your head and tied down with silks, your gasp in pain as the first mark is made, scraping over your skin. He begins with his sigil, smack dab in the middle of your stomach. As you glance down, noting the size of the mark he’s making, you wonder where Mars is intended to go, how there will even be space for the second mark he had to make. But those thoughts are tucked away as he begins to move his hips again, pounding himself deeply into you. Little trickles of red droplets bubble on your skin from the cuts, morphing your body into something that was his, and his alone. 

When you look at him, his eyes nearly black as the day you first entered his court, you wondered if he had any intention of marking Mars’ sigil on you. 

“I’m gonna take care of you, little lamb.”

WIth one last cut, he locks onto your eyes, gripping the knife still. You think this must be it, he will now take your life and you’ll die impaled on his cock. Instead, he takes the tip of the knife to his own stomach, careful and sure movements carving your first initial onto him. And then, his body joined yours again.

Nothing in this world felt better than blood on blood. 

He cut loose your binds and dropped the knife, the clatter echoing onto the floor as he climbed onto the altar, fucking himself into you with the vigor of a general on the battlefield, like winning this, winning you was what truly mattered. 

Suddenly you piece it all together and realize something. You realize that you weren’t going to die today.

Fearful of the repercussions, of the others' reactions when they figure out he wasn’t going to sacrifice you, your head turns to the dozens of men surrounding you. The candles were sparse and placed away from the altar, brighter near you, leaving you without much to work with in terms of vision. As your cunt begins to tighten in that all consuming feeling, your eyes trying to close in pleasure as you try to make out the figure in the room. Dancing shadows on the wall, figures combining and moving together; bent over and close and grunting, red and orange and yellow and black swirling together. You couldn’t tell if the sounds of skin on skin were from near or far anymore.

Marcus’s hand cups your face, turning you away from the debauchery surrounding you and back to meet his eyes.

“Look at me. Look at me, only me. I am your god now.” His eyes bore into yours, pounding your pussy so harshly you could hear the wetness as you are torn apart. Marcus grips your face harshly, but his other hand swirling your over sensitive clit is tender. “You only worship me now, my sweet offering. I am the only thing that matters to you.”

And he is.

General Marcus Acacius is your god, and you will worship knelt at his feet for as long as he shall have you.

His thrusts start to falter, and he picks your leg up, notching it in the crook of his elbow as he starts to push himself deeper, touching parts of your body you hadn’t known had any feeling at all. “Cum for me.” He demands, commanding your body to his whim the way he commands his armies. “Cum on my cock, little lamb.”

Your hands reach for his forearms, fingers gripping tightly into the strong, lean muscle you find there beneath your fingertips. “W-want-” You swallow hard, staving off that feeling in your belly so warm you no longer notice the cold on your back. “Want to be filled, my lord.”

The general cups your face, brushing his thumb over your lower lip. “You will, you will, but first,” The pinch on your cheek takes you by surprise. “You must cum for me.” He lets go, but does not relent in his demand. “Let me feel you, little lamb, let me feel you cum on a cock for the first time.”

It doesn’t take much more work on his part for him to build you up into a frenzy, your walls fluttering pathetically around him as you pant, heaving oxygen back into your body from every thrust that seems to knock it right out of you. His hand still holds tightly to your face, dipping his head down now to bite his teeth harshly into your lip, your jaw, then your neck. You whimper at the feeling, eyes rolling back in your head as the combination of rough and pain and the pleasure of his cock and his fingers working you, and you finally fall apart for him, your body spasming beneath his, back arching up into his movements.

“There it is, sweet one. Give it to me. Give it to your god.” His face turns positively wicked as he hikes your leg up a little higher, the hand on your face now moving down to your throat as he squeezes lightly, reminding you of exactly who you belong to, exactly who you’ve been promised to, urged to as the very sacrificial lamb. He only barely starts to cut off your breathing with his grip, but one of your hands reaches for his anyway, holding onto his wrist as he puts the added pressure against your throat.

Your body is still quaking beneath him as he works you right through that orgasm and sends you hurtling quickly toward another. Or, was it actually just the same one? There aren’t an thoughts left in your head to try and make sense of it, nothing left to try to figure out what’s going on in your body. 

It doesn’t matter now, anyway. You were his. Only his. You were General Acacius’ to do as he pleased with, and if he preferred to kill you with cock, you’d die happily that way, too.

Your blathering and bumbling beneath him slows as he lets go of your throat, growling with a frantic need above you. His thrusts stutter, hips spearing into you erratically, and you have a sense that perhaps his pleasure might come soon, too. 

“Please! Please, my lord, fill me. Fill me properly, I only want to please you-” Your words come out pathetic and whining, the strength of your orgasm short-circuiting your brain as you try to make sense of the situation, make sense of the pleasure and panic you feel.

“You’ll take my mark, and my cock, and my seed, little lamb. You’ll take everything I give you.” He groans lowly, a sound that bubbles up from deep in your chest, and you can feel the way he twitches inside of you. Then suddenly, he roars above you and there’s an explosion of warmth, a feeling that spreads throughout your belly, welling up into your chest and face, heating you from the inside out. You’re burning again, burning in white hot flames as he empties himself deep into your womb.

Everything pauses, pleasure soaking into your body, the sweat cooling on your skin as your God’s full weight crashes on you, protecting your body from the view of the onlookers finishing in and on each other around you. 

“Leave.” He barks, his face tucked into your neck.

A beat of silence.

“My lord… the sacrifice…” A nameless, faceless man objects from the corners.

 You begin to turn to him, but Marcus adjusts up and keeps you from looking. “They don’t deserve your gaze, little lamb.” Then, he sat up on his knees, cock still buried inside you. He looks to the crowd.

“I’VE HAD A VISION!” Marcus exclaims, shouting to the others. “Mars does not desire her to be sacrificed to him, but to be taken as my wife!” He looks down at you, brown eyes swimming with continued lust even as his cock softs in your channel. “Our children shall be blessed by him, great warriors and ladies… and we shall win our battle. Do you accept, little lamb?”

It wasn’t even a question for a moment.

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

Thank you thank you thank you for reading!!! I appriciate every like, reblog, and comment!!!!

A note, I decided to add a tip option with Buy Me a Coffee and Ko-fi. PLEASE DONT FEEL OBLIGATED A ALL!!! I do this for fun and enjoyment not to get paid. It's just there <3

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Tagging those who expressed interest

@mangoslushcrush @yeet268 @littlekate @lunar-ghoulie @admiralackbarssugarbaby @jackie923 @fan-fiction-floozy @spidey-3 @princessanglophile @ladyofmidlo72 @fandxmslxt69

[divaofmads]

The Sinner’s Temple

Marcus Acacius x OC

A/N : This story is entirely non-canon. In the first film, Commodus wounded Maximus before stepping into the Colosseum to fight him, hoping to secure his victory. In this version, I am writing under the assumption that he succeeded. This means Commodus continues his reign with all his traumatic past and immoral personality intact. And since I really admire Joaquin Phoenix in that film, I figured—why not use him while I can?

A/N 2: I apologize for the mistakes I made in English that is not my native language and I am trying to improve my writing skills.

Summary: Commodus wanted to completely abolish the Senate, but a senator named Cassius, aware that his loyalty would ensure his survival, swore unwavering allegiance to him. However, Commodus once saw Cassius’ young daughter at a very young age and convinced himself that he could find the love his own family never gave him in her heart. He spent years waiting for the day she would grow up so he could marry her. But fate had already written a truth that would shatter all his plans.

!!Warnings!!: Non-Canon, Chronological Mistakes, +18, Fluff, Smut, MDNI, Angst, Big Age Gap (F 19 - M 50), No Y/N, Toxic Relationship, Possesive Marcus, Protective Marcus, Obsessive Commodus, Forbidden Romance, Oral Sex to woman, Fingering, Loss Virginity, Violence, If you're bothered by the fact that I don't write according to fan fiction rules, then don't read my work. Writing is just a hobby for me. I'm not a professional. I write to unwind after a long day at work.

Word Count: 13k

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The heart of the Roman Empire, the magnificent city where golden lights shimmered through the streets, was cooling with the evening breeze as always, in breathtaking beauty. Valeria walked through the garden of her family’s villa, surrounded by grand columns. Her long, wavy, light brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, and the simple white tunic she wore highlighted her serene elegance. Yet, her mind was in turmoil; her father had spoken to her about his long conversation with Commodus. A growing unease stirred within her—tonight, she would face the presence of this powerful man at dinner, and the thought weighed heavily on her heart.

Commodus was the ruler of the Roman Empire, but he was also arrogant, self-absorbed, and intoxicated by power. When he first laid eyes on Cassius’s daughter, Valeria, he had fallen in love with her—a golden opportunity for Cassius. However, unlike her father, Valeria was indifferent to the blinding glow of power.

That night, by her father’s command, Valeria was led to the private hall prepared for her dinner with Commodus. The room, illuminated by candlelight and adorned with golden details, resembled a royal feast, while the scent of jasmine flowers drifted in from the garden outside.

Commodus slowly rose to his feet as he saw Valeria enter. His eyes carried the shadow of a long-hidden desire. He wore a deep red toga, and on his right hand was a ring crafted from gold. With all his grandeur, he smiled at her.

"Valeria," he said, his voice both strong and soft. "You are as beautiful as a queen and as fearless as a warrior. I can see the spirit of Athena within you. Only you can be the wife Rome needs."

Valeria saw the unhealthy persistence in Commodus's eyes. His words proved how deeply he had thought about her, but her heart remained unmoved.

"Honorable Commodus," Valeria said with a graceful coolness in her voice. "I am honored, but tell me, what great favor do you expect me to be grateful for?"

Commodus never believed she would dare to refuse him. He smiled and stepped closer.

"I am not here to restrict your freedom; on the contrary, I am here to elevate you. As the Empress of Rome, no one would dare touch you. You will be raised above where any mortal could ever reach."

Valeria did not avert her gaze as she stood firmly before him. "But what is the meaning of being a queen in a place where a woman cannot love freely?" she asked.

A flicker of surprise appeared on Commodus’s face.

"Freedom…" he repeated slowly. "I understand the value of your freedom. That is why I am not offering it to you. I am offering you something far greater—the power of Rome. With me, you can build a world far beyond the limits of your own freedom."

Valeria took a deep breath. To her, Commodus’s love felt like a gilded cage—beautiful and golden, yet still a cage.

"If there is no other choice but this marriage, then you leave me with no choice at all, Commodus," Valeria said. "My heart does not beat for an empire."

These bold words momentarily startled Commodus. The mask of admiration on his face briefly gave way to anger, but upon witnessing Valeria’s determination, his expression shifted back to a smirk.

"That courage of yours is precisely what I love, Valeria," he said, a dark amusement in his voice. "But never forget—only I can match your courage."

Valeria knew this encounter was not an end but a beginning. She could feel that Commodus would not give up on her easily. Yet tonight, she would make it clear to everyone that her heart and freedom were not things to be easily claimed.

The Emperor took a few steps forward, leaning against the edge of the table, and gazed into Valeria’s eyes.

"Valeria…" he said, his voice now calmer but carrying an underlying sorrow. "Do not see my love for you as a command. It is a feeling older than all the splendor of Rome. Even when you were a child, I saw something in your eyes—an innocence no one else possessed. Something that was never granted to me since the day I was born… love. And I know that love exists only within you."

Valeria stood her ground, trying not to flinch at his words. In his eyes, she saw something breaking—but also the cold-blooded calculation of a predator watching its prey. Commodus hesitated for a moment, as if realizing that even revealing his own feelings was a weakness.

"I want to have you because only with you... I feel like I can be human," he continued. "You will be my balance, Valeria. I have never loved anything as much as I love you. To reject this love will not only lead to my ruin but yours as well. Because in Rome, there is nowhere you can escape from me."

Valeria's heart tightened. Commodus’s words only further revealed the magnitude of the danger she was in. But she held her head high, her gaze still locked onto his eyes with unwavering determination.

"Emperor Commodus," she said, her voice calm yet carrying the unyielding strength of steel. "My respect for you is boundless. However, you cannot expect me to bear your feelings as a burden. My heart does not beat to fulfill your desires."

Her words lashed through Commodus like a whip. His eyes narrowed, and the slight smile on his lips faded into a cold, emotionless expression. Even the warm candlelight filling the room could not dispel the darkness surrounding him. Slowly, he straightened, his tall figure casting a shadow over Valeria.

"Valeria," he said, his voice now disturbingly soft rather than sweet. "You misunderstand me. This is not a proposal. I came here to inform you that we will be married."

Valeria took a step back—not as a sign of fear, but as a deliberate move to step out of his shadow.

"You say you want my love, Commodus. But if you ever believe you have won me, know that there will be no love in that victory. Your promises are nothing but a gilded cage to me."

With those words, Commodus lost control entirely. His fists clenched, his golden ring pressing tightly into his palm. His eyes, dark and dangerous like those of a predator, fixated on Valeria.

"You truly have no idea what you are doing," he hissed. "But you will learn, Valeria. I will give you time to think. Three days… In three days, you will give me your answer. But if that answer is 'no'..." He paused, a dreadful silence settling over the room. For a brief moment, his eyes flickered with a painful sorrow, but it quickly hardened into cold resolve. "...the price you will pay will not only fall upon you but upon everyone you love."

There was no trace of fear on Valeria's face. Instead of breaking her resolve, Commodus’s threat only strengthened it.

Commodus lingered for a moment, staring at her. Then, with a sharp turn, he left the room, his footsteps echoing against the stone floor, leaving behind only Valeria and her unwavering defiance.

At that moment, Valeria understood more than ever how dangerous Commodus could be. But she already knew what her answer would be in three days. And that answer would ignite a war that would change the fate of the Roman Empire.

Minutes later, the sound of approaching footsteps filled the air. This time, it was her family.

Her father, Cassius, entered the room with his usual authoritative stance. His sharp features were drawn with tension, and his graying hair only accentuated the severity of his furrowed brows. Behind him stood Valeria’s older brother, Fabius. The young man carried himself with confidence, his shoulders squared in a display of self-assurance. The opulent gold embroidery on his toga spoke of his ambition, but the cunning glint in his eyes unsettled Valeria more than anything.

Cassius came to a halt before Valeria, his gaze lingering on her composed yet resolute stance. For a brief moment, there was admiration in his eyes but it quickly turned to fury.

"Valeria!" he thundered, his voice so powerful it seemed to make the candle flames flicker. "What do you think you are doing? Speaking to Commodus like that endangers not only your life but all of ours!"

Valeria refused to bow to her father's anger. Without breaking eye contact with his stern face, she responded in a calm voice, "Father, I am merely fighting for my freedom. What he feels is not love, but domination. And I will not submit to such a bond."

Cassius hesitated for a moment at her words. But his sense of duty and his family's safety overpowered his conscience. "This is about more than an individual’s freedom, Valeria! This is how the order of Rome works. If the Emperor has chosen you, you must obey!"

At that moment, Fabius interjected, a mocking smile playing on his lips. He turned to Valeria, his gaze sweeping over her poised stance with thinly veiled disdain.

"Oh, of course, Valeria," he said in a taunting tone. "Our beloved little sister, always the shining star. But tell me, is this bravery, or sheer foolishness? Your so-called 'honor' may very well lead to our downfall."

Valeria did not respond to Fabius's words.

"Father, perhaps Valeria needs some time alone to truly understand the realities of Rome," he said, turning to Cassius. "Maybe she should realize how exhausted we all are from constantly protecting her."

Cassius gave a nod of approval at Fabius’s suggestion, but Valeria’s stance remained unshaken.

"Fabius, there’s something you don’t understand," she said. "If your power comes from the downfall of others, then that power is nothing but a hollow shadow."

Her father voiced his disappointment once more.

"When the Emperor asks you again, you must be rational," he said, his voice softer this time but still carrying an air of authority.

As Cassius and Fabius left the room, Valeria was left alone. But solitude was not a weakness for her... it was a silence in which she found herself. That night, she lifted her head toward the sky, gazing at the shining stars above Rome. Under these very stars, she would make her choice: to surrender or to fight for her freedom.

And this choice would be the first step in a rebellion that would go down in history.

The grand arena of Rome was filled with a crowd buzzing with excitement. The sky was a clear blue, and the sun bathed the arena in golden light. The gladiator games, held by the command of Emperor Commodus, were a celebration of a victorious military campaign. In the stands, from the lower classes to senators, everyone greeted the gladiators with the same fervor. Yet, the Emperor’s private box stood apart in its unmatched splendor.

Emperor Commodus sat at the very center of the box, reclining on a throne adorned with golden embroidery. His attire was as magnificent as that of Rome’s gods; the deep purple cloak draped over his shoulders was a symbol of his unquestionable authority. Seated beside him was his sister, and behind him, to his left, sat Valeria, the daughter of his close friend, Senator Cassius. The young woman carried herself with noble grace, yet her gaze held both sharp intensity and a deep melancholy.

Valeria was dressed in a red *stola*, its delicate fabric rippling elegantly with her every movement. The golden leaf motifs on her belt reflected the wealth and nobility of Rome. Her dark chestnut hair cascaded over her shoulders, styled with a golden crown adorned with leaf patterns, glistening under the sunlight like a divine emblem.

Despite Commodus’s suggestive words and the frequent glances he cast in her direction, Valeria kept her eyes fixed on the brutal battles unfolding in the arena. Yet, her indifference only seemed to intrigue Commodus further.

"What do you think, Valeria?" Commodus asked, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Do the passion of these gladiators not reflect the greatness of Rome? Just like us..."

Valeria turned her head slightly toward him, a polite yet icy smile appearing on her lips. "Yes, Your Majesty. The gladiators do indeed reflect the grandeur of Rome," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of irony. "But only for a fleeting moment. One moment they live, the next they die."

Commodus narrowed his eyes as if he had deciphered the deeper meaning behind her words.

Just as Valeria was about to shift her gaze back to the gladiators, a new figure emerged at the entrance of the stands at Commodus’s command: General Marcus Acacius.

As Marcus entered the Colosseum, he took a brief moment to survey his surroundings. He was no stranger to the chaotic energy of the gladiator arena, yet this place always stirred conflicting emotions within him. It was meant to symbolize war and honor, but at times, it served as a stark reminder of the darkest facets of human nature.

At Commodus’s signal, Marcus proceeded toward the imperial box. His gleaming armor was adorned with golden accents, yet it bore a simplicity that made it clear he had no interest in mere ostentation. His face, hardened by years on the battlefield, was defined by sharp lines, but in his eyes, there remained a flicker of compassion.

Upon reaching the box, Commodus rose to greet him.

"Ah, General Acacius! The sword and honor of Rome! We are most pleased to have you among us," he declared.

Marcus saluted formally. "Your Majesty," he replied. Yet, the moment he lowered his salute, his eyes fell upon Valeria. Seeing her up close for the first time, he found himself unexpectedly captivated.

Valeria was unlike the other daughters of the Senate members. While they carried a facade of elegance, she possessed an inner strength and depth that set her apart.

Commodus noticed this exchange of glances, and a cunning smile crossed his face.

"Ah, I see you have not been introduced," he said smoothly. "General Acacius, this is Valeria, daughter of Senator Cassius. Valeria, this is General Acacius—one of Rome’s most valiant commanders."

Valeria, though she recognized the nuances in Commodus's introduction, responded with graceful poise, inclining her head in a courteous greeting. "General Acacius," she said. "I know of you from your victories on Rome’s battlefields."

Marcus offered a slight smile. "Lady Valeria," he replied, his voice carrying a deep, commanding presence. "You are known for both your grace and intellect. Now I see that such words were never an exaggeration."

Yet, as Marcus watched Valeria, he felt a growing unease. Knowing of Commodus’s obsession with her made it nearly impossible for him to acknowledge the pull he felt toward this young woman.

Valeria, too, sensed the weight Marcus carried as she met his gaze. This man was not just a general; he was a soul burdened with the weight of Rome and a sorrow that came from the battlefield.

In that moment, in the emperor’s private box, two fates intertwined for the first time. But this meeting did more than link their destinies—it ignited a spark that would change the course of Rome itself.

As the sun reached its peak, the Roman arena grew even more alive. The crowd roared with excitement, their cheers echoing against the stone walls. The scent of blood lingered in the air, mixing with the dust that rose from the sandy ground. Seated on his throne, Emperor Commodus let his gaze drift across the gladiators below, reveling in the spectacle.

Beside him, Marcus Acacius watched with growing discomfort. Despite the many battles he had fought, there was something ruthless in these games that unsettled him.

In the arena, two gladiators faced off. On one side stood a towering Thracian, gripping two short swords with jagged edges resembling shards of bone. Opposite him, a lean yet agile Nubian gladiator twirled his spear with remarkable precision. Both were drenched in sweat and fatigue.

The Thracian lunged forward with a sudden, powerful strike, but the Nubian dodged by rolling backward, evading the attack just in time. The crowd erupted in frenzied shouts. Each step, each clash sent up bursts of dust, making the combat all the more dramatic.

Valeria remained silent throughout the fight. Her eyes carefully followed every movement in the arena—not with admiration like the crowd or Commodus, but with calculation. She studied the gladiators' tactics, analyzing the logic behind every step and maneuver.

Noticing a slight misstep in the slave’s defensive stance, she murmured under her breath, almost unconsciously.

"If he had shifted his foot just a little to the side, he could have deflected the attack."

Marcus Acacius heard her words. He glanced at Valeria from the corner of his eye, unable to hide his surprise. He had never seen a woman observe gladiator fights with such focus—most attended merely for entertainment or to display their social status. But Valeria watched the arena as if it were a battlefield.

"Watch the Nubian," she said this time. Her voice carried a certainty that cut through the chaos of the arena and reached him directly. "He is more agile, but he hesitates too much. If he gets cornered, the Thracian's strength will overpower him."

Another observation.

"The strike is coming from too wide an angle. If he could move faster, he could throw the Thracian off balance."

Marcus could no longer resist. He turned to Valeria. "Lady Valeria," he said, his voice laced with curiosity. "Your knowledge of gladiator combat techniques is remarkable. What has given you such insight?"

Valeria paused for a moment. When her eyes met Marcus’s, she lowered them slightly, a faint smile playing on her lips.

"Oh, General," she replied with a hint of playful irony. "I am merely intrigued by the aesthetics of movement. This is all just a matter of entertainment, is it not?"

Marcus noticed her sudden shift in demeanor. The way she dismissed the subject so quickly made him suspect she was hiding something. But why? Why would the daughter of a senator possess such a keen understanding of gladiatorial combat and battle strategy?

She was not merely a decorative figure of the imperial elite. The way she studied the arena was far from that of a casual spectator. Valeria could analyze the logic behind every movement, recognize tactical mistakes. This realization left Marcus with even more questions.

The fight had ended, and the golden sands of the Colosseum were now stained with blood. As the crowd cheered for the victorious gladiators, Commodus rose from his seat. His eyes fixed on Valeria, and with a warm smile, he approached her.

Valeria felt uneasy under the intensity of the emperor’s gaze.

"Wasn't that fight spectacular, my dear Valeria?" Commodus’s voice carried both warmth and an unmistakable air of dominance.

Valeria responded with a delicate smile. "Of course, Your Majesty. Your gladiators delivered a truly magnificent performance."

Marcus could sense Valeria's discomfort under Commodus’s watchful eyes.

"Lady Valeria," Commodus said, stepping closer. "You will be the guest of honor at our banquet tonight. Isn't that right, Marcus? I'm sure General Acacius agrees with me."

Marcus hesitated for a brief moment but then nodded politely. "Your Majesty, of course."

Valeria wanted to escape this situation quickly. With a slight curtsy, she said, "Your Majesty, if you would permit me, I would like to join my friends."

Commodus nodded, granting her leave, but his eyes held an expression that suggested he had no intention of letting her go so easily.

As Valeria's delicate curtsy and swift steps carried her away, she left behind only Commodus and Marcus Acacius in the imperial box.

"General," Commodus said, his voice both relaxed and bearing the authority of a ruler. "Look at this arena. Rome’s power is forged within these stone walls. But this alone is not enough. We must expand our borders further—beyond the Alps, and then to the riches of the East… Tell me, Marcus, do you think my dream will come true one day?"

Marcus pretended to ponder the emperor's question, though the answer was already clear in his mind—he merely had to force himself to speak it. "Your Majesty, under your will, Rome’s borders can stretch beyond imagination. However..."

His voice drifted slightly as his gaze followed the corridor where Valeria had disappeared moments ago.

Commodus noticed this lapse in attention. He placed his wine goblet on the table, his eyes sharpening as he studied Marcus. "However what, Marcus?" he asked, his tone now more pointed, more inquisitive.

Marcus straightened himself and took a step forward. "However, Your Majesty, a vision of such magnitude requires both military strength and internal stability. While we battle our enemies abroad, maintaining balance within Rome is just as crucial."

Commodus seemed pleased with this response. Yet Marcus's thoughts were still elsewhere—on Valeria. Her voice, the subtle smile on her lips, the mystery in her eyes...

As soon as his conversation with Commodus ended, Marcus left the arena in search of Valeria. His footsteps echoed through the corridors, his mind fixated on the enigma she presented. Though Commodus favored her, she visibly tried to keep her distance from him, a fact that intrigued Marcus more with each passing moment.

While passing through a side passage that led to the Colosseum’s garden, a faint growl followed by a soft laugh made him pause. Turning his head towards the source of the sound, he spotted Valeria in a secluded space.

But she was not alone.

Beside her lay a wolf majestic and imposing, its massive paws resting against the earth. Its fur was as dark as the night, yet it shimmered with a silvery sheen. Valeria was stroking the beast’s head, speaking to it in a calm, soothing manner.

For a moment, Marcus could hardly believe his eyes. This was not a sight one encountered in Rome.

He approached cautiously. "Lady Valeria," he called out, his voice tinged with both astonishment and admiration.

Valeria turned to face him. The wolf, sensing the general’s presence, tensed, ready to revert to its wild nature but Valeria calmed it with a gentle touch.

"General Acacius," she said. "You managed to find me."

Marcus kept a careful distance from the beast as he stepped closer. "A senator’s daughter and a wolf," he remarked with a slight tilt of his head. "Not a sight one often encounters. Where did you find this animal?"

Valeria smiled faintly, running her fingers through the wolf’s thick fur. "This wolf belonged to General Maximus," she said, her voice suddenly carrying a solemn weight. Her eyes seemed to drift toward a distant memory. "When he died, the emperor’s sister, Lucilla, gifted him to me. I believed he carried a piece of Maximus’s spirit… and it was a great gesture on her part."

Marcus stared at her in quiet surprise. The name of Maximus was legendary in Rome.

"General Maximus…" he murmured. "I did not know you had a connection to him."

Valeria’s gaze remained on the wolf’s piercing eyes. "I wish I had known a man like him," she said. Her voice held both admiration and longing. "I have devoted myself to understanding his vision. His courage, loyalty, honor… Everything Rome needs was in his heart. But, unfortunately, life is rarely just."

Marcus found himself captivated by the depth of her words. "Maximus was truly an extraordinary man," he said. "But listening to you, I feel as though you have done much to honor his legacy."

Valeria gave a small, enigmatic smile in response, but there was a secret hidden in her eyes.

"To honor something, one must first know how to protect oneself, General," she said. Then, as if wanting to change the subject, she added with a teasing tone, "And what about you? Are you afraid of wolves?"

Marcus noticed this sudden change but chose not to dwell on it. With a slight smile, he said, "As a soldier, we cannot allow fear to take hold of us. But to be honest, the presence of such a wild animal does surprise me."

Valeria laughed. "A fair observation," she said. "But don’t worry, he is loyal only to me. He won’t bite you."

Marcus was even more impressed by this revelation. The fact that a woman had tamed such a wild beast spoke volumes about her strength and uniqueness. "You intrigue me more with each passing moment, Lady Valeria," he said, his eyes fixed on hers.

Valeria did not respond immediately. Just as she was about to speak, their silence was interrupted by the voice of the emperor’s sister, Lucilla.

"Valeria! Marcus!" she called, approaching them gracefully. "His Majesty wishes to see you at the banquet."

Valeria stroked the wolf’s head one last time before rising to her feet. "Of course, Lucilla," she said with an elegant smile.

Marcus, meanwhile, found himself looking into Valeria’s eyes, struggling to suppress his desire to speak with her more.

The splendor and power of Rome were on full display at the grand imperial banquet. Gold-gilded columns, statues of gods adorning the walls, cushions draped in the rarest and most exquisite fabrics, and grand dining tables filled the hall. Throughout the night, the city’s elite mingled among dancing slaves and wine-drinking nobles. Before the lavish couches, golden goblets brimmed with the finest wines, and the tables overflowed with exotic delicacies—roasted quail, honey-glazed pork, plates adorned with dried figs and pomegranates. Musicians transformed the feast into a spectacle, playing to entertain the guests. The melodies of lyres and flutes filled the air with a delicate melancholy. Whispered conversations, the clinking of wine cups, and the savoring of carefully prepared meals blended into the atmosphere.

Valeria, dressed in a crimson gown, sat at the table’s forefront. The women around her observed the unfolding events with a mix of grace and quiet ambition. However, their gazes often drifted elsewhere...frequently settling on General Marcus Acacius.

A wealthy noblewoman, Livia, praised Marcus for both his stature and his esteemed rank. "It is truly a blessing for Rome to have such a handsome general," she said, her eyes gleaming. "Not only a brave leader but also a bold man. A true hero."

Valeria elegantly held her wine cup, casting a glance at the women. Though she noticed their predatory expressions, she maintained her composed demeanor. However, a subtle unrest stirred within her.

Seated beside her, Antonia had been observing Marcus’s lingering glances toward Valeria all evening. With a playful smirk, she interjected, "But I have noticed something," she said, casting a knowing look at Valeria. "General Acacius keeps watching you. His gazes are far too meaningful… Surely, you’ve noticed?"

The other women exchanged glances, nodding in silent agreement. Livia’s smile momentarily tightened. "Of course, if Commodus were to notice this, the consequences would be quite clear," she said, keeping her eyes fixed on Valeria.

Valeria calmly set her goblet down. Her gaze flickered toward Marcus, who had momentarily looked away from her but soon lifted his head once more, his eyes meeting hers. She offered a faint smile and lowered her head slightly before replying, "I believe you are overthinking things," she said. "General Acacius does not look at me that way. I am certain that no one occupies his thoughts outside of Rome’s wars and victories. This is merely a misunderstanding."

The women remained skeptical, but a shadow of doubt took root among them. Livia leaned in slightly, her smile thin and laced with amusement.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her tone subtly teasing. "Acacius seems interested in more than just war tonight—he seems interested in you."

Valeria hesitated for the briefest moment. Throughout the evening, she had worked to ignore Commodus’s watchful gaze, and now she was also acutely aware of Marcus’s interest. But it gave her no sense of comfort. Suppressing her unease, she responded with quiet confidence, "That is nonsense," she said. "Men like General Acacius look at victory with hungry eyes. That is all you need to understand."

The women finally fell silent, though their minds continued to churn with speculation. They did not entirely believe Valeria’s words, yet the social hierarchy and its unspoken rivalries forced them to let the matter drop...for now.

As the warmth of the banquet slowly dissipated, Commodus leaned back in his gilded chair, his gaze drifting toward the table where Valeria sat. He gestured toward his servant, Servius, beckoning him closer. Commodus’s voice, as commanding as ever, carried a softer undertone this time.

"Deliver a message to Valeria," he ordered. "Tell her to meet me in the garden by the temple."

Servius bowed in acknowledgment and swiftly set off to fulfill his duty. Commodus’s eyes lingered on Valeria’s shimmering silhouette in her crimson dress. His expression was a complex blend of desire and determination. To him, Valeria was not merely a woman...she was an unattainable victory. And Commodus was not accustomed to leaving things unfinished.

When Servius delivered the emperor’s message, a flurry of whispers erupted among Valeria and her companions. Antonia’s eyes widened as she turned to Valeria.

"The garden by the temple?" she said, her voice rising with curiosity. "Just you and him? How could you possibly refuse?"

Valeria took a deep breath before answering. "This isn’t right. I do not share his feelings, and I don’t know how to make him understand that."

Livia reached out, gently squeezing Valeria’s hand. "Valeria, Commodus is not just a man...he is an emperor. Rejecting him… it could mean disaster, not just for you, but for your entire family. The Senate and the people’s support are weakening by the day."

Antonia, smirking, chimed in with an amused tone. "Don’t worry, Valeria. It’s obvious why he’s summoned you there. Accept his marriage proposal...become empress. You’ll live in comfort for the rest of your life."

Valeria shook her head firmly, inhaling deeply. "I don’t want to talk about this," she said, her voice a mix of resolve and unease. Despite her friends' pressures, she moved toward the garden with measured steps. However, knowing how unpredictable the emperor could be, she made sure to keep her wolf close.

The garden by the temple was cloaked in the silence of the night. Towering pine trees blocked out the moonlight, while marble benches and ivy-covered columns lent the place an almost enchanted air. Commodus sat on one of the benches, his expression both tense and resolute.

As Valeria stepped into the garden, she felt her heartbeat quicken. Commodus’s eyes immediately locked onto hers.

"Valeria," he said, rising slowly to his feet. "Come, sit with me."

His gaze flickered around the space, sensing the presence of the wolf. Just as Valeria found comfort in the creature’s looming shadow, Commodus felt unsettled by it...as if it carried the ghost of Maximus himself.

Valeria hesitated before stepping forward, bowing politely. "Emperor, I have come at your request."

Commodus gestured to the seat beside him. "It was not a command, but a request," he said, his voice soft yet authoritative. "There is no one else here, Valeria. Just you and me. No one will hear us. We can speak freely."

He fixed his gaze on her. "Valeria," he began, "my father never loved me. To him, I was nothing more than a burden...not a son. Maximus…" his eyes darkened as they flicked toward the wolf. "Ah, that cursed Maximus. He always made me feel like I was lesser. Like I was nothing but his shadow. But you, Valeria… you are different. When I look into your eyes, I see myself. The real me. And that is why I love you."

Valeria listened in silence as Commodus took another step closer.

"Tomorrow, the time I have given you runs out," he continued. "Say yes. Become Empress of Rome. Stand by my side, and together, we will make history. But more than that...know that I truly love you. This is not just a marriage proposal."

Valeria’s expression wavered. Commodus’s eyes reflected sincerity, yet something deep within her told her that something was terribly wrong. She averted her gaze, speaking slowly.

"This is a decision of great consequence."

Commodus’s lips curled into a faint smile, but for a brief moment, his eyes darkened. "Of course," he murmured, his voice dropping. "But I will not wait forever."

As Commodus’s obsessive words filled the air, Valeria instinctively avoided his gaze, choosing instead to remain silent. The emperor awaited her answer impatiently, but Valeria’s mind was still caught on Marcus Acacius’s lingering glances from earlier that evening.

Then, suddenly, movement flickered in the farthest shadows of the temple. Commodus’s guards had been loosened by the revelry of the banquet, their vigilance dulled. And in that moment, a whisper echoed through the temple’s quiet corners.

"Now."

Valeria’s sharp eyes caught sight of three figures emerging behind Commodus. Each of them draped in dark cloaks, each gripping a short blade, their approach slow and calculated.

She tensed, her voice low but urgent. "Behind you."

Commodus merely chuckled, dismissing her concern. "Relax, my dear Valeria. Who would dare lay a hand on me?" he mocked.

But before he could finish his sentence, the first assassin struck.

Valeria, without hesitation, grabbed Commodus by the arm and pulled him aside, narrowly saving him from the assassin’s strike. As Commodus fell to the ground, one of the attackers immediately targeted him, and they began to grapple. Another assassin raised his sword, ready to drive it into the emperor, but Valeria instinctively stepped in front of Commodus, deflecting the incoming blow. With swift precision, she kicked the attacker’s wrist, forcing him to drop his weapon. Seizing the opportunity, Valeria swiftly picked up the fallen sword. She tore away the excess fabric of her dress, freeing herself from its burden, and immediately took a battle stance.

Valeria’s fighting style was as strong and precise as that of a gladiator. She moved aggressively, skillfully blocking every strike the assassins attempted, maneuvering as if she were in an arena. Commodus watched in awe at her prowess while simultaneously struggling against his own attackers. Yet, he was soon overpowered and pinned down once more.

Breathing heavily, Valeria shouted, "Asinus!" At her command, a dark silhouette swiftly slipped through the temple’s open doors. Her ever-loyal wolf, always by her side, bared its white fangs and growled menacingly before lunging at the assassins. As the wolf attacked, Valeria took down another assassin. Two of the attackers had already been neutralized, and the third attempted to flee but Valeria’s piercing gaze did not allow it. At her signal, Asinus leaped onto the last remaining assassin, snarling as it aimed for his throat.

Meanwhile, back in the banquet hall, the joyous laughter of the guests abruptly turned into terrified screams. A second wave of assassins had stormed through the temple’s main entrance, their swords and daggers cutting down innocent bystanders. The panicked guests trampled over golden goblets and silver platters as they tried to escape, while Marcus Acacius’s soldiers sprang into action.

Marcus did not hesitate for even a moment. Drawing his sword, he barked out orders to his men. "Form defensive groups! Get the people out!" His commanding voice rang out over the chaos as he pushed toward the temple’s main platform. "Where is Commodus?" he demanded, but no one could provide a clear answer.

Then, a servant stammered, "The emperor and Lady Valeria... they are in the back of the temple!"

Marcus’s eyes darkened. "Alone?" he asked sharply. The servant nodded.

Marcus raced through the temple’s rear corridors, his breath steadying as he reached the scene.

There, against the backdrop of gilded marble columns, Commodus was cornered by four men. In front of him stood Valeria, fiercely defending the emperor as she fought off two assassins. Her movements were swift, her stance unwavering. Wielding a short dagger she had seized, she skillfully parried every strike. Beside her, her loyal wolf, Asinus, growled and lunged at another attacker.

Marcus hesitated for a brief moment, startled by the scene before him. He had never realized just how powerful and skilled Valeria truly was. But his surprise was fleeting... there was no time for hesitation. With a swift motion, he drew his sword and charged forward.

"Valeria, fall back!" he shouted.

But Valeria ignored his command. "My place is here!" she declared.

Now, Marcus and Valeria stood side by side, fighting off the assassins together. Marcus’s sword clashed with an attacker’s dagger, the sharp ring of metal against metal echoing through the temple walls. Every strike was strong and deliberate... his skills as a general evident in every move. Meanwhile, Valeria moved with calculated speed, strategically diverting the enemies’ attention.

At Valeria’s signal, Asinus lunged forward, taking down another assassin. As the wolf secured its target, Valeria turned her focus to the remaining attacker. With a swift strike of her dagger, she slashed at the assassin’s arm, forcing him to drop his weapon. But just as she gained the upper hand, an unexpected blow struck her from behind, sending her crashing to the ground.

Marcus faltered for a split second, his breath catching. "Valeria!" he called out.

But there was no time to hesitate—the battle raged on. Marcus forced himself to focus, cutting down two more attackers before finally rushing to Valeria’s side.

Valeria had suffered a deep wound to her shoulder. Blood spread across her red dress, staining the golden embroidery. Yet, despite this, the determination on her face remained unwavering. “I’m fine,” she said in a weak voice. “Just keep saving Commodus.”

Marcus admired the courage in Valeria’s eyes, but he could not leave her behind. “No, we fight together,” he said firmly. “No one is leaving you here alone.”

When the last attackers were finally subdued by Marcus’ soldiers, the temple fell into a deadly silence. Commodus sat on the ground in a corner, watching everything unfold in stunned disbelief. His gaze locked onto Valeria. He knew she had saved his life, but this only deepened his obsession with her.

Marcus carefully lifted Valeria from the ground. “A woman like you is far too valuable to Commodus,” he said, though there was a note of admiration in his voice. Valeria met his eyes and smiled faintly. “I only did what was right,” she replied. But the glimmer in her gaze conveyed far more than her words.

Asinus sat quietly beside Valeria, while the marble floor was now marked with the scars of battle.

The air in the temple remained heavy with the scent of blood and smoke. Commodus’ voice rang out in the eerie silence left by the clashing swords. “Who did this?! Who would dare attempt to assassinate me?!” His eyes burned with fury, making it clear that those responsible would face a severe punishment.

Marcus Acacius swiftly took control. “Seal all exits,” he commanded in a booming voice. “No suspect is to escape. Search every corner!” The temple was once again filled with movement as soldiers took their positions at every door, questioning everyone inside. Commodus stood tall, taking deep breaths, his anger not only directed at the assassins but also at the humiliation of such an attack in front of his people.

Just then, Valeria suddenly staggered. Commodus’ eyes fixed on her trembling hands and the pallor overtaking her face. “Valeria!” he shouted. Valeria swayed as if the ground beneath her had disappeared, then collapsed hard onto the floor. Without hesitation, Commodus caught her in his arms. “What’s happening to you?!” His voice, once furious, was now laced with fear.

Marcus immediately rushed to their side. “What’s going on? Lay her down,” he ordered. As Commodus gripped her hands tightly, Valeria whispered weakly, “I… I’m cold…”

Marcus carefully tore the fabric of her dress near the wound. The gash on her shoulder had turned a dark red, surrounded by an ominous black hue.

Marcus studied the wound intently, his expression darkening. “It’s poison,” he declared, his voice tense but resolute. “The blade was coated in a deadly substance.” The darkening blood seeping from her wound was a clear sign of the poison’s spread through her body. “This is a toxin we encountered before in our legions. Aconitum… Wolfsbane.”

Commodus' eyes narrowed. “Do you know what this is?”

Marcus nodded grimly. “Yes. It’s a poison derived from a plant. It spreads rapidly through the bloodstream, paralyzing the muscles and slowly shutting down the organs. But for it to act this fast…” He glanced at Valeria, his voice turning grave. “This version has been enhanced... deliberately made more lethal.”

Commodus’ fury deepened. “Who could be behind such treachery?! Whoever orchestrated this assassination must have also supplied the poison. This is a declaration of war!”

Valeria’s breathing grew shallower, her chest barely rising and falling. Commodus, torn between his anger and his fear of losing her, clenched his jaw. “How do we save her?” he asked, his voice almost pleading.

Marcus hesitated for only a moment before speaking with determination. “I know someone who can help her. A healer. She has the skills to slow the poison’s effects—perhaps even cure her.”

Commodus’ expression hardened. “Where is this healer? Bring them here!”

Marcus shook his head. “There’s no time for that. We must take her there immediately. The poison is spreading fast. Valeria’s strength is extraordinary, but this poison is fatal for anyone.”

Commodus hesitated. “Taking Valeria away from here is dangerous. How do we know the attackers won’t try again?”

Marcus responded with a steely voice. “The assassins are still inside, and my men will find them. But Valeria has no time! If we don’t get her out now…” He didn’t finish his sentence, but Commodus understood the weight of his words.

Commodus gritted his teeth, his eyes flashing with a mix of rage and helplessness. “Save her,” he finally said, his voice hoarse and weary. “But if anything happens to Valeria, the blame will fall on you, General.”

Marcus met his gaze sharply. “Nothing will happen to her.” Commodus hesitated before carefully handing Valeria over to Marcus, his fingers lingering on her pale face. “Bring her back to me, Marcus.”

Marcus gave a firm nod and lifted Valeria into his arms. “Asinus! Follow me!” he commanded. The wolf, having never left his master’s side, now walked silently behind him.

As Marcus carried Valeria away, he was certain he could save her. But he would not forget the fire of rage and suspicion in Commodus’ eyes. This was not just a rescue mission...it was a test of fate, one that would determine both Valeria’s life and Marcus’ own future.

As the moonlight illuminated Rome’s bloody and chaotic night, Marcus Acacius carefully placed Valeria’s nearly motionless body onto his horse. Her pale face was as pure and fragile as a white marble statue. Her eyes were closed; her lips barely moved with a breath so faint it was almost a whisper. Marcus, as if trying to feel her warmth, tightened his trembling arms around her and placed her in his lap.

“Hold on to me,” he whispered, his voice low yet determined, only loud enough to be heard in the silence of the night.

The poison slithered through Valeria’s body like a silent predator, setting her veins on fire. As Marcus held her arm, he could feel her pulse weakening rapidly. Every passing second made it clearer that this dangerous journey was her last hope. Listening to her fragile breathing, for the first time, he felt not the usual rush of battle but sheer helplessness and fear.

Gritting his teeth, he muttered to himself, “No, I won’t lose you.”

The wound on Valeria’s shoulder had darkened, her skin turning cold. As Marcus urged his horse forward with urgency, a storm of emotions raged inside him. Why did he care so much about her? Why did he feel such desperation for her survival? He had saved countless lives on the battlefield before, but this… this was different

The rhythmic sound of the horse’s hooves echoed through the cobbled streets, accompanied by a silent shadow—a wolf following closely behind them. Valeria’s loyal companion ran effortlessly alongside them, its keen eyes watching over her. The beast moved with an unyielding resolve, as if it refused to let any harm befall its mistress.

Marcus glanced at the creature and thought, Just like your owner. Silent, yet possessing a devastating power.

Valeria’s hair fluttered in the wind, her delicate neck exposed to the moonlight. The wound still oozed dark liquid, the poison creeping through her body at a slow but deadly pace.

As Marcus looked at her, he could no longer restrain himself. It wasn’t just her beauty—it was the mystery and strength she carried within her. She had a nobility that neither an aristocrat nor even a female warrior could match. He remembered how she had tamed the wolf, how she had stood fearless against assassins, how she had displayed unwavering courage in the temple. Watching her had stirred something in Marcus that was more than admiration.

But that feeling left him vulnerable.

This isn’t right, he scolded himself. She belongs to Commodus. And you… you are just a soldier.

Yet despite these thoughts, holding Valeria in his arms dragged him into an emotion he had never known before.

“Hold on, Valeria. I swear to you, I will save you.”

Through the darkness, Marcus Acacius rode toward the healer’s humble stone house. The moonlight cast long shadows on the sturdy walls, revealing the simple yet solid structure. As the horse’s hooves broke the silence, a faint glow from the window indicated that someone was inside.

Marcus’s weary face was etched with worry, and Valeria’s pale form still lay lifeless in his arms. The wolf followed like a ghost, occasionally pausing to sniff the air.

Jumping off his horse, Marcus carefully lifted Valeria into his arms. At that moment, he realized how light she was. But that weightlessness did nothing to ease the burden in his heart—it only made it heavier.

Reaching the healer’s door, he pounded on it.

“Open the door! Open it now! I have an injured patient!” His voice was firm but laced with fear.

Within moments, the door creaked open, revealing a middle-aged woman whose face was lined with age but whose eyes shone with wisdom. Dressed in a simple yet clean tunic, she held a torch that illuminated Marcus’s exhausted but determined expression.

“General Acacius?” she asked, surprised.

“Valeria is wounded,” Marcus answered, his voice trembling with restrained anger. “She’s been poisoned. You must do something immediately.”

The healer quickly pushed aside her shock and stepped aside. “Bring her in, quickly! I’ll prepare her room.”

Marcus carried Valeria through a narrow stone corridor. From the outside, the house had appeared modest, but inside, it was carefully arranged with a well-prepared patient chamber. A bed covered in clean linen, wooden shelves filled with vials of herbs, and a small fireplace burning warmly in the corner created an air of quiet urgency. The sharp scent of medicinal plants lingered in the air, signaling that a treatment was already in motion.

As Marcus gently placed Valeria onto the bed, a stray lock of her hair fell over her face. He hesitated for a moment before carefully brushing it back. Her pale face remained as silent and troubled as death itself.

The healer stepped forward, her eyes immediately locking onto the wound.

"The blade was poisoned," Marcus said, his voice a mix of hardness and fear. "I can't lose her."

The healer examined the wound carefully. "This is an ancient poison," the woman said with a soft sigh. "The poison is slowly seeping into her blood, and once it reaches her heart, death will be inevitable. But you arrived in time. There is still a chance. However, this treatment will not be easy."

Marcus searched for a glimmer of hope in the healer’s words. "Do whatever it takes. I'll help," he said without hesitation.

The healer quickly grabbed several bottles from the shelf and signaled to her assistant. The assistant, a young man, was accustomed to the healer’s orders and had skilled hands. A mortar was filled with dark-colored herbs, dried flowers, and a small amount of green liquid. The healer turned to Marcus. "To cleanse this poison, we must cut the wound open and let the blood flow. This will be difficult for both her and you, but it’s our only chance."

Marcus furrowed his brows but did not waver. "What do I need to do?"

The healer carefully lifted Valeria’s pale arm. "We must keep the wound open. As we drain the poisoned blood, we need to ensure fresh blood keeps circulating. While I open the wound, you will drop this into her vein." She handed him a small bottle. "But be careful. Too little won’t work, too much will stop her heart."

Marcus nodded firmly. "Understood."

The healer cut away the fabric around the wound and took a deep breath before drawing her knife. "Are you ready?" she asked Marcus.

"I'm ready."

As the healer wiped around the wound with a clean cloth, Valeria's face twisted in pain. Marcus gripped her hand tightly. "Hold on, Valeria," he whispered.

When the healer pressed the knife to the wound, forcing the poison out, Valeria's body flinched involuntarily. Thick, dark blood oozed out. Marcus, his hands slightly trembling, carefully dripped the green liquid into her vein. The assistant stood close by, ensuring he administered the correct amount.

"Do not rush," the healer said sharply to Marcus. "This is the line between life and death for her."

Marcus leaned in closer to Valeria. "Come on, hold on. You’re a fighter. Prove it to me," he said, his voice low but filled with deep affection. At that moment, he wasn’t just a general—he was a man fighting to keep Valeria alive.

Once the last drop of poisoned blood had been drained, the healer pressed a prepared herbal mixture onto the wound. "Now, we wait," she said. "It will take time for her to wake. Keep talking to her. It is crucial that she stays awake through the night."

Marcus held Valeria’s hand and rested his forehead gently against hers. "I’m here," he whispered. "And I’m not going anywhere." Though Valeria couldn’t open her eyes, there was the faintest twitch at the corner of her lips. Marcus could still feel the warrior inside her fighting.

Her lips moved slightly, though no words formed. Marcus leaned in even closer, as if trying to catch her breath itself. "Are you trying to say something? Come on… If you can hear me, give me a sign." Valeria's eyelids fluttered slightly, and her lips parted just enough for the faintest movement. It was enough to ignite hope within Marcus.

The healer, watching from the corner of the room, observed the scene with a knowing look. "It’s not just courage fighting for her life, General," she said, her tone thoughtful. "Your heart is fighting too. But such deep concern is not just a soldier’s duty, is it?"

Marcus lifted his head, his eyes filled with both guilt and defiance. "That’s none of your business," he said shortly. But his words lacked true coldness—he himself could feel the vulnerability behind them.

The healer smiled slightly, shaking her head. "No, it’s really not. But eyes do not lie, Marcus Acacius. I saw the way you looked at her."

For a moment, Marcus remained silent. "You’re mistaken," he finally said, his voice controlled but slightly strained. "She is the emperor’s fiancée. Commodus’ beloved. And I am his general. Something like this… something like this is impossible."

The healer chuckled softly—not mockingly, but with understanding. "If you say so," she said, clearly unconvinced. "But remember, General—your eyes betray your heart."

With that, she left them alone.

The silence that followed was as loud as the clash of swords in battle. The forbidden feelings within Marcus felt as heavy as a thousand spears pointed at him.

"This is wrong," he whispered to himself. His words echoed in the dim room, but they did nothing to silence the storm in his heart. "She belongs to Commodus. She is the emperor’s beloved."

He buried his head in his hands, taking a deep breath. "May the gods forgive me," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "This is weakness… and weakness makes a general vulnerable." But no matter how hard he tried, he could not suppress the emotions stirring within him.

A faint murmur from Valeria broke his thoughts. He lifted his head immediately, eyes fixed on her. Though still half-conscious, her lips parted slightly. "Marcus…" she breathed, his name escaping her lips like a fragile whisper.

The sound both burned and strengthened Marcus. He pulled himself together and took her hand again. "I’m here," he said, his voice unsteady. "I swear to you, Valeria. I will bring you back from this darkness. No matter the cost."

As the first light of dawn trickled through the stone walls, Marcus Acacius sat by Valeria’s bedside, his head resting near her as he watched over her throughout the night. Exhausted, he had drifted into sleep, his arm carefully placed over the blanket covering her. Valeria’s weak but steady breathing filled the quiet room.

When the healer and her assistant entered, they found Marcus still there, his exhaustion evident. The healer gently touched his shoulder. Marcus jolted awake, his hand instinctively moving toward the hilt of his sword before recognizing the familiar faces before him. "Healer," he muttered, his voice still thick with sleep. Then he immediately turned to Valeria, concern overtaking his drowsiness. "How is she? Is she better?"

The healer studied Valeria’s pale face carefully. "Not fully, General. The poison still lingers. Today will be even more difficult. But the girl has a strong will. She can overcome this."

Just then, Valeria let out a faint groan, slowly stirring. She blinked her eyes open and, upon seeing Marcus beside her, managed a weak smile. "Marcus…" she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Last night… what happened? Why am I here?"

Marcus gently squeezed her hand, trying to calm her. "You’re healing, Valeria. Just rest. We’ll talk later."

The healer turned to Marcus, her expression firm. "Today, we must open the wound again. The poison is still in her system, and we need to apply a second cure. But this will be even more painful than yesterday."

The concern on Marcus’ face was unmistakable.

Marcus frowned as he listened. "How will she endure so much pain? When she's this weak..."

The healer approached Marcus with a reassuring look. "She will endure. But with your support. You'll be by her side, won't you? If you truly want her to survive, you must be with her through every step."

Marcus nodded without hesitation. "I'll do whatever it takes. I won't leave her alone."

As Valeria slowly prepared herself, the healer made an opium tinctura—a concentrated opium extract. It wouldn't put her to sleep completely, but it would ease the pain and relax her body. Carefully, the healer brought the dark liquid to Valeria's lips. She grimaced at the bitter taste but obeyed under Marcus' reassuring gaze.

When the wound was opened, Valeria's face turned crimson, her brows furrowed in agony, but in her semi-conscious state, she couldn't scream. Marcus held her hand tightly, whispering in her ear. "I'm here. Be brave. This will end. You're a warrior, Valeria. You'll win this battle too."

The healer applied a special herbal mixture around the wound, letting the cure slowly seep in. His assistant looked at Marcus and gave a brief command. "I need to clean the wound, General. Step aside."

Tears streamed down Valeria's face. Her voice was weak but heart-wrenching. "It hurts so much... Marcus, it hurts..." she whimpered.

Marcus, his eyes welling up, ran his hand through her hair, his voice low but unwavering. "You can do this. You're doing it, Valeria. This pain is temporary. Do you hear me? It's almost over."

When the treatment was finished, the healer took a deep breath and turned to Marcus, his voice tired but hopeful. "General, as you said—this girl is a fighter. But having someone like you by her side makes her even stronger."

Marcus silently continued holding Valeria’s hand. As the healer’s words echoed in his mind, he felt a forbidden feeling begin to take root within him. But for now, it didn't matter. The battle for Valeria’s survival wasn’t over yet.

Two days later…

After Valeria’s routine treatment, Marcus took the opportunity to stay by her side once the healer left the room. He sat on the small chair beside her bed, watching her still-weakened form. Her face was pale, but her eyes were slowly regaining their light. Marcus couldn't bear seeing her so fragile, so he carefully reached for her hand. Gently, as if his touch could break her, he placed his fingers over her delicate ones.

At his touch, Valeria stirred slightly, her eyelids fluttering open. The first thing she saw was Marcus’ strong yet worried face. For a moment, they simply gazed at each other. In Marcus’ deep brown eyes, there was an intensity he tried to hide. Valeria smiled faintly, though it was a tired smile.

"General..." she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. But that one word echoed in Marcus’ chest.

"I'm here, Valeria," Marcus said, his voice as firm as a vow but also gentle.

Valeria tried to smile again, though the corner of her lips trembled slightly. "You didn’t have to stay."

Marcus was silent for a moment before bowing his head slightly. "I couldn't leave you alone. Your condition... it wasn’t good."

Valeria noticed his hand still holding hers. "I wouldn’t have expected such tenderness from a man as strong as you. Did Commodus order you to be this kind?"

Marcus flinched at the words, as if reality had slapped him in the face. Taking care of the Emperor's woman with such devotion what else could it mean? He withdrew his hand, furrowing his brows slightly as he answered.

"I promised the Emperor I would return his betrothed to him unharmed."

Valeria's expression changed. "No. Commodus… has made his interest in me very clear, but no, General. I belong to no one. I rejected his offer."

Marcus took a deep breath, feeling something inside him shift a small but unmistakable sense of relief.

"So I judged you wrongly," he admitted. "Had I known you were not the Emperor’s betrothed..."

Valeria cut him off with a small, knowing smile. "What would you have done, General? Would you have refused to help me?"

Even in her teasing tone, there was a challenge. Marcus held her gaze, determined not to betray anything.

"Perhaps... I would have seen you differently. But Valeria, you know how dangerous the Emperor’s interest is. He could force you."

This time, Valeria didn’t smile. Her gaze locked onto his, unwavering. "I won’t let anyone force me, Marcus Acacius. Remember that."

Something about her defiance made Marcus smile slightly. He found her strength and resolve... compelling.

For a while, they simply looked at each other. A quiet warmth filled the space between them. Marcus hesitated for a moment, but he still hadn’t let go of her trembling hand.

"Valeria... I would have liked to face you in battle. I never expected a senator’s daughter to know how to fight."

Valeria blinked in surprise. "You, Marcus Acacius… shouldn't be this bold. And you’re right, my father would never approve of me fighting like a gladiator."

Marcus tilted his head slightly. "Then how did you become so skilled?"

A silence settled over them. Valeria looked as if she wanted to answer but chose not to. The sound of footsteps saved her from responding.

The healer entered the room and immediately noticed the atmosphere between them.

"General, if you keep watching the young lady this closely, you may not want her to recover too soon. Such a visitor is hard to come by," he remarked with a smirk.

Marcus straightened, his expression hardening. "I'm only doing my duty."

The healer shrugged, then knelt beside Valeria to check her condition.

"Duty… of course. Always duty."

With precise movements, he checked Valeria’s pulse and examined the wound. He nodded approvingly, then smiled.

"Tomorrow, my lady, you’ll be able to leave. But you must continue to rest—the wound is not fully healed. Also..." He glanced at Marcus, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Your presence has been quite effective in her recovery. Such remarkable devotion."

Marcus ignored the healer’s pointed words, keeping his face neutral. "Thank you. Your work has been invaluable."

As soon as the healer left the room, Valeria turned to Marcus, trying to hide the unease in her expression.

"General," she began, her voice still weak but filled with curiosity, "what exactly happened to me?"

Marcus pulled his chair closer to the bed, resting one hand on his knee while the other thoughtfully touched his chin. "An assassination attempt," he said in a calm but cold tone. "Commodus was the target. And you... you found yourself protecting him, Valeria. Your courage... was impressive. But it came at a price. The dagger… it was poisoned." His words slowed slightly. "But according to the healer, you will make a full recovery."

As Valeria tried to process Marcus's words, her gaze wandered to the floor. Suddenly, her expression darkened. She took a deep breath and spoke. "But another danger awaits me..."

Marcus hesitated for a moment. "Why do you say that?"

Valeria averted her eyes from Marcus, as if trying to hide her emotions. "Commodus," she murmured. "When we return, he will propose to me again. I rejected his first proposal. He gave me time to reconsider, but I don't think he'll be as understanding this time."

Marcus remained silent for a moment. Seeing the raw fear and helplessness on Valeria’s face sent a chill down his spine. "Refusing him won’t be easy," Marcus said heavily. "But Commodus is, above all, the Emperor. He wouldn't use his power to directly threaten you or your family. At least... not openly. With his relationship with the Senate already so strained, he avoids taking actions that might damage his reputation."

The faint uncertainty in his voice was something even he noticed. Valeria had sensed what he truly meant. "Do you really believe that?" she asked, her voice trembling but challenging.

Marcus paused, then slightly bowed his head. "I don’t know," he admitted. "But I hope that harming you or your family would be his last resort."

Marcus glanced at Valeria's slightly trembling hand, then, gathering his courage, placed his own hand over hers. "Valeria," he said, his voice soft yet firm, "Your courage, intelligence, and grace captivate him. But they also put you in danger. If you ever need to defend yourself..." He hesitated for a moment, weighing the weight of his words. "I will be here."

When Valeria saw the sincerity in Marcus's eyes, she took a deep breath. Her lips trembled, but she said nothing. The fear and helplessness inside her seemed to slowly fade, replaced by the security of Marcus's presence. But the weight in her heart remained heavy.

Silence echoed in the room. Valeria leaned her head slightly toward Marcus. "Thank you," she said simply, but the gratitude in her voice was meaningful enough.

Sitting in bed, Valeria felt her impatience growing. She hated feeling weak, and despite her wound, she wanted to get up. She pressed her hand lightly against the edge of the bed and looked at Marcus Acacius with determination.

"I'm tired of lying here, General," she said, her voice still weak but filled with resolve. "I need to stand up."

Marcus frowned and shook his head. "Valeria, this is madness. You've just started recovering, and you need to rest. Trying to get up could ruin everything."

A small smile appeared on Valeria’s lips. "It’s obvious you don’t know me well, General. I’m famous for my stubbornness."

Marcus sighed. "Very well," he finally said in a measured tone. "But if you take even a single step and falter, we are going back."

Marcus helped Valeria up, supporting her as she took her first step. She wobbled slightly, but he held her firmly, ensuring she didn’t fall. "I told you," Marcus murmured, his gaze filled with concern.

Valeria slowly began to walk with Marcus’s support. "Where is Asinus?" she suddenly asked, curiosity in her voice. "I need to see him."

Just then, the door opened, and the healer entered. "The wolf?" he asked. "We found him outside near the cooking area not long ago. Happily gnawing on bones. He’s quite loyal."

The healer gave Marcus a small smile. "But my lady, if you wish to go outside, you mustn’t go alone."

When Marcus and Valeria stepped out, the crisp air brushed against their faces. A thin layer of mist hovered over the ground, giving the surroundings an ethereal atmosphere. Valeria's eyes immediately searched for Asinus. At last, she spotted him a few meters away, contentedly chewing on a bone.

With Marcus’s help, Valeria moved toward him. The wolf, noticing his owner, wagged his tail excitedly and let out a joyful howl before rushing to her side. Valeria dropped to her knees. Despite the pain in her wound, she couldn’t resist wrapping her arms tightly around him and pressing her cheek against his soft fur. "Ah, I missed you," she murmured, her voice filled with affection.

Whenever Marcus was alone with her, he felt as though he was losing control of his heart.

After a moment with the wolf, Valeria took a deep breath and stood again. As her arm stretched, pain shot through her, making her exhale sharply between her teeth.

She turned to Marcus. "I always saw you as serious, strong, and distant," she said with a hint of teasing. "But now I see... you have a kind side."

Marcus gave a small smile. "A strong man showing kindness is sometimes seen as weakness. Especially when you've spent your life on the battlefield..." His gaze dropped slightly. "I wish... things were different," he whispered.

Valeria listened carefully. "Different? In what way?" she asked.

Marcus's eyes narrowed slightly as if weighing the gravity of the question. "If I answer that, things will become even more complicated," he finally replied.

A deep sadness flickered in Valeria’s eyes. "I think it's already complicated. Perhaps accepting that is the only truth."

Marcus took a step closer, lowering his voice. "Valeria, when I speak to you, my words catch in my throat. Not even the enemies who tried to bring me to my knees could make me feel as powerless as your innocent gaze. But we both know... this isn’t right. I am a warrior; you are a noblewoman, and... you are the Emperor’s betrothed."

"Stop saying that," she said firmly. "Commodus may think what he wants, but my heart has never belonged to him. It never will."

Valeria stepped closer to him. "And every time I speak with you, I feel like I am losing control of my heart. You pull me deeper into a trap with each word you say, General."

Marcus took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "Valeria, even this conversation is dangerous."

In her eyes, there was both defiance and surrender. Valeria reached out, gently touching his shoulder and closing the space between them.

Finally, she tilted her head up slightly and pressed her lips against Marcus’s. That kiss carried not just passion but the weight of forbidden desire. At first, Marcus froze, but then, as if the chains around his heart shattered, his hands found her waist, pulling her closer.

In that kiss, every unspoken feeling between them was laid bare. But when it ended, Marcus’s eyes were filled with sorrow.

"Valeria," he said in a deep voice, "This... must only happen once. Your happiness is beyond my reach. I would do anything to protect you, but..."

Valeria placed her hand over his lips, silencing him. "If you want to protect me, then be honest. What does your heart say, General?"

Marcus Acacius felt the storm inside him intensify as he gazed into the depth of emotions reflected on Valeria's face. There was an undeniable pull in her youth and innocence, something that drew him in no matter how hard he tried to resist.

Marcus averted his eyes from hers, taking a deep breath. His voice was firm and stern.

"What we feel, Valeria, is nothing but a fleeting illusion. Even entertaining such thoughts is a mistake."

Valeria's expression shifted. "A mistake?" she echoed, her voice trembling yet defiant. "Do you truly believe that these feelings are wrong? Or are you just trying to convince yourself?"

Marcus clenched his jaw.

"I am a soldier, Valeria," he said, his tone low but resolute. "My life is filled with blood and death. Do you wish to spend your life longing for a man who is never truly yours? These feelings will only bring disaster."

Valeria whispered, "My heart has chosen you. Don’t you… don’t you feel it too?"

Marcus closed his eyes tightly. Her innocent confession shattered every wall he had built inside himself. But as a soldier, he had learned one crucial lesson: sometimes, in order to win, one must retreat. His hands balled into fists as he struggled to maintain his composure.

"Valeria," he said, his voice carrying the finality of a judge’s verdict. "This matter will not be discussed again. It is forbidden. And you must forget it."

Valeria took a step back, as if his words had physically struck her. "Forget?" she asked, her voice a mix of pain and disbelief. "Do you truly believe you can do that, General? Because I… I know that I cannot."

Marcus lowered his head, unwilling to meet her gaze.

"I am firm in my decision, Valeria. It was nothing more than a moment of weakness. We will not speak of this again. When you are ready, I will take you home."

Valeria nodded, the emptiness inside her growing. Her voice carried both heartbreak and defiance. "Then let us not prolong this," she said, her tone cold and fragile. "Let’s return at once."

Marcus let his arms fall to his sides, stepping back. He could feel the weight of her broken heart, but he had to silence his own. This was for her own good. Valeria’s youth and innocence were not meant to bear the burden of a man like him.

Without accepting his help, Valeria made her way inside, her pain evident in every hesitant step. She staggered, her breath catching in her throat, the wound in her heart as raw as the ones on her body.

After Marcus Acacius left Valeria at the palace, he felt an overwhelming sense of emptiness. Days passed, yet neither he nor Valeria spoke a word to each other after that passionate kiss. Marcus buried himself in his duties, avoiding her at all costs, convincing himself that as long as she was safe under the Emperor’s protection, he could find solace. But every night, his mind betrayed him bringing back the memory of Valeria’s face, her touch, and the intensity of their kiss.

Valeria, on the other hand, struggled in the palace, suffocated by Commodus’ growing attention and the pain of Marcus’ rejection. The turmoil within her only deepened caught between the suffocating pressure of the Emperor and the forbidden love she harbored for Marcus.

Commodus, upon seeing her, made no effort to hide his delight, parading around the palace as he boasted about his bravery and the lengths he had gone to protect her. He spoke to Valeria as if he were a hero, expecting admiration in return. Though she remained composed, Valeria could sense the veiled threat behind his gaze.

Am I Not Merciful?!

One day, Emperor Commodus summoned Valeria to his chambers. Marcus Acacius was there with him, engaged in a discussion over a map. The emperor had just given Marcus a series of orders regarding war preparations and was devising a new strategy to expand the empire’s borders. Marcus remained serious and focused, but the moment Valeria entered the room, he could sense that something had changed.

As Valeria appeared at the doorway, Commodus rose to his feet, his familiar possessive smile spreading across his lips. "My dear Valeria," he said, his voice adopting an overly sweet tone. "I’m glad you’re here. It’s time for us to talk."

Marcus’s brow furrowed slightly at the sight of her, but he quickly composed himself, lowering his gaze back to the map as if trying to pretend she wasn’t there at all. Yet Valeria’s eyes lingered on him. Their gazes locked for a fleeting moment one that ignited a silent fire between them.

Breaking the silence, Commodus stepped toward Valeria and gently touched her chin. "I gave you time to think about my offer," he said. "As an emperor, I have shown you more than enough mercy. But after recent events, far too much time has passed. Now, you must decide. My patience has run out."

Valeria’s heart pounded in her chest. She could hear the veiled threats in his words. "Your Majesty," she began, her voice measured and respectful. "I am deeply grateful for the great honor you have bestowed upon me. Your strength, your justice, and your leadership are the very foundation of this empire…"

Marcus’s gaze flicked toward her the moment those words left her lips. His expression, though controlled, held a flicker of surprise and something deeper pain. Valeria sounded as if she were about to accept Commodus’s marriage proposal. Marcus continued to observe her, his head inclining slightly, his eyes giving her an almost imperceptible nod.

It was as if he were saying, This is the right choice.

When Valeria caught that look, she felt her breath hitch. A surge of anger and disappointment burned through her. The idea that Marcus of all people approved of her marrying Commodus felt like a dagger to her chest. She turned back to Commodus, whose expectant expression remained, but suddenly, her words shifted.

"…But, Your Majesty," Valeria said, her voice now firmer, filled with newfound resolve. "I fear I would crumble under such a great responsibility. I know that I am not strong enough to stand beside a ruler as mighty as you."

Commodus’s smile froze for just a second before he quickly recovered. "Strength?" he echoed, his voice eerily calm. "Strength, Valeria, comes only from the heart. And I know that your heart is strong."

Valeria held her head high, refusing to soften the hard edge in her expression. "Your Majesty, I am honored by your offer. However, I do not believe I am worthy of you. And for that reason… I cannot accept."

Silence fell over the room.

Marcus stiffened at Valeria’s words, his entire body going rigid. The carefully composed mask Commodus wore cracked—just slightly—but he quickly patched over it. He continued to smile, inclining his head ever so slightly.

"I see," Commodus said, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of something dangerous. Then, slowly, he turned his gaze toward Marcus.

"General," he said, his tone deceptively calm but laced with an unmistakable warning. "I wish to speak with Valeria alone. You may leave."

Marcus’s brows knit together slightly. Every instinct told him that leaving Valeria alone in this room with Commodus was a mistake. "Your Majesty, perhaps another time—"

Commodus’s voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "I believe I made myself clear, General. Leave."

Marcus knew that defying a direct order was not an option. He had no choice but to bow his head in submission. Before turning away, he cast one last look at Valeria. His gaze held concern, protectiveness, and something else regret.

"As you command, Your Majesty," he said, stepping toward the door. But each step felt heavier, the weight of leaving Valeria in this dangerous solitude pressing on him.

Just before closing the door, Marcus stole a final glance back. Valeria stood with her back to him, facing Commodus, unyielding. The emperor, in turn, watched her like a predator sizing up his prey.

The sight left a bitter taste in Marcus’s mouth.

But he shut the door and forced himself to walk away, trying not to think about what might happen next.

As soon as the door closed, Commodus took a deep breath, and the silence in the room cast a shadow over Valeria. "I have waited far too long to speak with you alone, Valeria," Commodus said, his voice as smooth as ever, but now tinged with a hint of mockery. In his eyes, barely concealed beneath his composed exterior, was the simmering rage of a man who had just been rejected.

The air in the emperor’s chamber was thick with tension. His face appeared calm, but the slight tremor in his gaze and the way his hands clenched and unclenched betrayed the fury bubbling beneath the surface.

"Valeria," Commodus murmured, his voice still soft but carrying an unsettling edge, as if it could turn to steel at any moment. "I must admit, I admire how strong-willed and stubborn you are. But…" He stepped closer, and Valeria instinctively took a step back. Commodus halted, tilting his head slightly. "Why does that stubbornness prevent you from understanding my love for you?"

Valeria hesitated. In the depths of Commodus’s gaze, there was darkness one that pierced through the mask of false kindness he wore. "Your Majesty…" she began cautiously, but Commodus silenced her with a raised hand.

"No. Today, I will speak, and you will listen!" His voice was still composed, yet a dangerous sharpness had crept into his tone. "I have told you that I love you, that I have protected you at every turn, that I would sacrifice anything for you… And still, you rejected me. Your heart! Your heart may not want me, but an emperor’s heart… loves revenge."

Valeria froze. Commodus’s voice was no longer affectionate; it was a poisoned arrow aimed directly at her. His eyes had darkened, his gaze drilling into her with an unsettling intensity.

"Did I not say I wouldn’t harm you?" Commodus took another step forward. "Ah, my dear Valeria… Mercy is my greatest virtue." He paused, his voice eerily calm. "But even virtues have their limits."

Valeria’s heart pounded violently, and a cold sweat trickled down her forehead. "What do you mean, Your Majesty?" she asked, her voice unsteady.

"I should have you killed, but I never will," Commodus said, forcing a smile onto his lips. "Instead, every single day that you have denied me, you will come to regret your decision."

Valeria’s eyes widened. "No! Please, do not harm my family!" she pleaded, her voice echoing through the chamber. Commodus, however, only let out a mocking laugh.

"I would never be an emperor unworthy of my people," he said with exaggerated righteousness. "Even when they make mistakes, I am forgiving… though small prices must still be paid." But his voice had risen now, turning into something more unhinged. Commodus suddenly grabbed Valeria’s arm, his grip tightening as he shook her violently. "AM I NOT MERCIFUL?" he roared, his eyes wild with madness.

Valeria recoiled, trying to pull away, but his grasp was as unyielding as iron. Staring into his frenzied eyes, she felt both terror and helplessness. "Your Majesty… please," she whispered, but there was no escape from his grasp.

For a moment, Commodus hesitated. He took a deep breath, loosening his hold. He let her go but his eyes never left her. "I forgive you," he said, his voice eerily composed once more. But Valeria knew that this was merely the calm before the storm. Commodus inclined his head slightly, an unsettling smirk on his lips. "Remember, Valeria," he said mockingly. "Mercy is my greatest virtue. But everyone must pay a price. And so will you."

The echo of footsteps resounded through the cold stone corridors of Rome, not as mere footsteps, but as the march of judgment. Under Commodus’s orders, soldiers moved swiftly in the dead of night, pulling Valeria’s loyal companion, Asinus, from his stable.

At first, the wolfhound did not resist, trusting the humans around him as he always had. But the scent in the air changed, and when the soldiers’ chains struck against his neck with harsh force, his instincts flared. A growl rumbled deep in his throat, echoing through the palace corridors. He never made it to Valeria’s chamber he vanished like a ghost into the darkness.

The next morning, when Valeria saw the empty stable, the dread in her chest twisted into fury. Gathering her resolve, she made her way to Lucilla, Commodus’s sister, the only person who might help her. She found her in the grand halls of the palace, her voice urgent as she called out. Lucilla turned at the sound, immediately noticing the distress on Valeria’s face.

"What happened? You look pale."

Valeria’s voice trembled as she spoke. "Asinus… He’s gone. My wolf, my only friend! He wasn’t in the stable. Someone took him," she said, tears streaming down her face. The stone walls of the palace seemed to swallow her sorrow whole.

Lucilla knew her brother’s cruelty all too well. "Perhaps… perhaps he just wandered off, Valeria. Maybe he will return," she offered, but even her voice carried no conviction.

Valeria turned to her, her eyes ablaze with anger and fear. "Commodus did this, didn’t he?" she demanded.

Lucilla remained silent. That silence alone was enough to confirm Valeria’s worst fear.

Meanwhile, Asinus was being prepared for the arena, a pawn in Commodus’s cruel scheme. The wolfhound had been confined to a dungeon-like space beneath the palace, left without food or water. For days, he heard only the clinking of his own chains, his body weakening while his instincts sharpened. The guards beat him, trying to strip the loyalty and gentleness from his eyes, trying to awaken the beast within.

Commodus’s orders were clear Asinus was to be trained for battle, transformed into a savage creature, and paraded before the crowds as nothing more than a mindless beast.

Every morning, Asinus was dragged into the empty arena with chains. The gladiators struck him with wooden swords, forcing him to snarl and bare his teeth. During these training sessions, his fur became matted with blood and dust, yet he never stopped resisting. No matter how much pain they inflicted, he refused to become the savage beast Commodus wanted him to be. He still carried the loyal and noble spirit that Valeria had taught him.

The day Asinus was to be taken into the arena was fast approaching. To Commodus, this fight was a symbol of his power. When he realized that Valeria would never kneel before him, he decided to spill Asinus’s blood in the arena as a declaration of his victory before the Roman people. The death of an animal in the arena was another way to enslave a person’s soul.

The fine line between the grandeur of Rome and the darkness of bloodshed was about to be drawn in the tragedy of an innocent creature. As the golden sunlight illuminated the stone columns of the Colosseum, the voices of thousands echoed through the arena walls. The crowd was eager for entertainment and brutality; Commodus sat among them, exuding the air of an indifferent king upon his throne. Valeria stood beside him, a silent prisoner. She had been forcibly brought here, taken from her home under the escort of soldiers.

As the iron gates slowly rose, something inside Valeria shattered. The scent of dust and animal musk filled the air first. Then, a familiar figure appeared, restrained by chains. Asinus was being dragged into the arena, his wild eyes filled with the yearning for freedom. He snarled, struggling against his bindings. The cheers of the crowd drowned out his desperate efforts. Valeria clasped her hands over her mouth, letting out a muffled cry.

"No! This is not a game! You can't do this!"

Commodus turned to her with a calm smile, placing his hand gently on her shoulder.

"My dear Valeria, this is merely a spectacle," he said, his tone almost fatherly, yet laced with a subtle menace. "The people of Rome deserve to witness justice in its most entertaining form, don’t you think?"

As another gate opened, a gladiator clad in armor emerged from the other end of the arena. He wielded a deadly spear in one hand and a round shield in the other. The gladiator hesitated for a moment, seeming to acknowledge Asinus with an air of respect. But under the sharp gaze of Commodus, he had no choice but to follow orders.

Valeria clutched Commodus’s arm.

"Stop this! I beg you, Commodus, put an end to this!" Her eyes brimmed with tears, her voice trembling with despair.

Commodus leaned in closer, his words dark and intimate.

"Asinus is just an animal, my dear Valeria. What truly matters is you. The light of Rome. But debts must be paid. Now, watch."

Asinus lunged toward the gladiator, finally free of his chains. But exhaustion was evident in his movements. Valeria could see the signs—he had been tortured and starved before the fight. She realized then that the emperor still nursed his hatred for a dead general even after two years and was now exacting his vengeance upon the wolf.

At first, the gladiator remained on the defensive, blocking Asinus’s desperate attacks. But then, at a subtle signal from Commodus, he moved in for the kill. The crowd erupted in cheers, their thirst for blood and violence insatiable, while Valeria felt as if she were trapped in a living nightmare.

Valeria’s screams carried all the way to the section where Marcus Acacius stood. For a moment, the sound froze him in place. When he turned toward the arena and saw Asinus, something in him stirred. The noble beast fought with every ounce of courage he had, refusing to die easily. Marcus’s hands clenched into fists, his breath quickened. He understood then that this was nothing more than another way for Commodus to assert control over Valeria. But Marcus had his own duty to fulfill—he was preparing to leave for a new mission with his soldiers. And as a ruler who had secured his power with the support of the people, he had already succeeded in silencing the Senate. Even so, the rage and grief inside him were undeniable.

When blood finally stained the dust-covered ground, Asinus collapsed. The deafening roar of the crowd filled the arena as Valeria squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear the sight. But Commodus gripped her shoulder once more, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction.

"You must watch," he murmured with a dark smile. "Everything has a price, my dear Valeria."

Valeria gasped for breath, feeling as though the air had been stolen from her lungs. In a sudden movement, she wrenched herself free from Commodus’s grasp.

"I hate you!" she screamed, tears streaming down her face. Commodus’s smile slowly faded as Valeria turned and fled the arena, running through the grand doors of the Colosseum.

As she disappeared into the city, Marcus Acacius was finishing his final orders to his men. He saw the young woman, her face flushed from crying, her body trembling. For a brief moment, he wanted to abandon everything and go after her. But duty held him back.

The events of the arena would not be forgotten—not by Valeria, not by Marcus, and certainly not by Commodus. This was not the end of their story. Valeria’s tears, Marcus’s silent fury, and Commodus’s relentless cruelty would intertwine their fates once more.

The star-studded sky of Rome cast its weight over Valeria’s home. In the deep silence of the night, a mournful air filled the girl's room. She sat by the window, lost in the memory of Asinus. Her eyes carried exhaustion, her face despair. Her hands restlessly moved over her knees; she wanted to do something, but there was nothing she could do.

A gentle breeze slipped through the crack in the window. With it, a shadow emerged. Marcus Acacius entered almost soundlessly. Though the weight of his armor brought a faint echo into the room, his movements held the disciplined caution of a gladiator. At first, Valeria did not notice the shadow, but when she suddenly turned and saw him, her eyes widened.

"Marcus!" she whispered. Her voice was filled with both shock and a hint of anger. "What are you doing here? If my brother or father sees you..."

Marcus raised his hand slightly to silence her. "No one noticed me. I had to see you," he said. The concern in his voice made it clear why he had taken this dangerous risk.

Valeria looked at Marcus without wiping away her tears. "I... I can't say I'm fine. But maybe it doesn't matter. I never truly understood who Commodus was. As a child, I thought there was goodness in him. I believed he would protect me, that he would never harm me... But I was wrong. And now Asinus... Asinus' death..." Her voice cracked, the words breaking on her lips.

Marcus knelt beside her. "Valeria," he said, his voice low but firm. "I know there is nothing I can say to ease your pain. But know this: Asinus' death is not your fault. Commodus’ heart... it is like stone, unfeeling. He has no concept of morality."

Valeria turned her head toward Marcus. "But why?" she asked. In her eyes, there was a plea for an answer. "If he is so evil, why is he still this powerful? Marcus, you are doing nothing to change this. Does this satisfy you? Aren’t you a general, a leader? Commodus listens to you. He trusts you."

Marcus lowered his head and gave a faint smile, but it was filled with sorrow. "Commodus' trust exists only as long as I obey him," he said. "But Valeria, no matter what, I will stand by your side. If I can keep you safe, that is enough."

Valeria gripped Marcus' hand tightly. "I don’t want safety, Marcus. I want freedom. For myself, for my people... And I want you to be part of it."

Marcus took a deep breath. "Valeria, overthrowing Commodus is not just about courage. It is about power. To start a rebellion, I must gather loyal soldiers. More than half the army is devoted to Commodus. After Maximus, he made much more strategic moves. I can only trust a few. This is not something that can be solved overnight."

Marcus took a few steps and said, "It’s not just about gathering soldiers," his voice carrying an undertone of helplessness. "This month, I must prepare for the Eastern Campaign that Commodus has planned. I have been assigned to reorganize Caesar’s legions. If I let this opportunity slip, I may never have another chance."

Valeria’s face twisted with anger and grief she could no longer suppress. "The Eastern Campaign? Are you here to protect Rome, or to serve as a shield for Commodus’ cruelty? Going east, following his orders—is that not submission?"

Marcus remained silent. She was right, but he understood the deeper strategy behind this. Infiltrating Commodus' legions was a step toward an internal coup. Yet, he did not want to explain this to Valeria.

Seeing his silence, Valeria took courage and stood up. Her eyes locked onto Marcus' deep brown ones. Her fingers brushed against his wheat-colored skin as she gently caressed his cheek. "Marcus, if we were just two ordinary people, do you know what would happen? Maybe we would live in a simple countryside farm. We would have children, raised within a life filled with love. Peaceful and happy, living a true life."

Marcus took a deep breath. "Valeria, we cannot escape reality. We are both part of the palace. My duty is to protect Rome. Your duty, as a noblewoman, is to protect your honor, to be a symbol of hope for the people."

Valeria narrowed her eyes and took a step closer. "Yes, we are not ordinary people. But we can feel like them. Even if our love is forbidden, our hearts beat like any other. You, Marcus Acacius—why do you deny this? If you truly care for me, why are you afraid?"

Marcus flinched at her words. Valeria’s defiant voice shook the deepest corners of his heart. Slowly, he turned toward her, his face in the darkness appearing both hardened and vulnerable. "Because..." he started, but the words caught in his throat.

Sensing his hesitation, Valeria pressed further, her confidence growing. "You fought for me, protected me, mourned Asinus. Isn't that too much for an ordinary Roman general? Marcus, tell me the truth. What do you feel for me?"

Marcus stopped resisting. His eyes locked onto Valeria’s, and he slowly reached out, gently caressing her cheek. “Valeria,” he said, his voice trembling yet firm. “I love you. Admitting this has been the hardest battle of my life.”

Valeria was momentarily stunned by Marcus' confession.

Marcus hesitated for a moment longer. Then, suddenly, he cast aside all his reservations and leaned toward Valeria. His hand cupped her chin, and he pressed his lips against hers.

The moment Marcus’ lips touched Valeria’s, time seemed to stop. Rome’s grand villa stood as a silent witness under the moonlight. The kiss was as passionate as the clash of two swords on a battlefield, yet as tender as the dance of two souls finally uniting. In Marcus' strong arms, Valeria felt like a goddess; the kisses of this battle-hardened man transported her to a sacred temple, a world where only the two of them existed.

Marcus’ fingers traced the contours of Valeria’s face, feeling the warmth of her delicate skin beneath his touch. This contact was a healer, wiping away the exhaustion of a thousand battles. Valeria placed her hands on Marcus’ armored chest, and through the passion of their kiss, she embraced him as if wanting the entire world to understand what they felt. With her eyes closed, she wanted to be certain that this was not a dream.

This kiss resembled a tragedy written by the gods holding the passion of Zeus and Hera, yet carrying the sorrow of Prometheus. Their love felt both blessed and cursed. Marcus gripped Valeria’s waist, pulling her even closer. In that moment, it was as if they had cast off all the burdens of the world. Rome, Commodus, wars… all were forgotten. Only they remained, two souls entwined.

Marcus pulled away, breathless. His eyes lingered in Valeria’s gaze for a moment, seeing an eternity in those deep brown depths. “Valeria,” he whispered. “This feels like a forbidden dream.”

A smile appeared on Valeria’s lips. “I feel the same. Being with you is like touching the stars. But at the same time, I fear losing them.”

Marcus’ expression grew serious. “Not yet. Not now. The Eastern Campaign could be a beginning. A chance to divert Commodus’ attention and gather soldiers loyal to me. Bringing him down will be a longer battle than we thought. But for you… for you, I will win this war.”

Valeria placed her hand against Marcus’ cheek, gazing at him with admiration. “You,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion, “are not just a soldier. You are a leader, a hero. And I love you in every way, Marcus Acacius. There is nothing in all of Rome’s gold that I would trade you for.”

Marcus couldn’t stop himself from kissing her again. This time, the kiss was even deeper, even more passionate. As Valeria surrendered completely to Marcus, she felt the moment transform into something sacred. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she absorbed every breath they shared between their lips. This was more than just a kiss—it was a moment carved into Rome’s stone walls, an eternal testament to their love.

Marcus placed one hand on Valeria’s back, the other around her legs, lifting her effortlessly off the ground. Without breaking eye contact, he carefully approached the bed, laying her gently onto the silk sheets before sitting beside her. But Valeria was ready for more. She grasped Marcus’ arm, pulling him down with unexpected force. Marcus leaned in, sealing his lips against hers once more, as if he would never let go.

Their breaths mingled, and the forbidden yet legendary nature of their love echoed like a hymn to Rome’s ancient gods. This moment felt as if it were being etched into history as one of the greatest love stories ever told.

When Marcus finally broke the kiss again, both of them were breathless. “This war will be long,” Marcus said, his voice both determined and passionate. “But no matter what it takes, I will protect you. I will stand by your side.”

Valeria caressed her thigh near her groin, taking a deep breath. “And I, Marcus, will always be by your side. Even if death awaits us in the end, I will never leave you.”

With those words, they both knew that the fire burning in their hearts could no longer be extinguished. This love was not just theirs; it was a legend that would be etched into the history of Rome.

Marcus Acacius was determined to make Valeria feel better tonight. He would bring light to her darkened soul, mourning the loss of Asinus, and pull her away from the suffocating loneliness that had imprisoned her. A young woman like Valeria deserved this. While girls her age sat in their chambers, pondering what to wear to tomorrow’s garden parties, Valeria was paying the price for a sin that was never hers. Her family had always seen her as nothing more than an asset, valuable only because of their position at the emperor’s right hand. She had been alone since childhood. And now, with Asinus—the only true friend who had nourished her soul—cruelly taken away, the only hope Valeria had left to hold onto was Marcus Acacius' love.

Tonight, he would set aside his identity as a general and engrave upon her skin the undeniable truth that she was not alone.

As Marcus continued his tender kisses, his hands explored the curves of Valeria’s body. His fingers trailed from her waist down to her hips, feeling the full, rounded softness that seemed to ripple beneath his touch. When the calloused palm of a man who had spent years gripping the hilt of a sword met the smoothness of her legs, he found them as flawless as Rome’s famed marble and as soft as Chinese silk.

She reminded him of the freshness of his younger years.

Valeria gently lifted her head, pulling away from Marcus’ lips for a brief moment. In her eyes, a mix of desire and love shone—something that might have seemed sinful but was perhaps the purest feeling in the world.

Marcus curled his lips into a smile, his expression full of warmth. “What is it, my love?”

Valeria's lips parted, and her words came out as a whisper. The smile on her face was undoubtedly an attempt to mask her shyness. “If you don’t take off your armor, how can I touch your skin?” Her eyes held a look that longed for more than just a kiss.

Marcus was taken aback. “Do you really want this, Valeria? You know, you don’t have to. I’ll only touch you when you’re ready.”

But Valeria needed to understand where she stood in Marcus’ heart. She wanted to be certain that their kisses weren’t merely gestures of affection or sympathy. She wanted to find each other in the overwhelming pleasure of their bodies entwined. “I want this,” she whispered.

Marcus rose from the bed, never breaking eye contact with Valeria as he began removing his armor. His movements were slow yet precise. As Valeria watched him, her gaze traced the muscles of his body, the strength in his arms, the imposing presence of the man standing before her—the man who wanted to make love to her. And that was when she truly noticed how much older he was.

The deep lines on his face told the story of the battles he had won, the enemies he had conquered, and the strategies he had devised. The silver strands woven into his hair and beard screamed of a life where not a single moment had been wasted.

The realization sent a strange thrill through her. To have captured the attention of such a perfect general, to belong to his tenderness, his mind, his reason, his vulnerabilities, and his raw desires—it was intoxicating. The pride she felt at being desired by him mutated into an undeniable arousal.

Marcus could be everything to her—her mentor, her friend, her father figure, her lover.

And what feeling could be more satisfying than that?

Absolutely nothing.

She let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of his chest pressing against hers. The scent of a soldier still clung to his clothes, and she knew that just a few hours ago, he had been giving orders to lower-ranking soldiers. He should terrify you; in every way, a general should inspire fear. But she was undeniably in love with him, caught in the spell of something that kept pulling her in. He intrigued her, he surprised her.

Marcus slid his hands under her green nightgown and pulled her upwards. His fingers found her clit, warm and glistening in the reflected candlelight; they brushed softly against the slick skin of her vulva. His fingers took control, digging into her wet folds and slowly teasing her entrance. Instinctively, her hips bucked, the need for his fingers inside her growing stronger. She knew it too, as his fingers slowly, painfully circled her clit. The pain in her nub grew stronger, her heartbeat echoing loudly in her ears. She sank her head hard into the pillow.

“Please,” she begged.

Marcus’s free hand gripped Valeria’s chin tightly. His thumb brushed over her lips, opening her mouth and speaking against her lips before exploring her mouth with his tongue.

“No, not now, my lady. This is your first night. I’ll come inside you when you’re ready,” he said, his breath mixed with hers…

When Marcus pushed his tongue into Valeria's mouth, he realized how wet she was. Warm and tempting, just like her wet vulva. His tongue licked her hungrily as he sensually caressed her clitoris and the entrance to her vagina.

Valeria was trying hard not to moan, otherwise she was about to reach the peak of pleasure that would echo throughout the room. But she couldn't do it, that would mean throwing herself into the fire. Especially with her brother behind the wall where her head was... What if he heard her sister's moans? This moment when the night locked the sounds inside made the sins much more visible. This was crazy. While her family was busy with their work in the house, their young daughter was tasting pleasure for the first time in the arms of a man older than her father in her room. Moreover, this risk, the idea of being caught, excited Valeria and made her feel every touch and caress of Marcus more sensitively.

Marcus wanted to see Valeria's womanhood, to live it, to feel it in his mouth the way he felt his tongue. To feel such a young, intact vulva in his mouth would be like a blessing to him. His whole system would collapse and his orgasm would be just as intense.

He pulled back his lips and sat up slightly. While Valeria was wondering what Marcus had in mind, Marcus completely removed her nightgown and dropped it on the nearby chair, leaving Valeria's smooth skin completely bare.

"Now I want you to open your legs a little, my lady," Marcus said. Valeria, excited at the certainty that he would finally enter her, did as he said. Her feet slid across the sheets, opening them wide enough for him to get between her hips. But something was wrong. She expected Marcus to stand up, put his knees on the bed, and get between her legs, facing each other, but he didn't. On the contrary, Marcus Acacius moved a little closer to the edge of the bed, away from her, and moved his head toward her womanhood.

Valeria raised her head and looked at what the man was doing. Her lips parted in surprise and excitement. "What are you doing, General?"

Marcus cocked his head mischievously and looked down at her. “I promise you, not a single day in your future sexual experiences will go by that this moment doesn’t cross your mind,” he said, his voice laced with bitterness and lust.

Valeria had heard about many sexual experiences while talking to her other noble friends. Some had been with her husband, some had been while she was handling a few boys chosen by the commoners, some had been with her lover. She even knew that her brother had been to Rome's most famous brothel, but she had never heard of such a thing or seen anyone do it. This was very new. Very different.

Marcus paused for a moment when he saw her vulva and how full it was. It was something else he thought was as delicious as red meat and wine. A juicy, gooey, full vulva. His fingers first squeezed the outer lips. Then he cupped her, feeling the fullness in his palm. Then he inserted his thumb and forefinger between her outer lips and stretched them outward. Her swollen, twitching clitoris stood before him like a work of art. It was bright red, stained with pink tones all the way to the entrance of her vagina.

"You are beautiful, Valeria," Marcus said, the admiration evident in his voice. "I have never seen anything like it before."

Valeria felt a twinge of shame in her heart. Everyone said she was the most beautiful girl in Rome, but no one had ever admired her body or her femininity. This was new, and it felt absurdly good.

When Marcus pressed his tongue against her inner lips and began to lick them up and down, Valeria flinched. Her eyebrows were furrowed in pleasure, and she could not breathe. She buried her head in the pillow and her chin rose. She wanted to scream, to moan out loud, but she could not. She exerted all her strength on the sheets, squeezing them until the veins in her hands became more visible. She held her breath when Marcus began to move his tongue in a circular motion around her clitoris and squirt. The slick sound of her wet vulva meeting his tongue echoed in her ears, and was proof of how hungrily he was licking.

While Marcus placed his tongue at the entrance of her vagina and stimulated it, Valeria bit her lower lip. Otherwise, her breathing would have increased, her breathing would have become harsh and she would have almost shouted. Her body was writhing in the arms of pleasure. In adolescence, Commodus would try to excite her with small touches to show how much he desired her and was in love. He touched her hips once, moved his lips to her neck once, and cupped her breasts once. These were the most erotic moments for a young girl who was just learning about her sexuality at that time, and even though she didn't like Commodus, she let him do these. She had always wanted to taste the strongest pleasures that sex would provide with the man she would love. But this was far beyond what she had expected.

Marcus continued to flick her inner lips with his tongue, occasionally kissing her and while kissing her, he was sucking her clitoris with juices, drinking her juices of pleasure. He continued to lick her from top to bottom with appetite, making small moans that showed how much he enjoyed it. In the meantime, Valeria's breasts rose and rose, feeling as if she could no longer endure this merciless pleasure, she involuntarily reached her hand to Marcus's gray hair and pulled it, intertwining her fingers between them. Her legs were shaking. She almost wanted to close her legs, squeeze her womanhood and give her body, which was captive to this wild pleasure, some rest.

Valeria nearly cried, “Please,” she moaned again, a low moan. But this time Marcus knew Valeria was ready. He pulled his head away from her vulva, straightened up, and crawled onto her. He put his hand on her neck and squeezed gently. He growled with the harsh, authoritative tone his military service had given him, “Please, what, Valeria, speak plainly to me!” All he needed was a nudge and he would give her what she wanted.

"Come inside me, I want you inside me," she begged.

Marcus sat up to pull off the fabric covering him, crossing his arms as he gripped the hem of his clothing and removed it in one swift motion. As his body was left completely bare, his tensed muscles, broad shoulders, and defined Adonis belt were revealed.

He leaned over her again, his groin between her legs as his long penis rubbed against the entrance to her vagina. He couldn't wait to root it in her vagina, but he was a gentleman enough to know that he had to practice first. He wanted to make Valeria's first night the most pleasurable of her life, and he was afraid of making her regret it.

As the hard tip of his cock continued to push against her vagina, he enjoyed the lustful expression on Valeria's face. Every time she moaned, he heard how much she enjoyed having a man as old as her father fuck her, and it made him even more horny.

He wanted a definitive answer from Valeria. He asked breathlessly, "Do you want my veiny cock in your tight vagina, Valeria, huh? Do you really want me inside you?"

Valeria's patience was running out, she put her hands on his hair and pulled, "Gods, do it Marcus, I want you inside me, please, do it."

Marcus put one hand on Valeria's face, so afraid of hurting her that he was very careful when entering her, while he was caressing the girl's cheek with affection. Valeria's juices were thick and slippery enough. So he had no trouble entering her. But Valeria's vagina, which had never tasted a penis inside her before, was stretched by Marcus's cock and it hurt when her walls completely enclosed him. She closed her eyes tightly, breathing through her teeth. "Marcus," she said with an innocent expression on her face, "it hurts."

Marcus continued his tender caresses. His lips kissed her between her jawbone and her ears, whispering, "Shh... It'll pass soon," he said, "No need to get excited, your vagina is just getting used to my big penis. It'll pass soon, okay," he said, continuing to caress her hair and treat her with care. As the pained expression on Valeria's face began to give way to pleasure again, Marcus sped up. His penis was completely hard, his balls red and swollen.

Neither of them could regulate their breathing rhythms, they were breathing rapidly. He kept his eyes fixed and wanted to see every expression of his forbidden love. When Valeria's moans started to get louder, Marcus' hands suddenly slid to her mouth and closed it tightly. "Try to control yourself, darling. You don't want your family to hear us, do you?" He growled with light moans. But how could a young woman who had experienced such pleasure for the first time stay calm while Marcus' thick tool was pressing on her 'G' spot?

Marcus pulled his hand away from her mouth and pushed his thumb into her lips. It was still early, but he wanted to imagine how Valeria would perform if she ever wanted to take his cock in her mouth. Valeria imitated Marcus’s tongue strokes as she licked his finger. His thumb was inside her mouth, leaving a salty taste on her tongue. She licked her warm finger, moving her tongue around both the top and bottom layers, licking hungrily like she was licking a candy cane. This was making Marcus even more horny. He increased his speed as he imagined her tongue strokes on his cock.

"You use your tongue wonderfully," he said to Valeria, and Valeria was proud that the experienced man in front of her was pleased despite her inexperienced sucking, and a strange desire arose within her.

There was a 'crack' sound as Marcus' balls hit Valeria's hips. The colorless liquid flowing from the tip of his penis combined with hers, making the squirting sound louder. The bed creaked in sync as he increased the speed of his fucking.

"Oh, my gods," Marcus moaned. "May the gods forgive me, but I love being close to you. I love touching you, Valeria." He continued to pound his cock into her rapidly. "No one loves you as much as I do, Valeria. Not the emperor, not anyone else, do you understand," he said between his growls. And he continued to fuck her mercilessly. He thrust hard as if the general spirit he had been trying to suppress had emerged. Valeria was now at the height of her orgasm. Although the penis had completely filled her vagina, the juices of pleasure had leaked from the vagina's exit. This drove her crazy and when she began to moan loudly, Marcus this time closed his lips on hers. He kissed her passionately. "Shhh... my love, be patient a little longer. It's almost here." The bed was shaking violently. Marcus's hips were now tightened, his sperm was almost about to wash Valeria's womanhood. But Marcus could not allow such a thing, he held himself back and suddenly pulled out of Valeria and came on her groin, breathless. As his sperm slid down her skin in a white liquid, Marcus looked at Valeria, supporting himself with his arms on either side of her head. There was a mixture of surprise and happiness on her face, while at the same time, his ears were ringing from the final stroke of pleasure. Marcus felt at ease with the idea that the goddess in front of him was pleased with him.

"I love you," Marcus said, and leaning forward, he kissed her on the forehead for a long time. Then he moved to her lips and kissed her warmly, as if they hadn't just made passionate love. Then he threw himself on the empty side of the bed.

Marcus Acacius lay wrapped around Valeria in the heavy silence that surrounded the room lit by the dim light of the torches. His chest supported Valeria's delicate head, while his hands tangled in her fine hair. That hair, which flowed through his fingers like a stream, lightened the weight of time with every touch.

Marcus's eyes were fixated on Valeria's face, resting peacefully on the snow-white pillow. The hands that his enemies had feared were now caressing her hair with a touch as gentle as a bird's feather.

"Valeria," he said, his voice calm but inescapable, like the waves beating on the rocks, "when I touch you my weary soul is instantly rejuvenated. I have spent a lifetime between sword and blood, but now for the first time I understand why my heart beats. Your existence is beyond my measure by any victory on the battlefield. You are my peace, my light, and the last miracle the gods have sent me."

Valeria found an echo of honesty and passion in his words.

As Marcus whispered these words, his eyes shone with deep love for Valeria. It was as if a dream otherworldly had come true, loosening the bonds between gods, man, and fate for a moment. In that moment, Valeria’s presence lightened all burdens in Marcus’s world, and the darkness in the room yielded to the light.

[ghostthathaunts]

The Way We Were Masterlist

UPDATES REGULARLY

SUMMARY: Set before Ellie, Joel was a part of a group of raiders along with Tess and Tommy; but what noone knows is that there was another member that caught his eye; others said she was just as violent and cold as Joel. But no one really knew her. Her Name was Fallon (Story will start before ellie, Boston Qz and go down the time line of the show).

Warnings:(MDNI 18+) DarkThemes, infected, Explicit Language, questionable morals, smut, "cheating", explicit smut, some "fluffy" moments, joel being an asshole, reader is worse, death, strong violence, blood,breeding kink, no character descption, oral sex (m & f receiving), dub!con, mental abuse, eventually soft!joel, Fallon is tortured by another group, grahic scenes, eventual soft Joel, enemies to acquaintances to "friends" to lovers . CHAPTERS UNDER THE UNDERCUT!

Meet Fallon: Chapter 1:The Crossroads: Chapter Summary - Fallon tries to get through the outbreak just by surviving, but she has a pain in the ass back at camp and his name is Joel Miller. (Published March 15, 2025) WORD COUNT: 1,646

chapter 2:Secrets of Survival: Chapter Summary- Fallon is forced to take Joel and Tess on a supply run, what could possibly go wrong (Published March 17, 2025). WORD COUNT: 2.5K

Chapter 3: Internal War: Chapter Summary - Everything comes to a head between Fallon and Joel WORD COUNT: 4K

Chapter 4: The Cost : Chapter Summary- Fallon finds a possible permanent camp, Things start to fall apart at camp when Joel makes some questionable choices. WORD COUNT 4K

Fallon makes a choice.

Chapter 5: On The Run

Chapter 6: Rumors Of Death

Chapter 7: Darkness Will Rescue

Chapter 8: The Wounds Will Last

Chapter 9: Fighting Off Hell

Chapter 10: She Cheated The Devil

Chapter 11: The Fallen Angel

Chapter 12: The Heart Craves Danger

Chapter 13: Blood and Disaster

Chapter 14: Rude Awakening

Chapter 15: Dreams of Hell

Chapter 16: The Cry For Help

Chapter 17: Uneasy Silence

Chapter 18: You Know Nothing

Chapter 19: Whats Become of Her

Chapter 20: The Road Eventually ends

Chapter 21: Hard Days

Chapter 22: Taming Animals

Chapter 23: Everlasting Sanctuary.

[oceandolores]

ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔦𝔬𝔫 | masterlist.

General Marcus Acacius x f!reader

"Fata viam invenient | The fates will find a way."

summary: In the grandeur of ancient Rome, you are the secret daughter of Commodus, living a quiet life as a servant in the imperial palace. Everything changes when you meet General Marcus Acacius, Rome’s honorable and stoic leader.

Though devoted to duty and loyalty to the princess, Marcus is drawn to you in a way he cannot ignore. A forbidden passion ignites between you both, and an affair begins—one that threatens the very foundation of loyalty, power, and honor. As you fall deeper into your dangerous love for Marcus, each stolen moment becomes a fragile, dangerous secret.

warnings: 18+ only, 14 YEARS AFTER GLADIATOR 1, ANGST, Fluff, A LOT OF SMUT, Unprotected Sex, Exhibition Kink, Age-Gap, Ancient Rome, mentions of violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Politics, Sexism, Forbidden Love, Loss of Virginity, mentions of death, Innocent and pure reader, Infidelity, more warnings will be added throughout the story

𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡

❝They call you Rome’s lion, her indomitable shield, yet to me, you are the flicker of warmth in a palace carved from ice.

Your hands are calloused from war, but they cradle my soul with the tenderness of spring rain. Your voice commands legions, yet it whispers my name like a prayer, as though the gods themselves might hear and envy us our stolen moments.

If love were not a sin, I would adorn you with laurel not for conquest, but for the triumph of your heart over mine. Yet here we linger, caught in the webs of empire, where every glance is a rebellion, and every touch a battle lost.

Ad te anhelo, quasi ad caelum ipsam, (I long for you as though for the heavens themselves,) but our stars burn too brightly, and even the gods avert their eyes.

So I am to love you as Rome loves her champions— for eternally.❞

thꫀ ρᥣᥲᥡᥣเ᥉t! (on spotify) 🏛️

in love with marcus acacius

ꪑᥲ᥉tꫀɾᥣเ᥉t!🌞

Chapter I: "in her eyes shone the sweetness of melancholy."

Chapter II: Soon

Chapter III: Soon

Chapter IV: Soon

Chapter V: Soon

Chapter VI: Soon

Chapter VII: Soon

Chapter VIII: Soon

Chapter IX: Soon

Chapter X: Soon

Chapter XI: Soon

Chapter XII: Soon

Chapter XIII: Soon

Chapter XIV: Soon

Chapter XV: Ending

[romancherry]

caged in silk (1) – introduction

pairings ➝ dark!joel miller x dark!javier peña x dark!marcus acacius x female!reader

summary ➝ introducing you to your captors.

warnings ➝ dark content, brief mention of alcoholic parents, homelessness, guns and drugs, 18+, MINORS: DO NOT INTERACT.

word count ➝ 442

author's note ➝ hello everyone! i've been obsessed with this idea that randomly popped up in my head a few days ago and i wanna act on it as quick as possible so i don't lose interest. hope you like it.

do NOT repost, reupload, translate or plagiarize my work.

you: an innocent young woman in her 20s navigating through life and its never-ending obstacles; your parents were abusive alcoholics and you consider the day you ran away at 16 years old to be the best day of your life. the rest didn't matter. the eventual homelessness and working 3 different jobs while balancing a smoke addiction was a thousand times better than what you had to endure before. as time passed on, you could afford rent and even dream of getting an education. it didn't matter that you had no friends whatsoever; your goal was financial fulfillment, not being a social butterfly. you could have created some lifelong connections with your coworkers, but as you ended up switching so many jobs, you figured good things never last. and heartbreak is best to be avoided.

so, in conclusion – you had no one. you meant nothing to anyone, and if you'd dissapear (once again), nobody would care.

that made you an easy target.

introduce:

marcus acacius: a man with discipline and precision. his background as an army general has not only conditioned him to assess, control and dominate any situation – but it earned him important connections with gun dealers, spies, armies and even the government. marcus operates with a quiet, calculated intensity; he sees everything. processes every possible outcome before making a move. but underneath the iron grip lies a dark obsession: a deep-seated need to possess, protect, claim. he justified his obsession with logic: you were struggling. you had no one. you needed a better life. he was the man for the job.

javier peña: javier is seduction and danger wrapped in silk. he's a very adaptable and unpredictable individual – former DEA agent turned cartel associate. he knows best how to make people trust him and how to keep them wanting more. but beneath his irresistible charm is something ruthless: a man who switched sides without hesitation, who plays the long game and always comes out on top. he has an insatiable hunger and addiction for you – he doesn't just want to own you. he wants you to want to be owned.

joel miller: joel is violence disguised as a man. he doesn't believe in morality, he views survival as a necessity. that's what makes him the perfect mercenary. if someone needs to die, he'll end their life with no hesitation. he doesn't justify or explain, he just acts. his obsession with you is primal and territorial; but there's also something softer beneath it, something dangerously close to love. he doesn't care that what they did to you was wrong. after losing two daughters, he'll tear the world apart to keep you.

[tateypots]

Masterlist

Key: ❤️ smut, 🖤 dark (involving reader), 💛 fluff, 🩶 darker themes (not involving reader), 🩷 smut lite (brief descriptions or sexual thoughts)

Series

In Need Of A Top Up ❤️💛(mini series, complete) - Joel can’t keep his hands off you on your wedding day. Or after.

To Keep You Safe ❤️🩶💛(series, ongoing) - Joel returns to Jackson after being missing for a week with information that leads to a dangerous mission

Collared ❤️🖤 (series, ongoing) - Non-con, you are kidnapped by Joel and Tommy

To Be Your First ❤️🖤 (mini series, complete) - Non-con, someone takes advantage of you when you get drunk at a party.

One Shots

His Favourite Holiday ❤️🖤 - Non-con. Being a ghost is excruciatingly dull, until a Halloween power surge means Joel can finally get his hands on you.

The Bet ❤️ - when you run into financial difficulties your contractor offers an unorthodox way of saving money on your kitchen refurb

Save Me A Dance 🩷💛 - You and Joel finally give in to your feelings at the Jackson Harvest Festival.

Amantes Sunt Amentes ❤️ - Marcus Acacius wants Lucilla. And Maximus. Despite the danger it puts them in.

[pedrosyouknowwhat]

Hold them down

Summary: After years of missing your husband, your suitor decides to take matters into his hands.

Pairings: Dark! Suitor! Marcus Acacius x Queen! Reader

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Noncon, unprotected sex (p in v) forced infidelity?, plotting of rape, historical inaccuracies, manipulation, rough rough sex, loss of virginity (and related blood), breeding kink, size kink, corruption kink, bondage, planned murder, dark dark and dark,

Inspired by the Epic Musical and the original Odyssey!

Series Masterlist

After the Twin Emperors had fallen, the Gladiator Hanno rose to power, being recognized by Lucilla as his long lost son, Lucius Verus. Succeeding his rise to power, his first order was to have Macrinus, a wealthy businessman and slave owner, executed for his treason against the Democracy of Rome and clear General Acacius' name.

Having decided not to love another woman after the death of his wife, he opted for a political marriage to benefit the city. Cherry picked by senators as the finest of eligible bachelors, you were a perfect match for the new Emperor.

Arriving to Rome from your certainly smaller yet blooming city, Lucius had clarified that he didn't intend in taking you as a lover, rather than as a companion and ally for his ruling; and when the day of giving the kingdom a heir came, the affair would be short and, well he didn't exactly said that word but, meaningless.

You weren't discontented in his boundaries, you weren't there to find a lover but to enlarge the possibilities of your kingdom. As years went by, Lucius had become tender with you, unlike the city that suddenly demanded a Prince. However, as Rome transitioned into a prosperous city, the people seemed to be appeased by being fed and war-less.

As a way to erase Geta and Caracalla's history, Lucius decided to free the colonies in Africa himself, so two years after your marriage he had embarked.

"Take care of Rome for me." He smiled in your bittersweet goodbye, holding your hands in his.

"And who will take care of me then?" You joked, feeling the rough finger pads of his work torn hands; his eyes fell behind your frame, with a confident smile.

"I actually have that covered;" You followed his eye line to see the broad, dark figure behind you. General Marcus Acacius himself, for some a Valiant Hero of Rome, for others, another victim of the deceased emperors' terror. "Acacius will be your personal Guard, in case anyone attempts anything against the Empress of Rome."

Despite the eerie way the General's big brown eyes seemed to narrow over you, you learnt to feel safe with his presence, despite being behind you at all time. It kept you calm as people begun questioning the Emperor's absence, a you begun to question it too.

A year passed, and rumors spread about wars breaking out in the colonies due to their new found freedom. Exploited colonies at war trying to survive from spoils of war, predictable really, but Lucius had wrote to you, soothing you that he was aiding the reconstruction of those societies. That was the last time he had wrote.

Another year went by, and the flourishing nature of Rome kept people from questioning the Emperor's absence, but not you. Your nights became sleepless, as you pondered around your room, perhaps hoping for sudden news, confirmation of something, anything. It was a cold night when your insomnia made you think about the man standing outside your bedroom door. General Acacius.

Silently, in case you regretted it, you tiptoed towards the big ornate door from your shared chambers, and cracked it open. There he stood, clad in his armor as the dim lights of the hallway torches illuminated his face; his right cheekbone held a scar, visible in the warm lighting as he slowly came to look at you. In his two years as your shadow, you had never taken your time to look at him.

"My Queen," He whispered sternly, eyebrows furrowing. "Why are you still awake at this hours?"

You licked your lips guiltily, and his gaze fell onto the thin, almost see through sleepwear you had on under the blanket draped over your shoulders. He could trace the outline of your navel...

"May you come in?" You asked, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your shoulder as you realized how inappropriate this was, but you didn't care; perhaps his war experience could help you calm down. "I cannot conceal sleep, and someone to talk to could be nice."

He obeyed silently, sneaking through the crack on the door. The Emperor's chambers held an extravagant amount of luxuries, left behind by the old Emperor Geta; Lucius had wanted to get rid of them, but as producing an heir, he never got the time to do it.

Acacius' gaze fell over the bed, only your side disrupted as if Lucius was coming back anytime soon. You had sat down in a velvet chair beside the fireplace, hands clutched over a golden cup of raspberry wine. He walked over to you in slow steps, as if expecting you to tell him the issue and leave when commanded. If you hadn't gazed expectantly at the chair beside you, he probably wouldn't have sat down.

"I am unease by Lucius' absence," You confessed, despite the obviousness. "I heard rumors he was fine, back in Numidia, building houses, but he hasn't written to me in over a year."

Acacius hummed, showing he was listening, however your wild eyes indicated that you wanted an answer. "Your concern is reasonable, my Empress, the city shares your discomfort."

You furrowed your brows at his words, surprised the matter was relevant enough to discuss. "I had only heard some questions, but I believe the people knew his circumstances."

"It isn't that they dislike you;" He clarified, sending relief down your stomach. "In fact, they adore you."

You felt your lips twist into a small smile in his words.

"They adore you so much they trust you to rule if, of course let's pray not, Lucius doesn't return."

Your stomach sank once again at the possibility, but Acacius gave you a warm smirk, as if it was a compliment.

"The issue is..." He hesitated, and you saw the reflection of the flames in the brown of his eyes as he looked at you, seriously. "the succession."

You hummed, intrigued to what he was meaning. Your eyes asked him to explain more, and he let out a breathe when the blanket slipped off your shoulders, allowing him to see the outline of sometihing far more tempting than your navel.

"If Lucius hasn't been home for almost two years by now, and you haven't been with child yet, the senate fears the throne may spiral once again to a tyrant after your passing."

You shook your head in confusion, a new worry appearing and attaching itself to your chest. "Why haven't I been informed of this fear?"

Acacius chuckled lightly, as if you were too naive to understand; it made you feel small, stupid.

"They do not wish to offend you, my majesty." He explained, and you scowled. "Now, you are in your prime age for...carrying an heir...but if Lucius is to be gone for longer, let's say four more years, you'd be pass that age, and thus..."

"Anyone could take the throne." You completed, understatement dooming in your features. "But I couldn't...Lucius could be back tomorrow for all I know."

"There still is time," He reassured, taking the cup of wine from the table. "but the lack of knowledge of his stance is, as you say, uneasy for most of the Senate, and of course the people of Rome."

As you sipped more wine, you leaned over the armrest of your chair, as if wishing to keep the conversation as private as possible, but all he could see was the way your breast, unconsciously, became visible from your neckline. His breathe hitched.

"As a knowledgeable and prestigious General," You asked, eyes wide and frantic. "what should I do?"

He pretended to think for a while then sighed. "In confidence, I believe you should wait for him, perhaps a year or two, and if he isn't here by then and you haven't received any notice, you should remarry, just for the sake of your wellness and the city's."

You almost gasped from his words, the alcohol inhibiting your senses. "My sake?" You manage to question him, words starting to slur. Of course they did, you had been drinking for hours trying to catch sleep.

"The people may believe that you are intertwined in the fall of the city," he whispered, eyes wild as if he was personally offended by what the people may do. "They can believe you have arranged it all to set someone in the throne, they might riot, and we know from our old Emperors that rioting never goes well; imagine what they could do to a women such as yourself."

Acacius' words stained your mind for the next year, as Lucius failed to prove his existence once again. You had proposed the idea to the Senate, who seemed surprised by your initiative; Acacius had later told you that they didn't expect a woman as devoted as you to determine that if Lucius didn't appear or made himself known in the next year, you would seek another man to remarry to provide the heir, but that it was what all of them believed to be correct. You had grown fond of him in the last year, inviting him for wine in those restless nights and him informing you from what the Senate was too scared to tell you. As Lucius had grown to be a close friend, so did Acacius.

Which is why, after two years had passed and you had to teary-eyed greet the suitors that had came wishing to become the Emperor of Rome, you were taken a back when General Acacius presented himself before any of them, asking for your hand. His thick frame, clad in his white honorary attire along with ten of his best trained soldiers trailing behind him, had profusely scared all the other suitors that stumbled and staggered on their words after him.

Which is what made you jump on him like a rabid dog once they had gone to their rooms and Acacius was the only one i the throne room with you. Standing up from your golden throne, identical to the empty one beside you, your feet stomped near him. He was awfully tranquil, almost smirking at you.

"May I know why you have proposed as a suitor?" You bellowed at him, praying this was a sick, twisted joke, like you had joked that your "Guard dog" of a General would scare them off.

"Because, my Empress, the senate and I believe that a true Emperor needs to be one who knows how to handle the rise of Rome into democracy." He explained, and you felt a pang of betrayal, jealousy even, as the Senate had allegedly preferred to discuss such matters with him rather than the actual Empress. "One that has aided in it's rise and is skilled at controlling the city; one that could guide you through ruling."

"You said they trusted me." You protested, looking up at him; despite being furious, you could see by the way he craned his neck to look down at you that he didn't feel threatened, at all.

"They do, I assure you that; but the uneducated and starved people of Rome won't take a women as an Emperor, much less if she has some foreigner as a husband." The way he sneered at you told you he had this planned. "But you and I know that you are smart enough to know I am your best opportunity; I am a war Hero and a symbol of democracy, my Empress, the people would riot if you chose any other man."

You glared, never expecting this from him. He enjoyed the way you stormed out of his view, silky dress swishing as he laughed so hard, he almost dropped the carefully stacked letters that told him Lucius would be home in six months.

Almost as if you knew, you had delayed your choice for four months by then, posing impossible challenge after challenge, simply to get on Acacius nerves. But he did not even falter; even if it was bringing dozens of water buckets across the city, taming wild horses or swimming with crocodiles to retreat minuscules gold pieces from the bottom of the murky river, Acacius managed to have win after win. For most people, it was becoming clearly ridiculous how adamant you were against Acacius.

If he had proposed the idea to you things would have been different, but he had planted seeds of doubts in the Senate about your capabilities, evidenced by your revengeful behavior in presenting tasks. The more you fought with Acacius, the more the Senate seemed to become wary of you and the more the people of Rome called you frivolous. You acknowledged the last part, as you were now dedicating more time in plotting unachievable tasks than governing the city.

As grief for mourning Lucius meddled with the new issues of the city, Acacius looked at you victoriously; naked war torn torso and a shining emerald in his hand as he retrieved from the river, almost waving goodbye to the last bunch of suitors you have scared away.

Almost 5 months had passed since you had greeted the suitors, and the only one still standing was Acacius. As you walked into the Senate's room, you caught wind of something that drove you wild.

"If the wedding is going to be next week, then we would need to at least levy taxes until the end of the season to compensate for the rise-"

"What wedding?" You bellowed, and the Senator who was speaking quickly silenced himself as the whole room turned their heads towards you. Marcus stood, dressed in his best, before rising his goblet to you; it took you a while to see from where he was rising from, Lucius' throne.

"There aren't anymore suitors," He informed, and his name rolled out of his tongue mockingly. "Next year you'll turn 28, and we cannot risk it anymore."

"And has this council decided this over me, their Empress?" Your gaze fell on the senators around you, men who rolled their eyes as if you were taking up their time; as if calling your self the Empress was a mockery. "Has the council forget Lucius had chose me to rule by his side and not just to produce an heir?"

"This Council had chosen you," Acacius corrected, and you felt the tips of your ears burn up in embarrassment. "and if Lucius had given the city an heir this wouldn't be an issue, but he didn't and thus, I am the most suitable option."

You dug your nails into your palms, seething at him.

"And this Council believes it is correct to plan a wedding without consulting the bride?" You hissed at them. “What do the people think?”

"There had been riots in the south due to the succession," A senator informed you. "You would have known if you had attended the last meeting."

You felt fury pile up in your throat, as if itching to scream, because no one that even told you about the last meeting. You felt caged by these men, and Acacius grinning peacefully at you, that conniving snake of a man had turned the Council against you.

You sighed, tears kissing the brim of your eyes in frustration before clapping your hands together. “If the people of Rome wish me to marry, I will, however please give me a week to mourn, properly, the loss of our Emperor. I will marry Marcus Acacius in two weeks time, without complaint.”

Acacius’ smiled fell, and you believed your surrender had annoyed him.

“Haven’t you got two years already to do so?” He bit at you, and the Senate looked around bewildered by Acacius sudden lack of manners.

“Oh I know it is a selfish desire, but it would facilitate the process for me.” You pouted to the people of the Senate, who became more understanding after you agreed to marry him. “If that is all, I am to leave.”

You walked through the door calmly, running the second the Council could no longer see you. He had trapped you, backed you up against a wall and showed your scared self to the whole Senate of Rome. As you unlocked the door, precaution you took everyday since Acacius had proposed, you felt a shadow lurk around the corner. You almost jump when you saw him, striding towards you. If you were to open the door, he could have pushed inside, and if you stayed there, god knows what he could do. So you stayed frozen.

He called your name, rather than my Empress; it was a way of stabilizing dominance. You glared at him, hand on the door knob.

“I hope that you can come to see our marriage as more than a political ploy.” He grinned, as if he was one of those brand new suitors that attempted to gain your trust while flirting. “I certainly can’t wait to give the city an heir.”

The way he looked at you urged you to run and hide.

“I have nothing to discuss with you, Acacius.” You responded, pushing the door slightly open to slip inside. “You have betrayed my trust.”

As you were about close the gap from were to entered, the General placed his big hands on the door, speaking to you from the ajar door.

“What is it, my Empress?” He pressed, the door becoming thousand times heavier under his strength. “Are you scared about the consummation, because you and Lucius had never really…?”

With a burst of strength you managed to push the door closed, resting your sweaty eyebrow to the cool ornate door as tears begun pouring from your eyes. Since Acacius had proposed you stopped inviting him at night, and locked the door. Some nights, as wind rustles trees and all you heard was his feet creaking the floorboards outside your room, you could also hear a faint rustle, and attempt to open your locked door, as if you could have forgotten to lock it some day.

That was another thing that was slowly driving you mad.

The next week went by organizing wedding affairs, and you begun to question what your plan was after begging to get married in two weeks. It had been stupid, you guessed, something that had strikes over your head as you looked over at a statue of Athena. You prayed for her strength.

Acacius loomed over your figure as he had done years before your friendship had bloomed, although the ghost of a creeping grin appeared in his face more than usually. You attempted really, to see the good side, but the fact that he had manipulated you into proposing the idea and then used it to his advantage deeply sickened you.

It was about two days from the wedding day when Acacius had disappeared almost all day, and you felt at peace by his absence. As the tailor arranged your wedding dress, clearly just a reconstruction of the old one, you heard him gallop through the entrance of the Palace, holding something on his hand.

“The Emperor is dead.” He told the Senate, holding up a letter he had received from the colonies. “Let the news not startle us from guiding Rome towards glory.”

You furrowed your brows, Lucilla next to you breaking into a deep sob.

“What does the letter say?” You asked him, and he looked at you as if you were testing him.

“Would be cruel to discuss the details of the dead infront of his mother, my future wife.”

You almost felt bile rising up to your throat from the words he said.

That night you became even more restless, so much it physically hurt. The night had been one of the coldest the was and a thundering storm had grown from the coast of Rome up until the palace. It felt like a message from the Gods, with all the thundering you couldn’t hear the door knob nor the hushed whispers behind it.

Your eyes were closed but just a thin layer of drowsiness was on top of you, not enough for you to peacefully sleep without the hammering at your temple. That is when you felt the bed dip beside you, and his scent brought you jumping up.

“Lucius?” You questioned through the darkness of the night, his perfume thick in the air.

“I am so sorry to inform you that Lucius is gone.”

Acacius. Your blood froze as your eyes fluttered open. In the darkness, the door hadn’t been opened because you could have seen the torch lights from the crack. There had been another way he had gotten in.

“However, he will return tomorrow night, to find his wife has remarried.”

You looked over his figure, lit by the moonlight entering from the balcony.

Broad shoulders and the willowy of his Roman nose.

“But he might as well return tomorrow morning, and that is why I must secure my claim.”

He spoke with such tranquility it send shivers down your spine. The fireplace had gone off, leaving burning embers. You looked at the door once again, still locked, by the time you could have gotten there he would have caught you. He was stronger, faster and more agile.

“Why are you doing this?” You asked him, voice quivering. He begun untying his armor, letting it clank slowly into the ground, accompanying the sound of lightning outside.

“Because I had been tempted with you from the day you arrived, little girl.” The nickname felt warm, but it spat out of his tongue like poison. “I was the one who had saved the city, but Prince Lucius got the crown, the power, and he got you.”

“Wh-What is it about me that you want?” You choked out, breathing startling as his robes pooled at his feet.

“If Lucius is set to return and you have already consummated your marriage to me, my heir would be on the throne.” He explained, and you got a deja vu of that night when you had invited him in; the same tone. “You’ll probably still be married to him, due to the coincidence, but you will be carrying my child. It will be our secret to history; an Emperor, son of a General.”

You slowly pulled the blankets from your body, thinking that if you were to arrive to the balcony, perhaps you could scream for help.

“Wasn’t it me that you wanted?” You persisted, entertaining him to distract him as you feet softly touched the cool marble floor, he had hunched over to undo his sandals.

“Well, of course, but the Emperor is gone a lot, he is too busy to notice-“

The sound of your feet padding against the floor made him turn, seeing you race until the balcony. He jumped over the bed, eyes rabid as a predator chasing a prey. The cold air of the balcony struck you, along with droplets of rain that all over you. Gripping onto the bannister, you screamed, but no sound came out, his hand clapped tightly over your mouth as his other clung to your torso, securing you to him.

“Stupid girl.” He bellowed, dragging you inside. You could feet the heat of his naked body, chest pressed against you, as you felt his stiffening cock against your lower back. It all felt too real, suddenly. He tossed you to the bed, climbing on top quickly and caging you. Just his immense back was enough to restrict your movements. You cried and punched his chest, attempting to push him to no avail.

As one hand splashed across your chest to keep you still, the other moved down, slipping between your silk gown. It dragged punishing between your tights, forcing them apart with his thick waist. It found the patch of pubic hair, hiding something sweet for him in its center. You could almost hear him smirk.

“Are you wet?” He asked, teasingly as his index finger ran across your slit. He then took his hand back out, presenting two fingers to you. “Suck, and make them wet or I’ll fuck you as dry as you are right now. Don’t you dare bite.”

You opened your mouth slightly, and he introduced two thick digits into your mouth; your tongue swirled around them, tasting the strong taste of perfume. He had taken the time to put on Lucius’ scent, perhaps to taunt you.

Once pleased, he pulled them out of your mouth and directed them to where they were before, bunching your dress at your hips. His fingers now grazed more softly, wet, and he rubbed them into your slit, finding a beaded nerve at the top.

You had touched yourself before; sometimes Lucius would come back drunk after dealing with claims and work all day; you excused him such actions, he had a lot to deal with. And he wouldn’t touch you, but he would hug you and hold you close, and that minimum amount of contact would drive you wild. You knew what was coming when he began circling around your flesh, the wetness that spread and threatened to burst at the tip of your lips.

“Feel how wet are you getting for me? has your husband ever get you like this?” He pressed, slipping one thick digit inside; your walls swallowed it, hugging it tightly; he almost moaned at the heat, the tightness of your core. “Are the rumors true? that you have never consummated your marriage?”

His voice was stern once again, as if he was one of the court ladies asking you about it; you thought to tell him the typical lie, that you had consummated but the stress of running the rising Rome had taken a toll on you, and that you will wait. However, you thought for a second that if you were honest perhaps he would stop.

“Yes,” you spat, eyes shut tightly as you felt your body betraying you, hips almost buckling. “we never…never had the chance.”

He chuckled, deep in his chest. “Then I’ll have another thing he doesn’t.”

His jealousy was almost childlike; he wished you because you weren’t his.

His fingers worked inside you, preparing you. Your mind, fogged with pleasure, attempted to see any way you could fight back; perhaps he’d be weaker once he entered you. Perchance you’d loose that part of you but escape his seed.

Seeing you still, the hand holding you down came up to rip the top of your night gown as a thunder cracked the sky. Your peaks hardened under the unforgiving cold night, and your body started to yearn for the heat of his body. His gaze roamed your tits, recalling the first night you had invited him in, perfect in form and size for him despite you not being keen on them.

“Such a fucking good pair,” He murmured, hand skimming over them, groping them barbarically as his other hand sped up, adding another finger, eliciting a gasp from you. “once you are my wife you aren’t going to parade around court with those skimpy dresses you love, or invite any guards inside at such hours of the night.”

Through your gasp you had realized that his words were becoming sloppier, he was forgetting his plans. You had to wait. He pinched your nipple as he begun curling his fingers, sending a jolt of energy and pressure to your core, places you had never reached.

You felt sudden emptiness when he pulled out his fingers, and you met out a shuddered sight of relief. Tears ran into your scalp, tears you hadn’t notice you were crying. His hand dipped between his naked body as the other finished ripping your nightgown, and as he let out a grunt you knew he was grabbing his cock. It bumped against your leg, and its own weight made you cry harder; you knew he was big.

“Still,” he commanded, seeing you shake. “Or I’ll shove it all in.”

You did your best, clenching your eyes as you attempted to wake up from this nightmare. Praying that it was once, that is.

He pressed the tip in, almost as big as your fist. The big head slowly broke through your walls, and he was shaking now too, lips parted and eyes clenched, that was all you could see as lightning striked the sky once again. “Feels so good,” he muttered under his breath, gripping your shoulders tightly. “I’m sorry-I can’t-“

He pushed in, all eight inches of himself and you let out a sharp cry he shushed pressing his lips towards him. Full and tasting of wine, a breathe than had fanned over your cheek but you had chosen to ignore. The scruff of his beard scratched against your face, but the pain of his cock was worse.

Thick and long, it had broken through the thin barrier of skin; your hymen or constricting walls, you didn’t know. He planted his weight in his knees and forearms, caging you as your legs dangled at the side of his imposing hips.

“I am not sorry for what I am doing.” He clarified, voice airy from delight. “But I am sorry for this, my queen, I cannot control it.”

Before you could confuse yourself about what he meant, he begun thrusting into you, curling his hips as some animal in heat. Your moans were in pain and his were in pleasure as he melted onto you; he was fucking you so hard you felt as if he was trying to imprint the shape of his cock into you; it felt like hours, and it probably was too, his lips momentarily trying to catch your unresponsive ones, silencing moans and cries.

You knew then that there was no escape, no way you could push this man off you. You felt something wet growing, but now you were sure it wasn’t arousal.

“So good of a pussy,” He grunted into your ear, now gripping your thigh as if he was attempting to spread you even more open. “gonna fuck a son into you, make you finally mine.”

His words only created more tears, as if that was their only aim.

“Such a sweet Empress, s-so eager to please everyone, such a fucking. Good. Girl.”

He synced his thrusts with the last words, each more punishing than the previous.

“So loyal too,” he cooed, mockingly, teeth kneeding at your neck. “loyal to her absent husband.”

He was leaving marks, you knew that. His arm suddenly wrapped around you waist, muscle flexing as he hoists into the air and you fell down deeper into his cock. Your arms braced itself in his shoulder for support, sheets almost sticking to your back due to the sweat that had pooled. One hand in your lower back and and the other groping your ass tightly as he fucked into the air, making you feel every ridge and vein in his member.

“Gonna cum,” he confessed, unashamed. “right into this cunt.”

“No no please-” you mustered all your strength to say, but he was far too gone, plopping you once again on the bed but then bringing your thighs together and slinging your legs over his shoulder, clutching them together as his cock came in and out almost fully. His final thrusts felt as if he was trying to reach your guts, cock tensing and twitching inside you, before shooting hot ropes of cum right into you as his full body weight fell onto you, stretching you to the point your knees almost touched your face. He caught himself in his hands a few moments later, pulling out.

You hadn’t noticed, but the sun begun to peak from the balcony, signaling morning. The tears had dried from your face. As your legs fell back onto the bed, you saw the blood. Around your thighs, into the bed and around his cock and pubic hair. Staining the scene as a gruesome crime scene.

You felt your cunt start to throb, painfully. Your hand stopped by your pelvis, also in pain alike your legs.

“Took it so good,” he praised, and now you could see him better. Body scarred, some fresh scars from your scratching, wild brown curly hair, his take tell scar on his left cheekbone and blown out dark eyes. He was terrifying as he observed your core, blood and cum and arousal just peeking through the swollen folds. “but I forgot something.”

No, you thought, too tired to protest as his fingers found your sensitive pussy once more. You shook your head as your hand attempted to grip his, but he looked at you as a warning.

“Need to make you cum.” He demanded, fingers slipping in way easily than before. “Quickly.”

It sounded like a promise, but it was his aim. Two fingers lodged inside you, a thumb in your clit and his other hand gripping your fighting wrists. Curling his fingers and rubbing you, was all it take. You felt the pleasure build up, and shame spread through your face as the faucet turned on and you sobbed once again.

If he was to rape you, that was one thing, but if he was to make you cum on his fingers, make you feel pleasure in all of this, that was twisted. That was a blow in your honor.

He wouldn’t stop, a bit more forceful that you would have desired, but he was a man on a mission. You suddenly felt as if you needed to pee, shame flickering over your body as you tried to shut your legs, but his hand was stern and no amount of pressure would make him retreat.

He managed to bring you to your climax, pleased smirk plastered on his face as your pussy begun shooting arousal. You cried harder, choking through moans from the pleasure he was forcing upon you, seeing how you soaked his softening cock and hand. He took his hand out, wet and crimson stained, and brought it to his lips. He hummed at the taste of you.

“Gotta taste this pussy some day, perhaps tomorrow in our wedding night.”

You were too gone to actually listen to his words as he used the scraps of your night gown to clean the blood on his body, and slipped into his armor once again.

He then walked over to you, picking once again the scraps and tearing them into long pieces. He grabbed your wrists and you allowed him, too tired to fight him.

He used the straps to tie you to the bedhead; then pulling another piece to go around your mouth. It was futile to attempt anything.

“A Numidian ship is embarking today, carrying your precious husband, let’s see if I can get to him first.”

And he left you, bound and naked.

[thehydraethereal]

ꪑASTERLIST

✶ 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒 / she/her / 19 / dark content fanatic / "your love carved me open, and I bled burgundy." ✶ ASKBOX ✶

CARNATIONS YOU HAD THOUGHT WERE ROSES...

✶ REQUESTS: opened ࿐

×͡× important links: ꧁༺ BLOG AND WRITING RULES | ༻꧂CHARACTERS LIST ঔ๖ۣ•҉

...THAT'S US

©thehydraethereal 2025. My work might contain triggering elements. You are responsible for your media consumption. Do not translate or repost my work without my consent.

⋆ masterlist and blog inspired by @highonmarvel

[amarmoria]

Love and Legion│Act Ⅰ

Summary: 𝑳𝒖𝒄𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂 𝑨𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒖𝒔 adopted you almost 14 years ago, after a catastrophic invasion of your country from the two tyrannic Twin Emperors of Rome, only just two years after sending her son away, she can't help but feel pity and guilt at a little child who was just a years younger than her son should've been right now and in an indisputable argument with some of the senators, she successfully stole you away from the hands of your unknown parents.

Lucilla meets her beloved husband and courageous General, 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒖𝒔 𝑨𝒄𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒖𝒔 many years later, and marries him in hopes of finding protection and love she once seeked in another-- and she did of course. Only a few years later when tensions began brewing between you and your beloved 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑-𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓, a tension that should not and should've never existed in the first place.

And even more chaos prevails when 𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐, a Gladiator brought by the war catches your mother's undivided attention. You don't know why she's so interested in some vicious gladiator until you confronted him to cure the growing dislike h̶a̶t̶r̶e̶d̶ you have towards him.

𝑨 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑-𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒖𝒔 𝑨𝒄𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒖𝒔 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝑳𝒖𝒄𝒊𝒖𝒔 '𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐' 𝑽𝒆𝒓𝒖𝒔 𝑨𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒖𝒔 𝐹𝑖𝑐

➪ 𝘿𝙊𝙉'𝙏 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘿𝙊𝙉'𝙏 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘗𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘺.

➪ 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘴 𝙁𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡, 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙡, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦.

➪ 𝙉𝙊𝙉𝙀 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘎𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳 1 𝘢𝘯𝘥 2.

➪ 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦. 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴.

Series Masterlist

Realm's Delight the poets willed you, just not long after Lucilla rescued you from near death. Despite the hushed whispers of resistance, no one dared to speak up against the Princess of Rome. And not long after she brought you back, the people were singing and celebrating outside your home, holding festivals and carnivals.

And of course, the twin emperor's annual gladiator pit was a way of celebrating your new 'birth' as the 2nd princess of Rome, though the title was quickly obliterated and made it as it is now.

Over time, the twin emperors grew fond of you and dubbed you as Emperor Geta's 'Dundus', which your mother was greatly offended, but chose to keep mute on the subject, not wanting to anger the two.

Your mother always dresses you in the most grand gowns. Never would one catch you dead in a garment made of wool or linen, gods let them see you or Lucilla will be their end. You had maids assist you everywhere you go, not like your mother lets you go out when you were 8 of years, but when you do, there were not less than 6 of them hovering around you, much less than your Equites (knights), if you think the maids were suffocating, how much more was your battalion of hundreds, exaggerated obviously, but it was how it looked like in your eyes before.

Your magistra, or they also call it teacher, was your mother’s when she was a child, she didn't trust anyone outside to teach and govern her only daughter, so it was her until you grew old enough to have her removed.

And as trees withered, you grew, the young girl hiding behind her mother's skirt has departed but not forgotten, for people would always remember her, like your very first name day, though it was the 6th name day in your honor, everyone had gathered in your mother's gardens while you stuck yourself in her bosom the whole time, you would not leave her until they all left for their beds.

She laughed the whole night, maybe even now if you would remind her. She told you she loved you not any less than her son. The older maids told you when you pestered them that the princess has never been this happy in those 2 years she 'lost' her son. Of the cause of losing her son, they did not speak. Others say that he was assassinated the night following Maximus' death. But every maid and knight tell other tales, or many of such tales, each differs from the other, so you learned not to listen to their story of theories.

"My lady," your focus broke as a voice cut through your thoughts. "Huh— what?"

"Ah, the silk, my lady. Might I inquire as to the color that would best please you?" 

You give your maid a smile before leaning in the stall to browse the silk sheets. "Hm,"

"I do like that one," you point to the baby blues, then your eyes get caught on the burgundy. 

"Oh, how splendid this shade of red appears! Truly, it is a vision of beauty." Your other maid sang, and all the others nodded and agreed. "Very well. We shall take the burgundy, the baby blue, the pink, and the purple adorned with gold, if you please. My thanks."

You were about to reach for your money when the maid pulled out a bag of coins that was clearly from your mother and handed the merchant the payment.

"Thank you, Aemma. " You bowed your head slightly in her direction, even though you obviously didn't need your mother's money. Aemma had been your maid since your mother took you in. Only being a teen when she was hired, she quickly gained your favor and your mother's. The both of you grew up together and your friendship remained steadfast throughout the years.

"Shall that be all, Princess?" The merchant says, handing your maids the boxes of silk. "It is. I bid you good morrow," you bow and smile. You wait until the maids situated themselves with the boxes before you continue to stroll farther down the market.

You pull the hood of your cloak over your head, shielding your eyes from the scorching sun. You opted to wear a lighter and thinner fabric than you usually use because of the heat that's been torturing Rome for a while now; you wonder if someone angered the sun god for Rome to suffer like this.

You sigh as you fan yourself harder. Your gaze falls on the structure, its gigantic walls impossible to ignore. The Colosseum. Every day, gladiators from every corner of the world fight there, a place you’ve been wanting to visit but have been strictly off-limits, thanks to your mother and Acacius. 

Every one of your friends had already watched a gladiator fight once while you didn't even get to step near it, a curse or a blessing?

A—

"..Bullshit," 

You hear your maid's gasp behind you, except Aemma, for she's already used to you. Your hood fell from your head, exposing you to the heat, but you did not pay care, your focus remained on the grand Colosseum, towering and timeless, there was a time where man didn't even know how to make a fire, and now you stood in front of its arches, carved by centuries of wind and whispers.

"My lady?" You snapped out of your reverie, turning your head over your shoulder to look behind you.

"Are you coming?" A knight says. You looked back to the colosseum, then back to your maids and knights.

Your shoulders sagged as you turned your back and departed, disappointment etched in your every step.

"Let's go." You murmured, they followed behind you as you dejectedly turned in the direction of your house. But just before you could take another step, Aemma pipes up.

"Ah! The General returns home this day, my lady."

𓃗

You dressed yourself for bed, the not so sheer fabric sliding across your body as you yawned for the umpteenth time of the day. You're just so bored these days, even shopping does not entertain you no longer. 

He's coming today though. The thought gave that spark in your eyes. You won't be so bored anymore, just watching him entertains you, but isn't that his role though? To entertain the emperors in their futile attempts at making Rome great again, you wonder why he tolerates their company. You can clearly see the disgust on his face whenever they say something.

You sat on your vanity, lighting the candles one by one. Then you took your hair out of its style, carefully removing the ties and clips embroidered in by your mother, then untangling the knots. You let your hair free for the night as your arms stretched up. Maybe today's shopping did tire you, but still it did not amuse you.

You took tentative steps towards the door, softly opening it and closing when you got out. Then you jogged quietly to the sitting room, careful not to wake Aemma, or she'd be obliged to stay with you until you slumbered.

You sat down on the sofa and waited for the time to pass. The hours seemed to stretch on like an endless, quiet hum in the background. You played with the board game, then read a book to which you abandoned after almost falling asleep. You peeked out the window yet again, but still no sign of him.

You let out a small sigh, shifting uncomfortably on the soft sofa, your mind wondering at the patterns in the room. You grew bored enough that you started pacing circles around the low table.

You don't know how much time had already passed as you were already fast asleep on the couch, your hands under your chin supporting it, your mouth wide open as you drooled on the pillow.

You only heard the gates creaking open, and the sound of hooves running in, but you were too tired and weepy to even open your eyes that you succumbed to slumber. Then you heard his heavy footsteps approaching you. The deep rumble of his voice as he spoke of something you didn't make out. One second there were voices and another you were in the air, hands secured under your neck and knees, lifting you up. He didn't even grunt or struggle, like you were something inanimate.

"..amor.. here.. go," you frowned, but remained still, not like you could wake up. You could only hear a few words, barely clear, and that was it all before you completely slept in the darkness.

𓃗

"He called it, The Dream of Rome,"

"Dream of Rome?" 

"Yes, where good people rule instead of the big, bad people."

"Wow! I want that too! I want to build the biggest statue of you and I'm, I'm gonna put mine beside it! I'm gonna make sure that all the people in the world are rich! A-and I’m gonna give the money to the people outside too!”

"Me too, Carissima"  Lucilla kisses your head. "Me too."

𓃗

"No, I heard the emperors are to host a private gathering later, where two gladiators shall fight for their amusement!"

"What, truly? Ye cannae be speakin' in jest! I’m certainly goin’ to see this for meself!"

You rolled your eyes, eyeing your unfinished bitter tea. 

You woke up with a start earlier, your hair disheveled and dried drool on your chin. Your memory was hazy from last night, but you definitely don't remember sleeping in your room, and you surely don't sleepwalk, do you?

"Lady Aurelius~!" You snapped from your thoughts when you heard that bitchy voice beside your ear. 

"What." You say. Clenching your jaw as you gripped the teacup. "Coming with us later, or are you going to chicken out again?"

You grip the teacup till your knuckles almost turn white as their shrilling laughs reach your ears. You absolutely don't 'chicken out', you scoff. It's just that your mother doesn't like you wandering off and risking yourself getting in harm's way.

But you certainly don't chicken out, no way, and you're undoubtedly not going to ruin a quarter of your reputation to these degenerates.

".. I shall go." You wince as they jump off their seats, clapping and howling as they excitedly 'plan' the escape. Most of the parents of your friends have not less than the rank of patricians and nobles, so they are also on high prison level monitoring, but yours was the highest in the friend group, if you can even call it that.

"Okay, sae this is gaun'ae be our final plan fo later, we must arrive in this designated place after 4 hours sharp, enouch time for ye tae escape, got it??"

"Sir yes sir!"

"Aye!"

"Let's go battalion!"

𓃗

"I shall catch up on my rest. Please, do not disturb me!" You yelled, making sure it echoes around the place so it reaches everyone. 

You exhale in a short, hurried breath, dusting your disguise as you turn your head to Aemma, who dressed up as you.

"M-my lady, this far is t-too dangerous, my lady will have my head—"

"Fear not, Aemma. I shall return here you can even blink." 

"But my lady—"

Without letting her finish, you stood on the edge of the window, gripping the blanket you tied together into a makeshift rope tightly. A thick blob of sweat slid down your forehead, your breath hitched at your chest as you tried to steady yourself.

There isn't going back, anyway.

And for the last time before you violate the very thing your mother was so strict about, you glanced over your shoulder at your maid; she was dressed in your most expensive gown, her hair hidden beneath the veil you gave her. While you were dressed in her daily attire as a maid, the both of you switched closets just after you had convinced her for nearly an hour. You can tell she wants to stop you, but who was she to do that? 

And turning your face to her, you clutched the blanket tightly in your two hands, it's fabric rough under your fingers, slowly, you lowered yourself, feeling the fabric tug at your hands as you began to slide down, the rope beneath you swaying from side to side, you held your breath trying to discern if your mother heard, after a few seconds of nothing, you continued your venture. 

Your hands were beginning to hurt and turn red from the rope, but you're too far ahead to back out, so you quickly doubled your speed and not long after your feet finally hit the ground. You celebrated internally, huffing and puffing with your hands on your knees.

You looked up to see Aemma looking relieved, you smiled and waved at her, to which she returned and shooed you away.

She mouthed you the word hurry before you quietly ran for the gates.

Good thing you weren't that tired tonight or you would've given up running halfway across the yard. Another thing, though, was the gate. If you open it and it makes that loud shrieking sound, you're dead. 

You frowned and looked around, trying to think of something, anything. You were almost out of wits when you spotted a huge stone just beside the wall.

Thank the Gods.

You let out a deep sigh of relief, your shoulders slumping from the tension escaping your body. You almost thought you had to go back and just accept death, but good thing the Gods were with you.

You jogged to where it was, the rock was slippery, but enough for you to stand on, you just have to grip the wall and jump over.

You groaned as you lifted yourself from the rock, holding onto the wall like your life depended on it. After regenerating your lungs, you swung your right leg over the wall, then pulled yourself up to sit on the wall, then you swung your other leg over, and like sitting on a tall chair, you hopped off the wall.

Your landing on the ground felt so good your knees gave out and you landed on a soft patch of grass. Beads of sweat filled your forehead, and you wheezed, panting heavily.

But you have to hurry. The other set of guards were already arriving in minutes after a small break from their shift. You looked up at the sun. 10 minutes.

Enough time for you to run out of the estate.

You took a deep breath and pushed yourself off the ground, your legs pumping into motion. Then you took off, your legs pumping as soon as you took your second step, the air was cool, but speed quickly warmed you up, you were sweating almost everywhere, but you couldn't stop, the rhythm of your breath matched the beating of your heart. 

In the next few moments, you could hear your heart beating from everywhere across your body, the sound of your feet hitting the ground, and the weight of seconds passing by. 

Every step was sharper, harder. You swore the ground almost shook. The clock in your mind ticked down, 10 minutes—you could make it. Your muscles burned, but you didn't slow down, obviously.

And finally, you reached the bustling market of the main city. You guys were supposed to meet up behind the bank. You frowned and looked around. With all these people, it would take you half a year to get to it.

Your eyes scanned around until you found the enormous building up ahead. You were just about to jog to the back when you felt a sharp push on your shoulder from behind. The unexpected jolt threw you off balance for a moment, and you stumbled slightly before catching yourself. Whipping around, you saw who had bumped into you, a mix of surprise and annoyance flashing across your face.

That was before you realized it was a knight of high status, much like your knights but this one was bigger, more bulked. He scowled in your direction, you quickly siddled backwards, he was beside a carriage with a cage behind it. It was withered and old and rusty. You had expected an animal or maybe food for delivery inside, something small, easily handled. But what surprised you was something much bigger. There, sitting on a wooden, worn bench, was a man. His arms rested on his knees, and his head hung low, as though in silent prayer. You blinked, trying to make sense of the strange sight. Your gaze lingered a moment too long, and suddenly, as if he felt your stare, his head shot up. His bright blue eyes locked with yours, and your breath caught in your throat.

Your eyes widened in shock, but his expression remained unreadable, unblinking, as though this moment was nothing new to him. His glare burned holes right through the back of your head. You willed yourself to look away from the man, his gaze overwhelming.

You were roused from your thoughts when another guy in armour knocked into you, sending you stumbling backwards yet again.

"Fucking—" he hisses, brushing off his armour. "Move aside, whore." He spits on the ground near your foot.

You gasped and involuntarily stepped back in shock. Whore?! You are not a whore! You've never even kissed someone! Much less go whoring around!

You clenched your jaw. "Excuse me but I am not a whore mister."

He halts his movements. "Big mouth for slut like you huh? Bet you could fit the whole of Rome in there," he snorts, his laugh ugly to the ears. 

"I beg your pardon—" The slap landed hard on your face, you clutched your cheek and winced as it stings from the touch of your hand. 

"Tch, that's what screaming whores get from me. Now move aside, harlot"

A shakey breath disguised as a scoff escapes from your mouth, both your hands clutching your tender cheek. 

What you didn’t notice was the piercing gaze of the man, unwavering and fixed on you as the scene played out in front of him.

𓃗

"Oh—! Good gods! We've been standing around for ages waiting for you!"

You pant, your cheek still tender but less puffy and red. "M-my apologies. I had—"

"There is no time for such nonsense; let us proceed!"

You exhaled heavily as they ushered you to hurry behind them. 

"Ugh, I'm so focking excited!" Squealed the girl beside you. 

"Shut your pie hole, Alyssa! Should we be discovered due to your loose tongue, I shall your arse once and for all!" The ginger in front of you whispered. If you weren't so distracted by what happened earlier you would've laughed at them and their antics, they always were bickering like children ever since you met them, but honestly, as the only children of their respective families and being cousins wasn't so shocking when they would clash their heads off.

Not long after, you finally arrived at the 'party'. But the party was certainly... Unique.

There were these almost naked exotic dancers on poles. They wore thick and clumpy makeup but still made it look good. Their attire was.. quirky, resembling a jester but the fabric was of silk which was very expensive.

Then there were tigers chained to the walls in cages as people gaped and checked them out.

Almost everyone was wearing masks, except the servants, and of course the emperors, they were cheering and howling loudly as they conversed with their... Escorts.

You cringe inwardly, shuddering in repulsion as one of them licks Emperor Geta's neck.

"Oh. My. Word!" your friend behind you whispers. "Indeed! This is truly extraordinary! I find it most delightful!”

"I have never attended a gathering of this nature!”

It was said the two emperors would often engage in.. unconventional parties. One of those was this. 

No one would say anything more in front of you but you heard they did things here, in an unusual but particular way, but you didn't understand what they meant until this. Maybe they meant how wild the guests and the party were?

"Look! Look! It's starting!" Your friend exclaimed, tapping your shoulder as she pointed at the center of the room.

A hush fell over the crowd and a man with gold crowns and green robes entered.

"My emperors! Ladies and gentlemen! And senators," he bows dramatically, whipping his head down as his hands stretch outwards to the side. Then he flicks his head up like he had hair, then proceeds strutting around the center.

"For your entertainment," he pauses, looking around proudly like he owned the crowd. "The art.. of combat!"

The crowd gasps in awe, as well as your friends, who murmured in astonishment. 

"May I present— The Barbarian..." Your gaze is immediately fixed on the man as he enters the room, though you could not see him clearly as you were at the very back of the crowd, the people were towering over one another as they wrestled for a look at the barbarian. Moments later the crowd erupted into a flood of cheers and claps.

"What's happening?" You whispered to your friend, who was also busy hollering. 

Alyssa, who was nearer to you, replied. "The barbarian and the renowned warrior are about to engage in combat!"

You bit your lip and stood on your toes to get a better view of the fight, but as you do, so did the others, so now you're stuck in an endless domino effect with the greedy people in front of you.

"I— can't see—" you choked out. It was getting real tight in the back when you started hearing the punches and grunts. 

"Oh! Goodness!" Alyssa gasped. "What is it? What is it?"

"He just shattered that precious vase upon the other man’s head as though it were of no consequence!"

"How would you know it is of such value?"

"Pray, it is simple! My mother owns one as well! The artisan crafted but fifty of them in all the world!"

Each blow and strike sent the crowd into a frenzy of gasps and hollers, their excitement building with every move. 

Seconds later you hear a thud echoing around the room, you see a pillar from afar slightly shaken. And not long after a loud bang was heard across the room, the crowd gasped, either at shock or amusement, or both.

But you, on the other hand, just did not feel it. You came all this way and struggled for what seemed like so long, violated your mother, and you couldn't even see what you battled for.

The audience clapped for what you assume was the winner, then the sound of a sword clattering on the ground.

"Remarkable! Remarkable!" You hear Geta clap. 

As the emperor began walking to the winner, the crowd began pushing and pulling in front of you, wanting to take witness to the event transpiring, and so it results in you getting pushed away and abruptly separated from the rest of your friends, you tried gripping the hood of the one nearest to you only for your arm to be swatted away by some bystander.

"H-hey! Guys!" You yelled, but the crowd was too loud and they were too distracted to take notice that you were already drifting away from them.

"Stop!" You clutch the hood of your cloak, careful not to reveal yourself as the crowd pressed in around you, constantly shoving and bumping as they moved, making it hard to stay balanced.

"Guys I'm here!" You yell yet again, but tour attempts are futile when the crowd easily overpowers your voice of alarm.

Mere moments after you're struggling when the crowd pops you out of them, finally getting the chance to breathe without smelling their uncured body odors.

And just as you thought you were free, a firm grip seized your arm, yanking you to the side before you could react. 

"W-what! Stop! Help mmphm!" Your eyes widened as you were met by a knight, one with the same armour as the guy who called you a whore but it wasn't him, he was bald and the knight holding you now wasn't.

"Are you a servant in this establishment?" His gruff voice says. "W-what? No, certainly not—!"

And before you get a chance to speak, he drags you with him deeper into the hallway. You pulled and tugged on your arm from his deadly tight grip, but no matter how hard you did, he didn't budge.

While you kept writhing and struggling beside him, you already arrived in a room, he yanked the door open, impatient to get in, your eyes flicker to the jail-like door which his other companion opened with a key, once it was open, he dragged you inside a bathroom like room, complete with a tub, sink and toilet.

Then your eyes fixed on a man in the gigantic tub. He also seemed surprised at the commotion when his eyes opened sharply, scanning his surroundings and finally landing on you.

"Do your job, whore," the knight grumbles. You yelped as he shoved you on the ground, your hands slipping on the wet floor and just falling on your face. 

"This is preposterous!" You yelled, groaning as you held your nose. You felt a trickle of liquid down your nose, your eyes widened as you saw the blood dripping on the floor.

"My n-nose!" You pushed yourself from the floor, your hood sliding off your head. "Urgh,"

"Who goes there?" You hear the man say, a low grumble in his voice. "Do not inquire of me, for I am the one cast into this place!"

You rolled your eyes as you turned to look at him. You looked up and stilled, the blood still dripping down your nose. 

He's the barbarian? You were locked in a staring contest with the barbarian, his glare unwavering while yours were shaking. 

"Y-you're.." your mouth opens in shock while still clutching your nose.

"I'm what?" His eyebrow raises up. "You're, the, b-bar—"

"Barbarian?" He scoffs but says nothing further, flicking the coins on the tub to the ground.

You huff. "Tch, rude.."

"What'd you say?" He tilts his head upward, not sparing a glance at you. "I said get me out of here."

"Pray, tell me, why would I do such a thing?"

"B-because—!," you shoot him your best glare, hoping he'd follow, but a deep, rumbling chuckle echoed from his chest, a sound that seemed to vibrate the air with a dark, almost animalistic undertone. 

It wasn’t the kind of laugh that invited warmth or joy—rather, it was low and menacing, like the growl of a predator stalking its prey. The sound felt heavy, as though it carried the weight of something far more dangerous lurking just beneath the surface.

"Very well, Your Highness. What benefit would it bring me to set you free?" He spoke coldly. "Hm? Did the man not give you a direct command to perform your duties, or was that only me?"

You scowl, jaw clenching over your growing irritation.

"Release me, I implore you." You grit your teeth. But still, he didn't budge, ignoring you completely.

What the fuck is his problem. It was already noon and your mother might've already sent Acacius's battalion to find you.