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profeyandere · 3 months

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𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐒 ─── ☾ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒

ʟɪɴᴋꜱ ↪ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴊᴏᴀǫᴜɪɴ ᴘʜᴏᴇɴɪx ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏꜱ ↪ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.9ᴋ ↪ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴏᴅᴜꜱ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ ↪ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴀʀᴋɴᴇꜱꜱ

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake and if you can help me improve it, I will greatly appreciate it. I hope you enjoy it :D

The soft and warm breeze coming from the deserted Roman streets caused you, as was usual in your slightly anxious and nervous person, a strange feeling of restlessness that many could assimilate due to the strange cool gusts that arose suddenly and chilled anyone who was surrounded by them, but all assumptions disappeared when you stressed to yourself that the reason for your anxiety had begun not long after the sudden death of the former emperor of Rome. Marcus Aurelius, known for being a man as strong as Hercules himself or as wise as the ancient ancestors, had been a second father to you, a man who with his extensive memory told you even the smallest details of each of his adventures in the foreigner and the various conquests that he had managed to make and be victorious around Rome to make his empire one that he had managed to take to Africa, being discovered as a technologically backward continent and very little known by those who were around his Roman kingdom, turning out to be one of the kindest men to those who really knew him, having helped the most impoverished population through various laws and in dire situations, including slaves, women, and children. That man had always taken care of you, he had made you feel protected under his attentive, loving, and proud gaze; He was the father you never had. Although you did not belong to one of the highest social classes, at least you did not belong to one of the lowest, and this, together with the fact that your mother took care of her children since the first of them was born, evidently your arrival into the world. It caused you to spend more time in the Roman palace where the emperor and his children were.

"As thoughtful as always," said a voice behind you that caught your attention, bringing you back to reality with a soft gust of fresh air that made you sigh. "Again, you find yourself thinking, even if you are in the safest place in the whole world, next to me."

That voice, which was usually distant from those who bothered him or showed irritability when directed towards less close people, was now soft and calmer than how you had heard it before. He had been angry before, your husband had been really angry, and now everything seemed more peaceful because he could see your wonderful ethereal figure next to the large balcony of your room.

“I find myself thinking about you, as usual,” you murmured, hoping to show him a little of the affection your heart held for him, slowly turning your body to turn your back to the beautiful view of the empire that loomed beneath your feet, facing the sharp and distant look of the man who had not moved from the main door of the room. "You know I always think about you. I worry about you, especially when you're awake when the moon is so high in the sky."

A soft growl, barely audible, came to you like the roar of a lion. You always liked to show your affection towards him, but you were also aware that he wasn't entirely used to receiving it from anyone other than his sister, even if he had shared his life with you since he was five years old.

Now everything was very different. Commodus was no longer the adorable boy who so often held your hand when he forced you to run with him through the palace corridors, trying to get you to keep up with him so that the guards wouldn't catch you in some absurd game that he thought that it had occurred to him and he would win for being the son of the emperor, even though that was only an excuse to be closer to you and explore that physical contact that he had heard so much about from the cooks; Commodus was no longer the charming boy who so many times tried to sweeten your ear so that you would ride a horse with him despite the various denials you gave him every time he proposed that activity that avoided being malicious, even if the only thing he wanted to feel was it was your arms around his waist. Although, despite all this, and even though Commodus had grown to become the man you know today, there was one thing that had never changed despite the years.

"I don't see the point in waiting up for me. Tomorrow you won't get out of bed until it's late and all I want is to share at least a little of my awakening with my wife's love," he scolded you, trying to be a little serious with you, even if the slight curvature of his lips denoted the opposite. "You do it every night. You wait until I come to the room, whether you long to rest in Morpheus's arms or not."

"You know that I don't like sleeping with light, and I'm aware of how much the darkness terrifies you," you told him, approaching one of the candelabras that rested peacefully on one of the pieces of furniture near your large double bed, ready to make the flames disappear that little by little were consumed. "I don't want you to feel afraid in a place where you should feel at home, much less after the great and important service you offer to Rome."

The emperor felt something strange inside him, he always did when it came to you. Your kindness and serenity, your understanding, and your sweet soul were the attributes that made you the perfect candidate to rule the great Roman empire with him, even if the latter was never to the liking of his late father; He had too many imperfections and had committed terrible acts that not even he would forgive himself if he had to judge himself, but you always seemed to see through it all to the person who was really hiding behind that same layer of grime and horror. You had met a Commodus that no one else was able to see, or perhaps no one wanted to accept that he was there. He had always been despised, you had seen that with the constant rejections of his father as he was always chosen as his last option; He had always been separated and humiliated, being the laughing stock of the guards who were supposed to protect him so much when he was pointed out as a weak man for not being able to withstand the constant beatings when he was trained to be noticed by his own father; He had always been the outcast of his own family, only knowing love through her older sister Lucila and seeing her as the mother he lacked so much during her youth. All of this meant that the only thing he knew, as far as feelings were concerned, was bitterness and loneliness, even if he had you to vent in his moments of greatest weakness.

"As my wife, you are supposed to listen to me," Commodus said in an attempt to appear authoritarian with you, even though he was aware of your stubbornness and how much you didn't like him speaking to you that way, trying to make himself look more strong and imposing in your presence. He was obviously looking for a reaction from you and got it when you raised one of your eyebrows in question. "I can be fine in the dark, I'm not a child anymore."

"Did you stop being a child three days ago? Because remember, my dear Commodus, that three nights ago you were in bed hugging me as if something bad was going to be done to you, begging me for there to be a tiny little flame in sight or a light to illuminate your part of the bed," you answered with a soft sly smile, keeping you close to the last lit lamp that provided light to the room, putting more emphasis on that fear that you had never managed to figure out how to remove; Sometimes it was exasperating not knowing how to help him at times like this. "Your well-being is one of my greatest concerns and, if you do not feel well in the only place where you should by obligation feel comfortable, then it is my duty to do everything possible to make you feel protected."

Moments like those, in which you showed your genuine concern for him, could be very common throughout the days, but he always appreciated them as if they were the first time you said those important and strong words for him.

An attempt at a smile appeared on his face. He gently lifted the cheeks of his lips, which made you feel a little more relieved to see that the tension he had carried with him all day seemed to have momentarily vanished with your short speech. You observed the way in which his tall body, muscled by the various exercises he performed throughout the week and which had apparently begun to deteriorate a little due to the obligation to continue doing other chores, let himself fall, exhausted and exhausted, to the edge of the large imperial bed that had belonged to you since he was crowned emperor, making it bounce softly at how soft it was, while the thin pillows full of feathers sank with their weight towards the defeated side, closing your eyes so that the Darkness slowly surrounded him, and it was only because his eyelids had lowered and not because the last light in his room had faded with the air coming from outside.

Small hands that he would recognize anywhere on Earth, as delicate as glass and as soft as silk, he felt as they were quickly placed on his sharp cheeks that, thinner than they had ever been, showed a slight deterioration in his physical appearance state due to stress. Your hands so loved and tender, gently cradled his face so that he would relax, causing his jaw to relax as he felt your thumbs tracing his bone and there were no longer any frown lines on his forehead frowning from him; Now everything was starting to be different at that late hour of the night.

"How do you do it?" He questioned himself, even though his words escaped from his lips and reached your ears. "How do you make him feel safe with your caresses, more than I could ever be in the company of the entire Roman troop?"

Your laughter flooded his ears in such a perfect way that he couldn't help but accompany your laughter with his own, as if it were an effect that you had on him, allowing you to attract his head towards your body, thus causing his face to be buried on your soft belly covered by a long white silk nightgown.

"I don't know, you answer that question for me."

His greenish eyes, always showing curiosity, slowly rose and drew your elegant dark and slightly moonlit figure to finally meet yours in that dark and dull room in which you were. And that's when he saw it, at that moment he was able to answer himself. Your eyes shone with love, with warmth, with a light so strong that it could guide him back to you if, at any point in his life, he felt lost wherever he went; because you were his light within his world of darkness.

#commodus #commodus x reader #commodus x you #commodus x oc #reader #you #oc #commodus imagines #joaquin phoenix imagines #gladiator 2000 #gladiator

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rosesloveletters · 2 years

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midnight rain.

pairing: Commodus x Fem. Reader

word count: 3,777

warnings: toxic/unhealthy relationship dynamics(?) and mentions of specific gender roles (I don’t know how else to describe it)

summary: A retelling of the ‘frightful dream’ scene . . . Your husband Commodus requests some time alone while he reads scrolls from the senate. When night comes and he still has not sent for you, you take matters into your own hands; you find him fast asleep, but never at peace. // Reader stumbles upon her husband Commodus who’s been crying and offers him comfort.

author’s note: I never thought I’d write for Commodus again and I am so pleased that inspiration struck! A few things before reading: I am not trying to promote toxic masculinity or the idea that men shouldn’t cry or express emotion, but at the time, it would have been viewed as a weakness especially from someone of Commodus’ social standing. I wanted to delve into his mind a little and write a softer side to him that he surely has, but that we did not see too much of onscreen. His descent into madness intrigues me and I wanted to explore that in this fic somewhat. All seriousness aside, I just want to hold Commodus while he cries and writing this allowed me to do so, at least, in some form. If you read this fic, I hope you enjoy it.

Edited.

The emperor was midnight rain.

Winds rich with humidity blew through the open palace halls, carrying the pungent scent of fresh herbs, smoke from guttering torches and the heavy rains yet to come. Storms were brewing on the horizon and while the people of Rome slept, unbeknown to them, there too was a cacophonous melody playing inside of their Caesar’s tired mind.

It was far too late for you to be wandering the palace alone, but Commodus had bid you leave; he was to spend the twilight hours poring over scrolls from the Senate, as his father was apt to do in the past. The young emperor sought not to follow in his father’s footsteps, but be that as it may, some things cannot be helped.

You had busied yourself in the gardens earlier, when the light still stretched across the sky and plunged the Roman landscape in a vibrant orange glow that slowly faded until the wispy clouds high above your head twisted into a mesmerizing purple-pink majesty. You found solace amongst the flowers, watching idly as little bees busily buzzed from bloom to bloom.

When the light died and you still had not been sent for by the emperor, you took leave of the gardens and reentered the palace through the open doors.

Inside, you made yourself comfortable in the library for a few hours to delve into a book or two, devouring the words on each page like your mind was starved of food for thought.

Immersed in another world were you and did not pay mind to the bustling which took place beyond your imaginings.

Servants passed through the halls, completing their evening duties, lighting torches for ease of sight as the night set in, cleaning the already spotless floors, checking and rechecking stock to be certain there was enough of everything… Even the ghastly praetorians and their looming, statuesque figures faded while you were so captivated by ink on a page.

As the pitch black of midnight bled in through the outer walls of the fortress, the hustle and bustle of evening had dissipated considerably and the only prevailing sounds were those of the whispering winds through silk curtains billowing in the minor disturbance or a barely imperceptible clink or grate of armor as a praetorian moved from his post.

Still, no word from your emperor.

That fact disturbed you, though you knew he was safe. The palace would have been thrust into chaos had anything been amiss, yet it still gnawed at you that this was highly unusual.

Commodus was protective to a fault and rarely let you out of his sight for any length of time, but he had been pulled in many a direction for the duration of the week at hand and you had to find entertainment where you could. The Senate and the people of Rome needed him now; you could wait.

When Commodus became emperor, everything changed like midnight.

You put your book back in its place on the shelf and quietly crept from your sanctuary. Your guards, stationed at the door, fell into step behind you and trailed you down the hall like phantoms of night. It felt silly to be so cautious inside the palace, but it was Commodus’ orders; what was the use in listening to him if he was just going to forget about you?

Turning, you dismissed them and, with a shared, confused expression between the two of them, they branched off and left down a side hall.

It appeared that you were finally alone, but such was never the case in Commodus’ domain.

You forged ahead beneath the watchful gaze of praetorians you knew were there, but you could not see them. They were there for your protection, to diligently guard the palace and the emperor, but their strict stoicism and the serious air about them made you nervous. The unwavering loyalty between emperor and his personal guard was strengthened by one man’s resolve, though your Commodus had been plunged into manic paranoia until it became oppressive.

Your footsteps carried, heightened by the fact that there were no other movements or sounds coming from elsewhere to blend with yours.

You took yourself straight to Commodus’ chambers.

There were two guards posted at the doors that were still shut tight. All was as it had been when you left, except these guards were fresh and bright eyed, having replaced the two that had been there before.

You approached them and bid they let you enter, “I request that you allow me access to the emperor’s chambers,” you said.

“Caesar has requested that he not be bothered,” one of them spoke, unconvinced to let you pass despite your connection to the emperor.

“I can assure you that, should Caesar be displeased by my admittance, it will not fall upon your shoulders.”

They seemed uncertain, but soon relented, stood aside and allowed you to enter.

You did not want to disturb him and you did your best to keep any sound of your entrance to a minimum as you slid through the doorway and into the vast room.

The cold floors were contrasted by the wet winds that blew in from the open terrace. Night was well under way and you were worn, though your walk from the library to your emperor’s chambers had accelerated your heartrate considerably. It would be nice to relax with him, alone, if he had found himself at a proper stopping place with his scrolls.

Upon initial inspection, the room looked relatively unchanged. The desk was still covered with open scrolls, parchment and ink. His quill rested idly by and, though all appeared well within your initial inspection, the only thing out of the ordinary was that the emperor was missing from his workspace.

You cast a look over your shoulder, noting the miniature scale of the colosseum was unchanged, and your searching gaze landed on the bed. Commodus was curled in on himself tightly, his back to you, as he snoozed lightly on the plush mattress.

You smiled to yourself, reasoning that he must’ve gotten so absorbed in his work that he’d not realized the time, grown exhausted and retired for the night before he could send for you.

Odd as that may have been, it was plausible. Commodus had never been known to have forgotten you before, but things were different now. He made a conscious effort to please the Senate and that meant spending extra time revisiting scrolls, passing legislation and participating in, as well as negotiating, Rome’s politics with the dry old men your emperor had once been so critical of.

Commodus rarely slept, at least, undisturbed sleep was near impossible for him to achieve. Perhaps the scrolls kept him from thinking of it, you thought, and that was why he had been able to visit the land of dreams, but you were relieved that he had finally found peace.

Your fingers skimmed one of the jade marble pillars as you shifted about the room, uncertain of how you should bridge this gap. Torchlight streamed in from the carved stone latticework, coating half of the room in a spectacle of oddly shaped shafts of light, including the curtains which framed the imperial bed.

To avoid the embarrassment of awakening him, you swiftly removed your sandals so that the noise of you walking would not echo. You shivered as the chill of the marble floor penetrated your skin and sank deep within you – a pleasant reprieve from the humid air.

However, when the wind blew in through the open terrace particularly hard, you drew your yellow stola in closer about your shoulders. You noticed that Commodus’ own garb had been removed – his cape and armor lay on a table not far from the colosseum model – and he slept in just his tunic.

It puzzled you that he lay on top of the linens and your brow creased in thought.

Tentatively, you approached the bed, careful to remember to step up onto the raised platform; the thought of tripping and unceremoniously toppling onto the emperor of Rome as he slept was not a pleasant one, but the thought still made you smile. If something of that nature were to happen, it might make Commodus shriek in terrible fright and send the guards at the door into a frenzy, but once he realized it was only you, there would have been no repercussions, only gentle laughter as he pulled you into the bed beside him.

You had fallen in love with the young Roman prince, before he had become emperor, three summers ago when the heat of late August was not the only thing which left you feeling breathless.

There was nothing he would not have done for you then and that was still the same now, even if everything else was different.

You remembered fondly how he had courted you, eventually asking for your hand in marriage and how you had eagerly accepted. You were wed the summer before this; little did you know those few months would be the last time that things would ever be so simple.

You sank onto the bed and the mattress dipped beneath your weight.

Commodus murmured softly and folded in on himself a bit more, instinctively protective of his vulnerability. It pained you to witness his paranoia, even while he slept. The ever-present thought that at any given moment someone might burst through the door and try to hurt him kept him from ever letting his guard down completely. That, among other things, kept him awake most nights.

The torches and oil lamps still burned bright; the fuel had been replenished earlier by some servants while Commodus was busy with his scrolls. Your heart ached for the young man who never slept in the pitch black of night; he was afraid of the dark and maybe that was why he never would look in the mirror either, because that same darkness lived in him, too.

You were compelled to reach out and touch him, then, gently stroking your hand along the curve of his face and as you did, you gasped in surprise, almost drawing your hand away; his warm cheek was damp with tears.

It had not been long since the emperor had fallen asleep, cried himself to sleep, you painfully reminded yourself.

Why had he not sent for you?

Resisting the urge to wake him, you shifted your weight as you settled in behind him and draped an arm over him. Soon, the solid press of his back against your front eased your nerves and you carefully and deliberately reached up and combed your fingers through his dark hair. He cooed softly in his sleep, sniffling a little as he relaxed beneath your touch. The tension flooded out of his shoulders while you held him like this. Even in his sleep, he could sense that the comfort was yours, brought to him by his cherished wife who loved him more than his own father ever had.

His father.

Commodus had tried to be the son that the great Marcus Aurelius had wanted. He had tried to make his father proud, but nothing he had done was good enough and, what was worse, he did not know why. Why did his father not love him? Commodus did not know the reason, but in the end, it was clear: Marcus Aurelius had longed for a different son.

Since then, Commodus had tried to squeeze love from various sources but it never satisfied him.

Not until he met you.

“My love…” you whispered to him, careful to lift him gently out of his dreams, “please awaken and talk to me.”

Commodus moaned and for a moment you were not sure if he had heard you until he responded with a full-bodied stretch and the rustling of fabric met your ears as he turned to glance at you over his shoulder.

His eyes were green like freshly sliced limes and just as bittersweet; they were red-rimmed and tired, lined with dark circles that alluded to the many nights he had suffered through without sleep.

He said nothing, but turned over until he was able to wrap his arms snugly around your shoulders. He remained that way for a time, clinging to you while his body adjusted to wakefulness after the impromptu nap.

His heavy eyelids fluttered and his head dropped to your shoulder, “I’m sorry…” the apology was whispered into your skin and you almost did not hear him.

When he looked up at you with an almost childlike expression on his face, you cupped his cheek in the palm of your hand and stroked across it with the pad of your thumb, “Commodus,” you started, “is everything alright, my love?”

He craned his neck and kissed your palm, “it is,” he said, “now that you are here.”

Your hand fell away and reached for his, sliding your fingers into the spaces between his own thicker digits. He squeezed you tight, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips before he looked away again, “I meant to send for you, but I was in such a state…”

He did not need to tell you more. He had been crying, that much was confirmed by the drying tear tracks upon his smooth cheeks and the redness in his eyes. Commodus’ emotions were often left unchecked; he felt so viscerally, violently and brutally and the tears would come, whether they were born out of pure sadness, or frustration and rage.

It was one thing to express emotion, but it was another entirely to witness it from the emperor of Rome.

The only time he could fall apart was when he was by himself.

He was supposed to be a fearless hero but instead he cried more than some women did and that was unacceptable.

At least, it had been for the stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius, who had once grown tired of his son’s outbursts. Commodus doubted it would be any different now. The palace was his own, but this new life was not.

He did not want his servants or his guards to see him crying while asking after you; that was not an image he wished to paint for them.

While he waited for the tears to subside, he had relaxed on the bed until he succumbed to his exhaustion.

“That is alright,” you assured him, “I was reading in the library for a time because I thought you were still at work.”

“No,” he responded, the dulcet tones of his honeyed voice was indicative of sleep, the vestiges of which still clung to him like ivy on stone, “I finished with that some time ago. These senators demand more from me each passing day that I have no choice but to work as I do now, just like my father had done.”

That sentiment hit some nerve within him and was certainly the source of these tears and what had brought them forth, “Commodus,” you repeated his name but the sound of it did not reach him.

He was looking through you, unsettling as that was, he was prone to it. Often did you wonder what he heard and saw in these moments that were lost to the wind and rain. These elements were, too, present within the emperor who was waning into crescent, tearstains glittering like stars on his cheeks – this man was made of midnights and he was hauntingly beautiful.

Only, when the darkness had overtaken him, he did not reemerge anew.

You tenderly kissed his forehead; his skin was warm against your lips. He drew you closer through the barely imperceptible inhale as his nose rested at your collarbone and you tilted your head back, allowing him to find comfort where it was needed.

He had dropped your hand in favor of holding you while his full lips pressed bruising kisses against the bare column of your neck. Your fingers found his hair again, giving it a gentle tug of affection that made him groan appreciatively.

He lifted his head and leaned close, his sweet breath fanning across your face as he pressed his forehead to yours. His eyes flickered in the lamplight as he looked at you, “do you know what my father said once?”

You languidly chased his lips with your own, but he eluded your desires, resolving to let you capture and conquer him in his own time, when he was ready.

“I don’t,” you replied, “won’t you tell me?”

“He said that it’s a dream…a frightful dream, life is.”

You looked into Commodus’ eyes, but he was somewhere else. You did not have the courage to speak up until he asked you, “do you think that’s true?”

You hesitated, momentarily assessing how best to respond.

“Sometimes it is,” you settled on a half-hearted agreement for now and his shoulders slumped into you as though out of some sort of relief.

“And I have only you to share it with…” Commodus’ eyes brimmed with tears and he bit back a sob, “but I have no proper time with you now. It is all like some great nightmare!”

Your arms encircled him comfortingly and you rubbed his back to soothe him, understanding that his tender state was in part the fault of his father who had failed him as a child, but also because Commodus was just so tired. In his fitful sleep, it was difficult to reach him, but even more when he was awake because he could not escape his nightmares even during the day.

There was a slowly burning madness inside of him and soon it would boil over.

But, not tonight.

“Shh, Commodus.”

You held him close while he cried, shoulders shaking with the force of each painful sob that carried and reverberated off the palace walls and made it seem all the louder.

You pulled him in against you, your bodies flush to one another and you could feel his heart beating rapidly against your chest.

Commodus scrounged for love in every aspect of his life, searching for fulfillment in dealings with his guards, the people of Rome and occasionally even the senate. He desired love himself, but he also wanted to be the provider of love to his people because if they respected him then perhaps, they might love him, too.

It was you who gave him what he needed, only, it seemed that it was not enough.

He had an empire to run, scrolls to read, legislation to propose and citizens to care for; Commodus was meant to be an emperor first and a husband, second.

His sobs grew quieter and more restrained, changing from full-bodied cries to soft whimpers. Your cheek rested against the crown of his head, your hand still rubbing his back as you held tight to him.

Many times had you found yourself in this position, but few of them were like this.

The tearful emperor would have been perceived as weak by anyone who might have seen him like this, but not you. You knew what he was capable of, even if no one else did. The moon might only reflect the sun’s light back upon the shadowed earth, but there were things one could only dream of that lurked in the darkness that not even the light of day could brighten. There, too, were demons veiled by the emperor’s dark side and once in a blue moon they were revealed by the light.

He was quiet now, but he breathed deeply, dragging in oxygen harshly through his nose while his cheek rested gently against your chest. He could listen to your heartbeat in this position and his lips bore a marginal smile.

“You know I love you,” Commodus whispered to you in that unassuming, hushed tone his voice took on when he was calm.

His lips found purchase on your neck again and you released a pleased sighed, “and I love you, too.”

The storm had passed.

The drought had been the worst, but the rain was over and the clouds had begun to part; Commodus was returning to himself, and after the downpour, you both would flourish again.

When he was overwhelmed, Commodus had to purge the emotions that consumed him.

“Shall we ready ourselves for bed, darling?” you posed the question as not to disrupt him; he seemed comforted by your closeness, satiated and remedied now that you were in his presence once more.

You felt him nod once, “I think that would be for the best,” he agreed, lifting his head when the sound of rain suddenly flooded into the room.

Beyond your chambers, the sky opened and rain came down from the heavens like you had anticipated might happen into the night. The gods were crying with the emperor, watering the lands of rich, fertile soil for the flowers, plants and food that would grow here.

Commodus smiled wistfully as he gazed out to watch the droplets fall to earth, “What did you mean?” he asked.

The sudden question perplexed you.

“Meant what, darling?”

“That life is a frightful dream, only sometimes,” he clarified, “implying that it is not so all of the time.”

He had turned to look at you and your heart skipped a beat. Your lover’s eyes held their usual mischievous brightness that enchanted you, sparkling like springtime and full of icy vitality. His full lips parted as he waited for your response and you had to steel your imagination against kissing him instead.

Your fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck that had grown long enough to curl a little, “well,” you began and felt him press even closer, if that were possible, as he hung on your every word, “life does often feel like a dream to me, but not always an unpleasant one.”

“Yes,” he appeared childlike as he agreed with you, “I suppose that for all of the unpleasantness, there are still good things.”

“Like you,” you said, “us.”

Commodus expelled a brief, lighthearted chuckle, “you are right about us, my love.”

That is a good thing. We are a good thing.

You heard the admission in his voice, he did not need to say it because you felt it. It was there, in all that he did. You were enough for Commodus and you always would be, even on days when he was pulled in different directions that did not lead to you; he would always come home.

The love was present in the way he held you, kissed you, made time for you, loved you.

Yes, Commodus loved you.

He always had.

#commodus #commodus x reader #commodus x you #emperor commodus #joaquin phoenix #joaquin phoenix x reader #gladiator #gladiator 2000 #biblio :: 📖

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