#Marcus Acacius fanfiction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

absurdthirst · 23 hours ago

Text

False Starts {Marcus Acacius x F!Plus Sized!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 18.1k

Warnings: Fat shaming, spoiled/selfish behavior, contentious siblings, insults, arranged marriages, yearning, star crossed love, pregnancy, child birth, death in childbirth, mentions of blood, death of a child, grief, drunkenness, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, oral sex (female receiving), betrayal, domestic violence, threats of harm, escape, murder

Comments: A chance meeting causes you to meet the love of your life, Marcus Acacius. The gods against you at every turn it seems, you have so many false starts in your life together.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Marcus Acacius MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

You remember the moment you met Marcus Acacius. Your older sister was carrying a basket full of olives that you'd picked from the trees. She was complaining that your father hadn't given enough for her dowry and she was lacking prospects for an important and influential husband. You sighed, knowing your sister - the beauty, the one who men trip over themselves for - is not lacking prospects. You, however, are less desirable...plumper. At least that's what your sister constantly says. She was too busy whining that she missed the raised stone on the street, falling forward, and the olives rolled everywhere when the basket went flying. That's when he appeared. His large hand stretched out to help her and she made a show of how she'd rolled her ankle. Marcus was a gentleman and carried her home in his arms while you trailed behind with the empty basket, admiring the broadness of his shoulders. His aquiline nose and his deep brown eyes. Your heart was his from that moment but you weren't the one he wanted. "Thank you for bringing my daughter home safely." Your father smiles as he shakes Marcus's hand after introducing himself and you bite your lip, admiring his strong arms.

"You are - Marcus. Wow. You've grown. The army has been good to you. You're home now?" Your father asks and Marcus nods, a confused look on his face. "I shall speak to your father." He smiles and you grip the basket, wondering what he might need to discuss. Marcus nods and turns towards you, his dark eyes meeting yours and you swear your heart stops beating. Your sister steps in front of you, a silly smile on her face and Marcus draws his gaze to her, "I best be returning home. Have a good afternoon." He says, bowing his head. Your sister giggles, "thank you, my hero. Goodbye." She says breathlessly and Marcus makes his way through your courtyard. You watch him until he disappears and your sister grins, "that's the man I want to marry." She declares and your father chuckles, "let me speak to his father and I will see what we can do." Your throat feels dry and you can't speak, knowing your sister will get what she wants. She always does.

****

“I don’t desire her.” Marcus shakes his head as he stares at his father in horror. One meeting, one good deed and he has found out that his fate is being decided for him despite his years in the Roman army. “Her father is influential.” His father reminds him. “What she lacks in dowry, she will make up for with connections.” That doesn’t matter to Marcus, he’s a soldier. “What about her sister?” He demands, having been taken with the younger sister, the one whose eyes seem to stare into his soul and touch it. Her beauty more to his appetites. “I want her, not her sister.”

“The big one? Don’t be ridiculous, my boy. A man of your status needs a beautiful wife. Not someone who clearly cannot control their gluttony. You need someone next to you who will be appropriate for a general of Rome. You are on track for the position and you need a woman worthy of that. One day, you’ll be a senator.” His father declares, already mapping out the future for his only child. “And if I refuse?” Marcus challenges and his father turns to look at him, “then you’ll be on your own. No home. No coin. I’ll disown you.”

He doesn’t make much as a soldier, not enough to have any kind of life like he had imagined. He clenches his jaw and shakes his head. “She is vain and silly. She will not be the one to make me happy.” He tries to argue but his father will not hear of it. “You will marry the older girl.” He declares and Marcus sighs. He has no choice, without his father’s approval, he would lose his position in the army and he can’t risk that.

Your sister tells you the news by squealing it so loud that it echoes off the marbled walls of your home, “I am to marry Marcus!” She declares and your eyes widen, “Acacius?” You ask and she nods, “next week. Before he leaves for another battle.” She grins and you force yourself to smile, “that’s - wow. Congratulations, sister.” You offer, knowing you have no claim over the man. He’s been in your thoughts since the moment you met him but he isn’t yours. Now, he is your sister’s intended.

Once the betrothal is set, Marcus comes over to visit every day. His father tells him that he should get to know his bride to be, but he is most eager to see you every day. Your wit and humor touches him and he loves your soft, sweet smile.

You watch as Marcus sips the cup of wine, your sister giggling over every word he says and resting her hand on his thigh without anyone seeing. You hold your own cup, taking a gulp, and you hate that you are here as their chaperone. You hate to see your sister get what she wants when she hungers for money and power. She knows Marcus is in line to become a general one day and she wants to be there to share in his glory. You take a gulp of the wine and reach for the pitcher at the same time as Marcus, his fingers brushing yours, and you pull yours back like lightning has struck you.

“Forgive me.” Marcus murmurs, picking up the pitcher of wine and motioning towards you. He will refill it for you. “Do not apologize to her.” His intended snorts and tosses her head in a move that she must believe is very becoming but comes across like a petulant child. “She should stand to drink less.” She smirks. “And eat less too.” Marcus frowns, not liking the way you are being talked about and he moves closer to fill your cup before you snatch it away. “It is hot outside.” He tells her. “She should drink.”

You shake your head, “I am no longer thirsty. I am fine. Thank you.” You say, hating the disgusted look on your sister’s face as she stares at you before she looks at Marcus, a soft smile on her face as she reaches up to caress his arm. Marcus stares at you for another moment then he sighs and sets the pitcher down. “I would like some, Maritus.” Your sister coos and Marcus sighs, “we are not yet married, Ceres.” He says and she huffs, “not yet.” You grip your cup and Ceres rolls her eyes, “I am going to find the cheese we bought from the market.” She says and stands up, making her way out of the room. “Are you prepared for the wedding?” You ask Marcus after a very awkward moment that you stared at the table.

“As much as I can be.” He doesn’t sigh, but he wants to. “I saw you in the garden this morning.” He admits, smiling when you look up in shock. “I was running to stay fit for our next campaign.” He might have run along the garden walls so he could see you, having taken notice of how often you tend the plants in your father’s estate.

Your throat closes as surprise makes your heart thump and you lick your lips. “I like to grow vegetables and flowers.” You confess and Marcus smiles, “what’s your favorite?” You are surprised by the question and you tap your fingers against the cup, “my favorite flowers are lilies and I love grapes. Easy to grow here.” You hum, “when do you deploy?” You ask and he sighs, “two days after the wedding.” Your eyebrows raise, “so soon. You won’t be able to enjoy married life.”

“I guess not.” He shrugs slightly, not really minding that. It’s not like he is a virgin, but he’s not been looking forward to fucking Ceres. She’s too self absorbed. “The emperor’s needs come before everything. Even a marriage.”

You nod, knowing that the emperor comes first, especially for the army. “That’s a shame.” You hum, knowing you aren’t upset that Marcus won’t be with your sister for long once they are married. “Ceres will be lonely without you there but she will be able to run your household.”

“My father will be happy.” The villa that had been a gift to Marcus as a wedding present wasn’t small, but it wasn’t as grand as some in the region. It was perfect for a newly wedding couple. “That will be good.” He murmurs. “And I was hoping…I was thinking maybe you’d like to stay in the villa with Ceres when I am gone. She will be all alone and I want her to have company.” He says and you look up at him again, eyes wide, “you want me to- to keep her company?” You ask and he nods, “I- wow. That’s very generous of you.” You say as Ceres comes back with cheese and grapes in a bowl.

“What are you talking about?” Ceres demands, unhappy that Marcus is far more social with you than he is with her. She is going to be his wife. Although she brushes off the annoyance by thinking that he might just be too shy to talk to her because of her beauty. Marcus turns to her and wishes again that he had not helped her that day. “I was telling your sister that I wish for her to stay with you in our home when I leave for my next campaign.”

Ceres beams, excited to be a wife and running a household for a man that will become very important in Rome. “That sounds perfect, amor.” She coos and leans in to kiss his cheek. You avert your eyes, knowing you’re going to see more affection between them once they are married.

****

“You may kiss your bride.” The priest declares as everyone gathers in the front room of your villa. The space has been decorated with silks and flowers, fruit bowls on display with copious amounts of wine. You look down at the marble beneath your feet as Ceres throws her arms around Marcus to kiss him, unconcerned for the family members in the room. “Congratulations.” You tell them once they have signed the marriage contract and your parents have spoken to them.

“Thank you.” Marcus smiles at you, thinking that you look beautiful in the silky, flowy dress that you had chosen for today and the flowers that are tucked into your hair makes you look serene. Again, he wishes that you were the one that he had been allowed to marry, instead of Ceres. Her simpering and batting her lashes at him throughout the morning had annoyed him.

Ceres wraps her arm around his waist, “my handsome husband.” She coos and caresses his cheek with her other hand, “maybe when you’re staying with us, you can work on eating less and then maybe you’ll find a husband.” She says and you inhale sharply, “perhaps.” You choke out, feeling that suffocating sensation in your chest when your sister drags her eyes along your form, knowing she’s assessing every flaw.

“You should be nicer to your sister.” Marcus chides softly, frowning at his new wife. “She does not need to change.” Ceres scoffs and rolls her eyes but Marcus doesn’t relent. “I would not allow a soldier under me to talk about someone else that way.” He tells her.

“Well it’s a good thing I’m not a soldier, I’m your wife, and I’ll be under you in a different way tonight.” She giggles and you sigh, “I’m going to get some air.” You make your way through the villa to stand outside, wrapping your arms around yourself, and you look up at the stars with tears in your eyes. Ceres has gotten what she wanted. Just like it has always been.

Marcus huffs and drops his hand from Ceres’ waist. “I’m going to get a drink.” He murmurs, unsure why two women raised in the same household could be so different.

****

You look up at the villa that will be your new home until Marcus returns from battle, and sigh. Ceres will be torture to live with but the freedom you’ll gain being away from your parents has you willing to endure her venom. She grins when she sees you, married life clearly suiting her as she comes over to hug you. “Welcome sister. Isn’t this marvelous?” She gestures to the villa, “of course once Marcus is promoted, we will be moving to. A bigger home.” She says like it’s inevitable and perhaps it is but you hate how she always wants more. “Where’s Marcus?” You ask and she takes your arm, “he’s packing his bags. He will be departing shortly. He slept in this morning. We had a rigorous night of lovemaking and I think I wore him out.” She giggles and you frown, trying to block out the thought of her and Marcus in bed together. “He was very enthusiastic. In fact he finished inside me-” She grins and you are grateful that the man himself appears and stops her from continuing her story. Marcus says your name as your eyes meet his and your heart flutters in your chest. “Good morning, Marcus.” You smile at him, “you ready for your departure?”

“I am.” Marcus nods as he is struck by how pretty you are. It had been difficult to take Ceres to bed and he had thought of you while he had been inside her. Your sweetness, your softness was what he wanted. Not the vain and selfish ways of your sister. She did not care about anyone but herself and that was obvious by her being unwilling to learn how to pleasure him.

“I am sure you will miss your wife during your journey. I will make sure she is taken care of.” You promise him, wanting him to know that someone with sense is left in charge of his household. Ceres will spend his coin like there’s no tomorrow. He nods, “I appreciate that.” Ceres scoffs, “I don’t need anyone to look after me but I appreciate your care, sister.” She scoffs and reaches for Marcus. “I am leaving now.” He announces and she grabs his face to drag him towards her, her lips pressing against his. You avert your eyes to give them a moment but you don’t notice Marcus doesn’t close his eyes, he watches you. “I shall miss you dearly, amor.” Ceres coos, caressing his cheek.

You watch him go, your heart aching, and you decide to rush out to him as he’s about to step into the carriage. “May the gods bring you home safe and healthy. We shall miss you.” You tell him even though it’s only you who will miss him. Despite it being a short time that you’ve known him, he’s buried in your heart and you’ll carry him with you always. He nods, his dark eyes burning into yours, and he stares at you for a moment before he gets into the carriage. You watch it as it disappears down the cobbled street before you make your way back inside. “What was that about?” Ceres asks with a scoff, “I wanted to tell him that I’d ensure your happiness and safety during his absence.” You lie and she scoffs again, “like you’d make me happy. Go fetch me some wine. That would make me happy.” You nod and follow her order, knowing you’ll do whatever it takes to ensure Marcus returns to a well run home.

****

“Oh I have wonderful news!” Ceres grins as she comes into your bedroom, her robes swaying around her feet. “Oh?” You ask, looking up from your scroll. “I am with child.” She declares and your jaw drops. “You’re - wow. Con- congratulations, sister.” You tell her and she spins around, “I shall send word to Marcus to inform him of the good news. Hopefully that will guarantee his safe return home with the news of his son being born.” You don’t argue and say she doesn’t know if it’s a boy yet but you hum, “I’m sure he will be ecstatic.”

Marcus sighs as he reads the message. He had tried not to spill inside Ceres, but he had not been quick enough to pull out in time. Now she is expecting his child. The news should be joyous, but he is dreading returning home and pretending to be happy. His father has sent word that his wife is not very prudent with his coin, spending lavishly. He wonders if you are helping her spend, or if your time has been spent in the villa’s gardens like it had been when you were at your father’s home. “Major.” His attention is taken by the soldier entering his tent to remind him that it is time and he nods. “I am coming.” He looks down at the message again and leaves it on his desk. He cannot worry about that now, the last day of the war has just begun.

Your sister is near to giving birth and she has made your life hell. Sending you all over town to fetch the things she craves, spending coin like it will disappear despite you warning her to be more conservative with her husband’s money. She has no concern about that. “He will make more.” She said flippantly and you couldn’t argue. You’ve spent your days in the garden, growing vegetables and flowers. The summer sun has led to the garden flourishing and you are glad to have contributed to making the villa a home for Marcus to return to. You are in the gardens when you hear the carriage pull up outside, trunks being carried, and you scramble onto your feet. Your robes are dirty with soil but you rush through the home, your sandals flopping against the marble as you run towards the front door where Marcus stands, returned from war. “You’re back.” You declare breathlessly, a wide grin on your face as you stare at him.

You are a sight for sore eyes and he smiles back at you, pulling you in for a tight hug. There had been close calls and new scars he now carries on his body. “You have been well?” He asks quietly in your ear before he pulls back. “You are more beautiful now than when I left.” His smile slips into a frown. “Has your father made a match for you?”

You shake your head, “no. He thought it was best for me to remain with Ceres while she is pregnant. I trust you heard the news?” You ask and he nods, “yes. Ceres sent word.” He says but he doesn’t sound happy about it. “She’s due any day.” You inform him, “and she’s anxious for your return.”

“Then it is good I made it back before she gave birth.” Marcus says woodenly. He doesn’t feel connected to this baby or his wife, but he watches you closely.

As if on cue, Ceres’s scream echoes in the villa and your eyes widen as you rush to find her. She’s hunched over the chair in her bedroom, heaving in a breath and water on the floor. Your eyes widen, “you’re in labor.” You rush over to her and turn to Marcus. “Find the midwife. She needs them.” You order and rub Ceres back as you try to get her on the bed. “Marcus? You’re back.” She gasps.

“I’m here.” He promises, eyes widening in surprise at how large his wife has grown with the baby. “Do you need anything?” He asks quietly, unsure of what she could possibly require but feeling compelled to ask.

“Just go fetch the midwife. Ask Antonia to find her.” You demand, helping your sister onto the bed and she cries out in pain. “It’s okay.” You promise, “it will be okay.” You are panicking a little and you watch Marcus leave to go fetch the housemaid before you let your sister squeeze your hand.

Marcus rushes off to find Antonia, although he’s not sure which one she is. He’s not spent much time in this house and he’s sure that someone else was in charge when he had left. Pointed in the right direction, he demands the midwife be sent for. “My wife is in labor.”

You fetch some water for your sister, allowing her to drink and to wipe her sweaty forehead as she grits her teeth through another pain. Marcus comes back in, feeling lost and unsure as he watches you pat Ceres’s forehead with a damp cloth. “The midwife will be here soon.” He promises and Ceres pants, batting your hand away. His eyes meet yours as you stand up and place the cloth back in the bowl, softening, and you don’t notice as you focus on your sister who says your name, “go. I want to speak with my husband.” You nod, making your way out of the room to give them privacy.

Marcus sits down and picks up the cloth to wipe her forehead. “Are you in a lot of pain?” He asks, concerned. He does not have a lot of experience with childbirth, none actually. The camp followers would deal with the bastards born in their own area, the mothers recovering in peace while still traveling along with the army.

She bats his hand away, “don’t touch me.” She hisses, “you’ve been away this entire time, leaving me with her.” She spits your name and Marcus frowns, “your sister…she seems to have looked after you.” He observes and Ceres shakes her head, “she’s been hovering around me. Getting me whatever I desire but she’s - the way you look at her.” She hisses through another contraction, “like she’s the moon and the stars. Like she’s - shit - like she’s Venus.”

“I haven’t been here to look at her.” He reminds you, but she shakes her head and shoots him a hateful glare. “The day we married, you were looking at her like she was the one you wanted to marry. The day you left, you smiled at her and barely kissed me goodbye.” Marcus looks away, feeling guilty because he knows that is true. “You are carrying my child.” He murmurs. “You are my wife, not your sister.”

“You’ve never looked at me like you look at her. Even on our wedding night, I thought I heard you moan her name but figured it was my imagination. I am the beautiful one. I am the one you should want. She’s nothing. Once the baby is born, she is to be sent away and you are never to talk to her, let alone look at her again.” Ceres demands, gripping her belly.

Marcus scoffs at how disgusting that she is talking about you. “You will not have any say in what she does.” Marcus reminds her. “Your sister isn’t married to me, you are. You got your way.”

“But I wanted all of you. I am giving birth to our child. You are mine. I want all of you, Marcus.” She pleads, “I want the General I was promised.” She demands and hisses as another contraction hits her, making her chest heave.

She is suffering and Marcus doesn’t want her upset while she is giving birth, even as difficult as she is. “You have me.” Marcus promises, reaching out and smoothing her hair away from her face. “I am here. Right beside you.” She doesn’t push him away this time and he takes that as a good sign. “You must relax. The midwife will be here soon.”

She grips his hand just as you enter the room with the midwife. “There now dear, I’m here. Let’s see what’s going on. Your little one is on their way.” She smiles as she sets her things down, “do we want the father here?” She asks Ceres, her eyebrows raised, and your sister nods as she grips Marcus’s hand. “Go fetch me cloths and warm water.” She orders you and you nod, rushing off to get what she wants.

Marcus doesn’t watch you leave the room, feeling Ceres’s eyes on him. Instead, he turns to watch her. Bringing the cloth up to bathe her head again. He doesn’t love her, but he owes her his loyalty. She is having his child. “Be strong.” He urges her softly, the same thing he would tell injured soldiers on the battlefield.

It seems like hours that Ceres is in labor. Her cries echoing through the villa and you stay away, having seen the look on her face when you entered the room. You hear her cries and you look out at the high sky, wondering how long she’s going to be laboring for.

“You must walk.” The midwife shakes her head and frowns as Ceres pants, leaning over the bed. “The babe is stubborn and will not come out.” Her worry is starting to grow, but she has not said anything so far. The girl is young and strong, she will be fine if she would just heed her advice. “Let me help you.” Marcus offers, taking hold of her waist.

Ceres cries out when she tries to move, her legs shaking as she stands up and when she does, she feels blood rush between her legs. Her hand slides under her gown and her eyes widen when she pulls her hand out and it’s covered in blood. “Oh gods.” She chokes, “I feel- I need to push.” She says, feeling the pressure between her legs and she wants to push.

“Shit.” Marcus scoops his wife up and carries her over to the chair that is used to bring children into the world. “Help her!” He demands, looking to the midwife for help.

The midwife looks pale as she comes over to Ceres. “You must push. On the count of three. Inhale deeply and push, dear.” She orders, rubbing her back as Ceres reaches for Marcus’s hand, squeezing as she starts to push.

“Push Ceres.” Marcus commands, holding her hand and the sudden dread washing over him nearly makes him sick. He can tell that the midwife is nervous, that she is unsure of what will happen. “Push our child into the world, wife.” He squeezes her hand gently.

She pants, squeezing his hand, and she pushes. Tries to push as hard as possible but the baby isn’t coming. “You need to push harder.” She urges and Ceres shakes her head, “I’m so tired. I can’t.” Marcus leans closer, “you have to.” She cries as she pushes, her scream echoing off the walls as she pushes until the babe slides free from her body. The cry doesn’t come and the midwife gathers the babe in her arms, patting their back to clear their airways and get them to cry.

"My baby." Ceres gasps, nearly slumping over on the seat until Marcus is holding her upright. Her eyes are rolling back in her head and it seems like the blood is still pouring out of her. "Ceres! Ceres! Stay awake!" He shouts, seeing her nearly slipping into unconsciousness.

She doesn’t respond and he lays her down on the bed, shaking her as she bleeds onto the sheets. “Wake up.” He demands, gripping her shoulders but she doesn’t respond.

“You had a son, Major Acacius.” The midwife says, wrapping the unresponsive baby in the cloths just as you return to the room with hot water. Your eyes widen at the blood covering the marble floor, your sister on the bed, and the baby in the midwife’s arms that is not crying. “No. No. No.” You cry, rushing over to the bed to find your sister with a blank stare, glazed over. “Ceres. Please.” You beg, caressing her cheek. She may have not been the best sister but she’s still your blood.

Marcus almost refuses to believe this is happening. “The baby-“ he asks blankly and the midwife shakes her head. “Dead.” She murmurs softly, moving to place the small bundle beside Ceres and check her. It doesn’t matter now, she’s gone. The wife he has never cared for has died. Died knowing that he hadn’t loved her, that he had wanted someone else. The gods are cursing him for his selfishness.

You sob for the loss of your sister and the baby she carried. The midwife closes her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest while you cry, stroking her cheek. She may have been cruel but she was your blood. “Marcus.” You choke, reaching for his bloodied hand. “She’s - oh gods.”

Guilt claws at his throat, but he doesn’t pull away. The little bundle that holds the body of his son cradled against his mother’s body and he clenches his jaw to keep from weeping. Not because he loved Ceres or the child she carried, but because he had killed her. “Go- tell her father.” He chokes out to the midwife.

The midwife nods, rushing from the room to find your father and you brush the damp hair from Cere’s forehead with your other hand. You feel guilty for being so jealous of her and you look up at Marcus, “I’m so sorry.”

Marcus stares at the body of his wife, his child. “I- they are gone.” He can’t believe it. “She- I just got home. She was here.” He is trying to process it, but he’s having a hard time. The guilt of his actions weighing down on him.

You squeeze his hand, “I’m so sorry.” You whisper, knowing that he must’ve loved her and wanted her. If you could take her place, you would, so she could be the wife and mother she wanted to be. The midwife stands aside for several moments as you cry and Marcus stares in shock. “We will need to take the bodies soon. I’ll fetch for the undertaker.” She says, rushing out the room and she takes a moment. She’s seen many women die during childbirth but most men are devastated to lose their wives. Marcus Acacius seems indifferent.

“Was she- was she happy while I was gone at least?” Marcus asks, turning to you and his heart breaks to see the devastation in your eyes. The truth is, he didn’t know his wife. What he did know was shallow and spoiled so he had not had too favorable of an opinion of her. She still did not deserve to die. He can only hope that her months carrying the babe that ended her life weren’t miserable.

You nod, “she was. She was happy spending your coin and showing off her home, talking about her handsome new husband. She was talking about how wonderful life was going to be when you eventually became a senator after becoming general. She had hope for a glorious life.” You say bitterly, knowing she didn’t sit out and enjoy the sunshine. She was too busy worrying about what other people thought of her. “She was happy in the way she can be.” You add, shifting from the bed.

“At least she had some happiness.” He closes his eyes and sighs. This was not the way that he wanted to come back home. “I need a drink.” He admits hoarsely, but he still opens his eyes to stare at the bodies. “But I do not want to leave them alone. A boy?” He chokes out when he realizes what the midwife had told him. Ceres had given him a boy, a child. He moves over to the bed and touches the small bundle. “I had hoped that she would not get pregnant those two days we spent together.” He admits. “But the gods had other plans.”

“I can get you a drink.” You promise, shifting off the bed and you nearly slip in the pool of blood. “Take your time. Be with your family.” You walk around to rub his back, “you are not to blame, Marcus. The gods have their plans. As mysterious as they may be to us. She is in Elysian Fields now with your boy. She’s at peace.” You try to find comfort in that, knowing that your sister was not a nice person but you hope she’s at peace.

He feels like a fraud, but he nods and turns to watch as you slip out of the room. Turning back to Ceres, he sighs and wonders why he is not upset that she has died. He feels guilty, because it is his fault, he got her pregnant. But he will not miss her. “You should have married someone else.” He tells her body quietly. “Someone who would have treated you like you wanted. Who would have been here for you.”

****

Ceres was laid to rest with the child who was named Fabius on a cooler day, the sun shining in the sky, and Marcus was numb. He hardly spoke and you figured that was down to his guilt of not being there for his wife. Your father demanded you return home but you begged for him to let you stay with Marcus. “His villa needs to be maintained until he can find another wife. I would like to honor Ceres by maintaining the home she loved so dearly. At least until I have a prospect for marriage.” You tell your father who narrows his eyes but nods, allowing you to remain with Marcus who has been visiting the baths frequently, drinking wine, and staying away from you. Maybe it’s because you remind him of Ceres in a way. You don’t take offense and you are working in his garden when you look up to find him standing there watching you. “Marcus.” You gasp, shifting to stand with dirt on your robes, “you’re home.”

You have been such a quiet strength. Steady and sure. Beautiful and blooming everyday. More and more wine is needed to combat the guilt that curdles in his stomach, the need that makes his loins ache every time he sees you. “It should have been you.” He tells you thickly, the wine heavy on his tongue and addling his brain. He means that you should have been his wife, that you should be in his bed but it comes out accusatory.

Your eyes widen, your stomach twisting, and you flex your fingers, “me? You wanted - if I could’ve taken her place so you’d have your wife and son, I would. I would do it in a heartbeat.” You promise with a choke, “she didn’t deserve that. Even if she was…I wish I was dead instead of her.” You declare, knowing he must look at you with resentment that you’re in his house and she isn’t.

“No!” Marcus frowns fiercely and grabs your arms, although he could never treat you roughly. He drags you closer to him, the wine on his breath washing over you. “You should have been mine. Not her.” He confesses right before he lunges forward and smashes his lips against yours with need and desire making him act foolishly under the inhibitions wine gives him.

You give in for a moment, leaning into his touch, and your hands grip his tunic, until you gasp and push him away. Your lips tingle and you shake your head, “you’re drunk and we - Ceres. We can’t do this.” You lower your hands from his tunic and step back, “I’m sorry.” You rush out before you run from the courtyard, your heart pounding.

Marcus calls out your name, feeling the loss of your warmth against him and feeling like he is about to collapse on the spot. You don’t want him and he has to live with that. Stumbling towards the villa, he decides to drink more to forget what your lips feel like under his.

****

You’d tossed and turned all night, not getting any sleep as you replayed the feel of Marcus’s lips on yours over and over again. They felt so perfect and the guilt rolls in your stomach again, making you nauseous. Ceres would kill you for kissing her husband. But Ceres isn’t here and Marcus is struggling. You dress and decide to find the man. He’s in the courtyard, fruit cut up on a plate for him along with cheese and meats and you approach him cautiously. “Marcus.” You murmur his name and he sighs, turning to look at you, “good morning.” You take a seat opposite him, picking up some berries. “About yesterday-” You begin but he cuts you off. “I’m sorry. I overstepped and I had too much to drink.” He explains and you reach for his hand, “it’s okay. I know you miss Ceres.” You squeeze his hand and he shakes his head, “you cannot miss someone you never truly knew.” He explains and you frown when he continues. “I feel guilty. I caused her death.” He says and you shake your head, “you didn’t cause her death. The gods wanted to take her. There’s nothing you could’ve done.” You promise, squeezing his hand again, “did you - yesterday you said it should’ve been me. I should’ve been yours. Did you- I’ve been thinking about it all night.”

He sighs, wishing that he had never said anything. He looks down at your hand in his and he can’t help but rub his thumb over your knuckles. “When your father approached mine about a marriage between Ceres and I, I told him that I wanted you.” He admits, glancing up at your eyes and then looking down at your joined hands. “I never wanted your sister.”

Your eyes widen, “me? But Ceres was the beauty. She reminded me of that every single day.” You scoff softly, knowing that you should be struck for speaking ill of your dead sister but her being gone doesn’t change the truth. “I wanted you. I - I tried to not be jealous but I was. She didn’t deserve you and I- I didn’t either but I wanted you. I want you.” You add, “it’s so wrong but I want you, Marcus. I love you.”

“I never loved her.” He admits in shame. “I love you.” He frowns. “I married her because my father threatened to disown me if I didn’t.” He swallows. “I want you.”

His words wash over you like sunshine and the guilt swirls in your belly but you can’t help yourself. You lean in to cup his cheek with your other hand, caressing it before you lean closer to softly kiss his lips.

His food is forgotten as Marcus drags you down into his lap. Your bigger size doesn’t bother him, in fact, he prefers the fact that his hands don’t fit around your thighs or waist. Deepening the kiss with a groan as he starts to harden underneath you.

You moan into his mouth, sliding your hand into his dark locks and you straddle him. His tongue pushes into your mouth and you are bold, sliding your tongue against his.

He tightens his grip on your body and pulls you closer, feeling more alive than he has since before his wedding day. His hands sliding over your back and down to your ass to grope it.

You grind down onto him, knowing you shouldn’t be doing this but it’s Marcus, the man you’ve loved for months and you want him. You want to be selfish after so long of putting other people first, like your sister.

His hands slip under your dress and he squeezes your thighs. Grabbing you greedily and gorging himself on your lush body. He breaks away from your lips and starts to kiss down your jaw, wanting all of you.

You gasp as he nips at your jaw, his hands sliding around to squeeze your bare ass and his calloused hands make your heart pound in your chest. “Marcus. I haven’t - I’ve never- but I want you. I want to give you all of me.”

You are untouched. Marcus pulls back and stares at you in wonder. “Are you sure?” He asks. “There is no taking it back.”

You nod, caressing his chest over his tunic, “it’s yours. No matter what happens. I’m yours, Marcus. I always have been. That’s why I wanted to stay here and help Ceres. Even if you weren’t mine, I wanted to be yours.” You confess, kissing your jaw.

Marcus is strong. He has pushed catapults and wagons that have been stuck in mud. He guides your legs around his waist and picks you up from his lap, chuckling when you gasp and cling to him. “I have you.” He promises. “You are perfect for me.”

You are shocked at the way he picks you up but you’d be lying if it doesn’t make your stomach clench in arousal at how strong he is. He carries you through the villa and you kiss along his neck, “my room.” You order, not wanting him to take you in the bed he shared with Ceres. He grunts in agreement and soon you are in your bedroom. He doesn’t put you down, he spins and presses you against the wall, his lips against yours within seconds and you gasp his name into his mouth.

Marcus grinds against you, pressing you into the cool wall and twitching against your core through the thin layer of his tunic. He could merely pull himself out from under the fabric and push inside you, but you deserve more than that. He drags down the top of your dress and kisses down your throat before he takes a nipple in his mouth to feast on your sensitive bud.

Your gasp echoes off the marble walls as he bites down on your nipple, your fingers tangling in his hair and your thighs tightening their grip around him. “Marcus!” You cry out, back arching to push more of your breast into his hungry mouth.

He loves your innocent cry, spurring him on and his headache is banished by the arousal that is coursing through his body. Sucking on the stiff peak and then laving it with his tongue before he is turning his attention to the other breast. Loving how sweet you taste.

Your hands caress his back as he takes what he wants from you and your legs shake when he sets you on the ground. “What-?” You gasp but he’s kneeling and shoving your robes up, exposing you to the arm before his face is buried between your thighs. You cry out and subconsciously lift your leg up onto his shoulder to grant him more room as he slides his tongue through your folds.

He never pleasured Ceres like this, never wanted to. But he had obsessed about the way you would feel and taste. His encounters with the camp whores were all women that looked like you and he could pretend he was with you. He had let one teach him how to pleasure her with you in mind even though he would never have imagined actually getting to touch you.

Your eyes flutter closed and you tangle your fingers in his hair as he slides his tongue into your cunt. You’re dripping wet with desire for him and you moan his name when he slides his tongue up and sucks on your clit. It’s intoxicating, like too much wine, and your stomach twists with arousal as he tastes you.

Marcus groans, completely obsessed with the way your cunt leaks for him. Flowing like a river and dripping onto his chin. He holds onto your hips and pushes his tongue deeper inside you.

You moan at the way he seems ravenous for you. His fingers digging into your flesh makes you whine and you rock your hips down to grind against his chin. “Fuck.” You curse, unable to stop yourself as you are devoured by him. “Oh gods. I- my stomach.” You moan, the sensation unfamiliar.

He growls into your folds, wanting to see you come apart for him, wanting to experience it. He doubles down on his efforts to make you cum, feeling your legs shake as you try to stay upright.

The whine that escapes your lips is almost inhuman and you gasp when he sucks on your clit again. It’s a sensation that has your chest heaving and you tug on his hair until finally, the high hits you. Your thighs shake against his head and you gush against his tongue while you cry out his name, head thrown back to hit the wall as pleasure overwhelms you.

Sweet as honey. Marcus laps at you frantically as you coat his tongue in your arousal. Working you through it and wanting every drop that he can get.

You slump over him, unable to help yourself as he works you until you are gasping for breath. “Marcus.” You whine, lowering your shaky leg and you shift to kneel, pushing his body back so you can press your lips to his, sliding your tongue into his mouth to sample yourself from him.

Marcus groans, letting you explore his mouth and taste yourself. His cock is throbbing but he isn’t rushing this. He doesn’t want it to end. “Bed.” He pants out when you pull away.”

You reluctantly stand up, taking his hand to guide him to the bed and before you do, you reach for the hem of his tunic. Your eyes meet his and he nods as you lift it over his head, exposing his body to your eager gaze. "Marcus." You moan, your hand immediately wrapping around his hard cock.

Marcus shivers, knees trembling at your inexperienced touch. “You are so beautiful.” He growls, watching you as you explore his cock. It might be the first time you’ve ever seen a man, let alone touched one.

You are entranced by him, the first time you've ever seen a man naked like this beyond the time you accidentally stumbled into the men's baths. You pump him, admiring the ridges and veins of his length. Thick in your grip, you look at him until he leans in to kiss along your throat, his hand reaching for the pin that keeps your dress together.

“I will be gentle.” He promises as he unpins your dress and lets it fall to the floor. Leaving you bare and he groans when he sees your nude body bare before him. “Fuck,” he hisses, twitching in your palm and leaking a heavy dribble of pre-cum from the purple head of his cock.

You swallow harshly, nervous that he doesn't like what he sees. You release his cock to cover your breasts, your arm crossing your stomach as you cross your legs. "I- I am not - I am not like Venus." You confess, knowing that your sister was much thinner and less curvy.

“You are better than all the goddesses.” Marcus breathes out, eyes drinking in your perfect form and he reaches for you. Pulling your arms away from your body. “Perfect. Beautiful. Luscious.” He pants slightly. “I have never seen anything more stunning than you.”

You inhale sharply at his words, your heart pounding and you offer him a breathless smile. “Marcus. I need you.” You plead, shifting to lay down on the bed and you drag him with you as you settle on the sheets.

This is the wedding night he had imagined. The woman he had wanted in his bed. Marcus presses his lips to every single part of your body that you had covered in embarrassment. Making sure that you understand how much he loves your body. “I love you.” He groans, settling between your thighs.

You caress his arms up to his shoulders and around his back as he grips his cock. Your nails dig into his flesh as he starts to push into you, “I love you.” You gasp, throwing your head back at the intrusion and you hiss at how he stretches you.

Marcus had taken Ceres with a sharp determination. Eager to get the act over with, but now he takes his time. The slow roll of his hips seems to take forever as he presses his lips to your exposed throat. “Fuuuuuuuuck.” He hisses in pleasure. “So right.”

He stretches you out and seems to pull you apart as he pushes deeper until he’s pressed as deep as he can go. The sting of him pressing through your innocence was minor and you tilt your head to press your lips to his again as you adjust to his girth. “Marcus.” You plead against his chin, “take me. I’m yours.” You vow, wanting to feel him.

“Mine.” He growls, nodding as he starts to pull his hips back to move. “You are so perfect.” He hisses, loving how soft you are. How you cushion his body and take the smooth thrust so easily.

You feel surrounded by him and you lift your hips to wrap your legs around him, your heels pressing into his thighs. “Gods, this - you feel so good.” You moan, having heard about the pleasures of the flesh but you’ve never experienced it before. It’s overwhelming and incredible.

Marcus bites down on your neck, nibbling and sucking as he starts to set a steady rhythm as he rocks his hips. Working his cock in and out of your hot cunt. “You are amazing, better than I imagined.”

You moan when he thrusts deep and your hands slide up into his hair, dragging his face to yours so you can kiss him. Your tongue slides against his, gaining confidence as he moves inside you. “I’ve imagined you far too many times. Felt so guilty.” You admit, “but you’re mine now.”

Marcus closes his eyes, moaning at your confession. He imagines you in this bed, touching yourself as you whimper his name. Grabbing one of your thighs, he pushes it back towards your chest, thrusting even deeper as his hips slap against yours. “Always yours.” He groans, twitching deep when you clench around him. “Fuck.”

His words make your heart lurch and you kiss every piece of skin you can reach. You whimper and rock your hips up to meet his, “Marcus. You - gods. You feel like you’re in my throat.” You confess breathlessly, “it’s so good. Fuck. I- I love yo- oh!.” You moan when he hits something inside you that makes your walls flutter and his chuckle puffs against your chin. He focuses on that angle and each thrust takes your breath away. “Oh gods. I’m going to - Marcus! Marcus!” You cry before your mouth opens in a silent scream as he sends you over the edge in a tidal wave that soaks his cock.

His teeth snap together, barely holding onto his control as he fucks you through the first orgasm you’ve had on a man’s cock. You are so incredibly wet, the noises coming from him rocking into you sound so loud. “So good.” He pants. “So perfect.” He feels his own orgasm rocketing closer, but he braces his hands on the bed, wanting to pull free before he cums so he doesn’t plant a baby inside you.

You moan his name, wanting to see him fall apart above you, and you caress his chest, “want to watch your pleasure.” You tell him with a moan and he grunts as he thrusts into you a few more times before he’s pulling free of your cunt, a grunt escaping his lips as his cock jerks with streams of seed that splatter your folds and nestle in the curls between your thighs. You reach down to wrap your fingers around his cock, pumping him to work him through it.

Marcus whines out your name, feeling that bliss that comes from sex, but it’s so much more. Rocking his hips into your hand and watching you touch him. “Fuck baby, I love you.”

“I love you too.” You promise him and he pants when you release his softening cock, sliding your hand up to cup his cheek so you can drag him towards you to kiss your lips. “I’ve always loved you since that day you carried Ceres home.” You promise, “I want to be yours, in every way.”

"I want that too." Marcus admits, although he feels guilty. "I hate that your sister died because of me, but I never loved her. I wanted you, from the very beginning. It is why I would always talk to you when you were chaperoning us."

You sigh, “I miss her.” You admit as he flops down beside you and pulls you into his side. You fling your leg over his, your hand caressing his chest. “I know.” He murmurs, knowing his guilt over losing his wife and child threatens to send him over the edge but you’ve kept him on stable ground. “Let us see what tomorrow brings. For now, I want to savor our time together.” You murmur, kissing his chest.

“I will talk to your father tomorrow.” Marcus tells you, his fingers stroking up and down your curves as he plans. He wants you to stay here, to be his wife. Especially now that he has touched you, gotten to have you. Once would never be enough. “He might wish for us to wait but I want him to know that I am honorable.”

You smile, shifting to look at him, “you want me to be your wife?” Marcus rolls his eyes and huffs playfully, “I love you. I just made love to you. I don’t want to stop making love to you. It’s the natural progression.” He says and you grin, letting him roll you over so his body is covering yours. “Your uxor.” You murmur, tracing his nose, and he kisses your fingertips when they brush his lips. “Mine.” He murmurs, leaning over to press his lips to yours.

The next day, Marcus has to drag himself from your bed. Only able to do so because of the promise of having you permanently. Going to speak to your father is troubling, he doesn’t look happy to see him and Marcus is nervous about the meeting.

Your father looked up when Marcus was brought into the courtyard. The scrolls spread on the table before him and he doesn’t stand as the Major enters his home. “Acacius.” He greets him without his title, letting his distaste be known. “What do you want?” He asks and Marcus stands a little straighter. “I want to ask to marry your daughter.” He adds your name and your father’s eyes widen. “You want - she’s been staying with you to manage your household in your absence and I allowed her to remain there and you have the audacity to ask for the hand of my remaining daughter after you all but killed my other one?” He hisses, his eyes flashing, “do you wish to finish the job?”

The pang of guilt that fills Marcus crushes his heart, but he shakes his head. "Your daughter died in childbirth." He reminds your father. "Ceres wanted to be a mother and a wife. She was thrilled when she found out that she was carrying." He knows that he cannot blame himself in public for their deaths, not if he wants you. "I wish to the gods that their fate was different, but it was not."

“You have some gall, Acacius. Does my daughter know about your intentions?” He asks and Marcus nods, “she wishes to be my uxor.” He says and your father curls his lip, “foolish girl. Wanting to marry the first man that looks her way. If only she’d focus on eating less then maybe she’d find a man of higher status.” He hisses, “tell me…have you taken her?” He inquires, wanting to know if you are damaged goods.

Marcus frowns at the way that he speaks about you. He was good enough for Ceres but now he's not good enough for you? "I love her." Marcus admits. "She was the daughter I wanted from the very beginning. I knew that she was the one that made my heart beat."

Your father taps his fingers against the table, biting his lip until he looks at Marcus. “I will allow you to marry my daughter if you answer my question…have you taken her innocence?”

Marcus frowns slightly but he nods. "She was in my bed last night." He admits, thinking about how you had looked there. "I wish for her to be my uxor, and I will make sure that you do not lose another daughter to the birthing chair." He promises, knowing that you carrying his child will cause him to seek out the best midwives to care for you.

He hisses at hearing the confirmation of what he expected was the truth. "You have taken what wasn't yours to take but it is too late now. You will marry her." He demands, "and you will honor my daughter. I will not have her shamed. You will marry her in two weeks time, when your mourning period is complete and she will not be shamed for marrying you so soon after her sister died." He decides, "do you agree to these terms?

“I agree.” Marcus nods eagerly. “Ceres' memory will live on through your remaining daughter. She loved her sister and we will make sure that we live a life she would be proud of.”

Your father hums, standing up, and he steps towards Marcus with his hand out. "Do not let me down, Acacius." He demands and Marcus nods, "never. I will love and protect her." He promises and your father shakes his hand, his grip tight and almost painful but Marcus doesn't flinch. When Marcus returns, you are in the garden and quickly stand when he approaches you. "What did he say?" You ask, eager to hear good news. Marcus smiles, reaching for your hands, "he said yes." You squeal and cup Marcus's cheeks, leaning in to kiss him.

“I must go check in with the generals.” Marcus reminds you when you both finally come up for air several moments later. “We can celebrate when I return.” He must inform them that he will be marrying again. He doesn’t need to seek permission, but he has to let them know in case of his death.

You grin, excited to marry the man you love, and you peck his lips again as he steps back. He doesn’t get a chance to walk out the door when two soldiers appear on the doorstep. You frown, looking towards Marcus who looks confused. “What is going on?” He asks and the soldier hands him a scroll. You stand behind Marcus as he reads and finally, he turns to face you. “I am needed in battle. Tonight. I am ordered to leave with immediate effect.” Your eyes widen slightly and you shake your head in shock, “but we - how long will you be gone?” You ask and Marcus hands the scroll back to the soldier and walks back towards you. “I don’t know.” He says honestly and cups your cheeks, “I could be away a month. Or a year.” He admits, knowing that the battles can last months. “It’s a direct order from the emperor. I cannot deny it.” He says as he rests his forehead against yours. Tears sting in your eyes, knowing he’s being taken from you again. “I’ll be okay. I’ll maintain the villa and await your return so I can be your uxor.” You offer him a watery smile, trying to be strong.

“Stay here.” He nods in agreement. “You will be my wife as soon as I return and you have done well maintaining our home.” He praises, leaning in and cupping your cheek. “I love you.” He murmurs your name and presses his lips to yours.

You nod, a tight smile on your face, “I love you too.” You murmur, watching as he lets go of you and makes his way to the entrance, following the guards out of his home and leaving you standing there. Your dreams of him being your husband are delayed, but not shattered.

****

It’s been three years since Marcus has seen Rome. Three years since he had kissed you and walked away, hopeful to come home and marry you. He hasn’t heard from you, despite the messengers he had sent to his villa. He hadn’t even been allowed to go home before coming to visit the Emperor. He had been promoted to general while he was gone and he wearily wonders if the emperor would immediately send him off on another campaign or if he could finally fulfill his promise to you.

The fanfare is excessive and you are preparing yourself as you know who is making their way up the steps to greet the emperors. Your golden wreath and silk robes show your status and you are to be empress soon. Married to Geta in the coming weeks. The emperor had wanted a ceremony fit for the “greatest emperor Rome has ever had” and as such, the ceremony is still being planned. You stand tall, watching as the man you still love makes his way up the stairs until he comes into view. He looks older, more jaded, and you inhale sharply when you see him. His eyes are fixed on the emperors and your heart thumps in your chest, stopping when those dark eyes meet yours.

His eyes widen when he sees you. Still as beautiful as you were the day he left, maybe more so. Surprised to find you here and he almost moves towards you, ready to kiss you and gather you in his arms, but there is something in your eyes that makes him hesitate. A warning. He shifts back to Geta, and then towards you, trying to understand what is going on.

“Ah, General. Welcome home. Rome thanks you for your success. The emperors thank you for your success. Our future empress thanks you for your success.” He adds and smirks as he looks over to you. You move towards him and behind you is a little girl. She clings to your robes and Marcus’s eyes widen as you take her hand and walk towards Geta, taking his hand.

His world shifts and he stops breathing. The little girl is no more than a small toddler, a baby. He swallows harshly as he stares at the little girl and then back to you. Your eyes shift guiltily and he knows. The little girl is his. His heart pounds in his chest, but Geta is waiting and he nods. “It was my pleasure.” He croaks out. “For Rome.” There are many questions swimming in his head, but he doesn’t dare to ask them now.

"Perhaps the General would like to rest now. He's had a long journey to Rome and he is staying for the week of celebrations. He must require rest and wine." You murmur to Geta who is busy waving to the crowd. "You are quite right, my love. General, please rest. You'll be escorted to the rooms we have assigned you." Geta says and Caracalla smacks Marcus on the back, "go find a whore and celebrate our great victory." He grins and Marcus bows his head. He looks at you and you try to tell him with his eyes that you will find him and explain. There's so much to explain.

Being escorted through the halls of the large palace, Marcus tries to understand what happened. The child is his. He is certain, but why would the emperor marry a woman with a bastard? His stomach clenches in regret for not marrying you right away. He should have, that way you would not have been shamed while carrying his child. He wonders what your father had said, walking into the room he was given and sighing softly as the door closes behind him.

It takes a while for you to settle Ceres in her bed for her nap. The palace maids have offered to assist but you refuse, wanting to settle your daughter yourself. Once she's asleep, you make your way through the halls, knowing where Marcus is being housed, and you are wary as you look around before you knock on his door.

Marcus stares at the door for a moment, his pacing paused before he strides over to the door to open it. Seeing you, he steps back and opens the door wider in invitation rather than dragging you against him into the room like he wants to. He growls your name. “What the hell is going on?”

"I can explain." You rush out, sensing and then seeing his anger. "After you left...I found out I was with child and my father...he was furious. Refused to let me get word to you and ordered me to go to Rome to stay with his sister. I had the baby. A girl - and she - she's so much like you, Marcus." You offer him a soft smile. "I wanted to return to your home and wait for you with our child but - I didn't know - my father was arranging for me to marry the emperor. Geta had seen me when I was walking through the market and he - he inquired with my father about me. I have no clue why but he ordered me to the palace and proposed. I told him I was betrothed to you, even confessed about our daughter, but he didn't care. He has told everyone that the child is my sister's and you are the father. That I am caring for my niece. She isn't a threat to him, and he wishes for me to birth a boy for his successor. He cares little for the fact that I am no longer innocent, but I refused to marry him, then he - he threatened Ceres , he threatened our daughter, and I - I had to agree." You choke, tears streaming down your cheeks as you rush to explain everything that has happened since the morning he left his home.

Marcus clenches his jaw, his hands curled into fists. You wouldn’t lie to him, it’s not the type of person you are. “You- you gave birth alone?” He demands, feeling nearly sick since your sister had died in childbirth. You must have been terrified. Shaking your head, you reach out and touch his arm. “My aunt and the midwives were with me.” You explain. “She is beautiful. Wonderful.” You smile and his anger crumbles, reaching out and caressing your cheek. “I am so sorry I was not here, amor.” He swallows harshly, knowing that you cannot be his now. All his dreams have been crushed.

You sob, wrapping your arms around his neck. You have felt so alone since the time he left. You've fought for your daughter and your life and you are exhausted. His arms wrap around you and you finally feel like you're home. "I don't want to marry Geta. I love you. It's always been you, but Ceres - I would give my life to save hers."

Marcus can’t kiss you, you would both be killed for betraying the emperor. “You did the right thing.” He promises, running his hands up and down your sides. He had hoped you would be safe in his home, but apparently not. “The villa?” He asks.

“Your father is managing it. He - he spoke with my father and they decided to send me away and I think your father hoped to find you another wife when the time came.” You reveal, your hand finding his chest, wishing you could feel his heart but it’s covered by the armor.

He snorts and shakes his head. “I listened to his choice the first time.” He tells you. “He has no say in who I marry now.” He wishes that were you; but now you have Geta.

You have tears streaming down your cheeks, “this is so unfair.” You choke and slide your hand up to his cheek again. “I want to be yours but he has promised me that Ceres will want for nothing. He has promised a dowry beyond anything I could offer so she can be married to a good man.”

Marcus shakes his head, knowing that you might have thought he was dead. Or he could die, the gods know how he had almost been killed many times. “You did nothing wrong.” He promises you, leaning in and pressing his forehead against yours. “We are just….star crossed.” He sighs as he pulls back. “You will be the empress of Rome. I am just one of her generals.”

“I don’t want to be empress. I want to be yours.” You choke, surging forward to hover your lips against his but he doesn’t close the gap. You sob and shift away from him, “I will- I need to go back to Ceres.”

Marcus lets you pull away, not pulling you back against him. He swallows harshly as you turn towards the door before he softly says your name. Watching as you freeze and turn back towards him. “I never stopped loving you.” He promises. “I’m sorry I took too long to come home.”

You nod, wiping the tears from your cheeks, “me too. Perhaps we will be together in another life.” You murmur and open the door, stepping out before anyone notices and you make your way back to your room, your heart breaking with each step away from Marcus.

****

You sip your wine, lost in your thoughts as the emperors argue in front of you. Ceres is with her nanny and you would rather be with her than sitting watching two grown men argue about what piece of land to conquer next. Marcus is sitting opposite you, the map of the empire laid out before you on the table and you aren’t thinking when you set your cup down and it tips, spilling wine over the map. “You need to pay more attention, you useless whore. That map will take months to recreate.” Geta strides over to you, his hand raised and he doesn’t think as he strikes you, his palm slapping your cheek. The sting makes your head fuzzy but this isn’t the first time he’s done this.

Marcus clenches his fist in anger, barely restraining himself from lunging at the emperor. He knows that he would be struck down by the guards around the room if he tried to attack the man for hitting you. “Blood often obscures our maps on the battlefield, emperor.” He tells them. “I can get our scribe to fix it.” He sends the men a tight smile. “You can claim it came from your latest victory.”

You don’t rub your cheek, knowing that will be seen as a weakness so you sit still, blinking to stop the tears pooling in your eyes. “Very well. I appreciate the offer, General. Now, what are your thoughts of venturing more into Africa to continue our conquests?” Geta asks. You look over at Marcus who has his jaw clenched and you refill your empty cup, needing something to drink. Geta has often told you about how attractive he finds you. You are like a goddess according to him but he never makes you feel worshiped. He’s hit you several times when you don’t please him and you endure it, knowing you have no choice, and you cannot allow him to inflict his hand on your daughter. “I’m sorry, Caesar.” You bow your head and he hums, caressing your sore cheek. “You must learn, dear one. I need a loyal and obedient empress.” He reminds you and leans in to softly kiss your lips while you try not to flinch.

Marcus clears his throat. “Africa will be a challenge against our army.” Marcus admits as he points towards the coast. “There are many fortified cities and they will have many defenses against invasions from the sea.” He can’t concentrate on you, knowing it would be dangerous to show the emperors that he has feelings for you. “We do not want a war that your children will still be fighting when they come to the throne.”

Caracalla growls and shakes his head, “who cares if we are fighting for 100 years? It is our duty to make Rome great and that includes adding to our empire.” Geta tuts, “now brother. We must control our urges. Less we destroy Rome in the process. Perhaps the General can suggest another area we can fight for?” He looks over at Marcus with his head tilted.

Marcus clenches his jaw and sighs. “Here.” He points to a cluster of Isles on the map. “There would be a good stronghold for Rome.” He decides. “We could position our troops and leave a permanent garrison.”

Geta nods, “that would be ideal. Create a naval base there.” He is intrigued, “brother?” He asks looking at Caracalla who is poking between you and Marcus with a funny look on his face. “It would be most advantageous.” He agrees after a moment.

Marcus nods. “We will need to send scouting ships first.” He informs them. “Send back detailed reports. See if they can land a small party to survey the best places to land.”

You watch the emperors absorb his words and you sigh, wishing your cup was refilled. “See it is done. I want to move as fast as possible.” Geta orders and he strides over to you. “I’m sorry, my love. Forgive my hand.” He coos, gripping your chin and he leans in to kiss you. You try not to recoil as his lips press against yours.

Marcus has to look away. His eyes dropping back to the map as he pretends that he’s unaffected by the sight of you kissing someone else. He wonders if you’ve been in Geta’s bed, although that’s not fair to you. He had left without marrying you. Hoping to be home quickly and he hadn’t. He had left you alone to give birth to his daughter.

You smile at Geta after he pulls away, “emperor.” You murmur and he grins, “my empress. Soon.” He promises and you nod, watching Geta move towards the stained map. “Speak to the others. Get this into action.” He tells Marcus who nods, “of course.”

Marcus bows his head respectfully to both of the emperors and then to you. His eyes meet yours briefly before he spins on his heel and marches out of the room. Eager to get away from the emperor before he does something to make him suspicious.

****

You are in the gardens with Ceres when you see Marcus walking through the vegetables you’ve been growing since you arrived at the palace. It calms you and allows you to think about anything other than your fate. Ceres runs around, giggling as she enjoys the fresh air and you freeze when Marcus spots you. His eyes immediately went to Ceres.

His daughter. Marcus watches the young girl, wishing that he could scoop her up, introduce himself to her as her father, but he can’t. He says your name when he finally looks away from her towards you. “It seems you still enjoy the gardens.”

You smile, brushing your dirty hands on your dress as you stand, “it’s peaceful. It feels like home.” You admit, “and I like the escape from the emperors.” You confess, glancing around. “Ceres. Come here.” You call your daughter over and she rushes over, giggling as she plucks a flower. “Ceres.” You pick her up and she looks at you, “this is your father. Your pater.” You say and she looks at Marcus, “pater?” She tilts her head and you brace yourself for Marcus’s response.

Marcus looks around in surprise, but the guards are too far away to hear the conversation. He murmurs your name in caution but you tilt your head. “People believe she is my sister’s daughter.” You remind him and he nods, stepping forward and kneeling down in front of the young girl. “Pater.” He confirms solemnly, reaching out to touch her cheek. “I was away for a long time, but I am home now.”

Ceres grins, excited to meet her father. You’ve always told her about him, told her stories of how brave he is, and she doesn’t hesitate to surge forward to wrap her arms around his neck. “Pater.” She says excitedly and leans back to kiss his cheek.

Marcus holds her tight, closing his eyes so he doesn’t cry at the simple acceptance the baby in his arms provides. He swallows and when he opens his eyes again, he finds you with tears of your own. “How old are you Ceres?” He manages, his voice rough with emotion.

Ceres pulls back to look at him, confused at the question and you chuckle, “she’s two.” You stroke her back as Marcus holds her and you see the emotion in his eyes. “Everyone thinks she is yours. Everyone thinks she was conceived during wedlock. She’s safe and she’s provided for. That’s all I want is for her to have everything I can give her.” You explain, “you can be her father in public.”

“But she calls you her mother?” He asks, wanting to understand the dynamics of your situation. “Yes, but that is because I am all she knows.” You explain and he agrees that it is a good explanation. “Do you- I don’t want to take her from you.” Marcus murmurs softly.

“You won’t. You’re her father. She needs her father in her life.” You say, “no one expects you to stay away. As far as everyone is concerned, she is not a bastard and she is my niece. It’s safer this way.” You assure him with a smile, “I want you to be in her life. In our life.”

“I wish I had married you before I left.” Marcus murmurs quietly, Ceres distracted by the emblem on his cuffs and not paying attention to the adults' conversation. “Your father wanted me to wait until the mourning period was over.”

You scoff, “he wanted you gone. As soon as you left, he was trying to get me in the emperor’s sights. Ceres was more likely to win his affection in my opinion but apparently he prefers women with more curves. Until I found out I was with child and my father sent me away.” You confess, “he never planned to allow me to marry you. He spoke with his contacts to ensure you were sent to war.”

Marcus hisses in anger, knowing now why other men had been rotated home and he never got the chance until he had been promoted to general. “I am sorry.” He murmurs softly. “I would-“ he bites his lip, knowing such comments are treasonous. “I wish things were different.” He admits softly. “If anything, I wish you were happy with your life.”

You swallow harshly, feeling the tears sting in your eyes, “we didn’t - we weren’t meant to be. If Ceres has an incredible life, then I’ll be happy.” You confess, “it’s all for her.” You smile at your daughter.

Ceres has ended up curled against his chest when she loses interest in playing with his clothes. Smiling back at her mama and slowly starting to close her eyes. Apparently Marcus is comfortable and she feels safe enough to go to sleep. “Would you marry him if you had any other choice?” He asks quietly, glancing around.

You glance around and look back at him, “I don’t want to marry him. I wouldn’t if I had another choice but I need to protect Ceres and I have no funds. If I didn’t marry him, I’d have nothing and my father will not help provide for Ceres. I’d have no home. No coin. I’d be all alone.” You confess, “and that scares me.”

“You wouldn’t be alone.” Marcus promises immediately. “She is my daughter and she will have everything I possess.” He licks his lips and looks at you softly. “Just like you will. I - I will care for you and provide for you if you choose not to marry him.”

Tears escape your eyes and you quickly wipe them away, “I have no choice. You know he’d rather kill me than let me go. No one says no to the emperor.” You whisper, “I still love you, Marcus. I never stopped. I’d marry you this second if I could.”

Marcus sighs softly and nods. “I know. If it were possible, I would say that we leave.” He wishes that the fates were different, but they aren’t. “Has Geta-“ he breaks off, unsure if he wants to know.

You shake your head, “no. No. He wants - he wants everyone to believe that I’m pure so there’s no question about his heir. Even if it were in private. Thank the gods.” You sigh, “and Ceres is well cared for.” You add, knowing that there’s nothing you can do. You’re resigned to your fate and tortured by the man you love standing in front of you.

Marcus feels guilty and he wraps his arms around his daughter. “I will always love you.” He promises, “I never stopped in all the time we have spent apart.”

Your heart breaks and you nod, “we were never meant to be.” You smile sadly as the guards approach and Marcus keeps his hold on Ceres. They say your name and you stand a little straighter, “the emperor is requesting your presence. Without the child.” He adds and you frown, “I will need to return her to her room then I will join the emperor.” You say and they nod, walking off. You sigh and look to Marcus, “Ceres, say goodbye to your father. We must go.” You order and she pouts, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Bye bye.” She says and you take her hand after Marcus releases her with a “bye, puella.” He smiles and you guide her through the gardens, looking over your shoulder at him as he stands there watching you leave

Marcus sighs as you walk out of sight. He still has not been able to leave the palace, but he has sent word to his father. Wanting the estate to be prepared for his arrival after so long away from home. The elder man had not sent any message back, so he was uncertain if it had even arrived.

****

You stumble down the hall, your robes ripped and blood dripping from your nose as you blindly reach for the door that leads to the rooms where Marcus is staying. It’s been two weeks since he arrived and he’s spent a lot of time in the gardens with Cere, bonding with her, and you’ve allowed him the time. You’re confused about why he’s still here when the emperors want to send him out for more conquests but he’s here and you want him to enjoy his time with his daughter. Geta had called you to his rooms and you’d been curious. He’s kept himself busy with his whores and orgies and you have been happy that he hasn’t approached you even though your wedding day is quickly approaching. You bang on the door of Marcus’s room, your head fuzzy, and you feel sick.

Marcus frowns when he hears the frantic banging on the door, moving over from where Ceres is napping to fling it open. His eyes widen and he lunges forward to catch you before you collapse in a heap in front of his door. Exclaiming your name, he glances down the hall and listens for any sign of attack. “What happened?” He demands, pulling you inside and barring the door just in case there is some kind of uprising. The city has been uneasy and there has been a growing discontent amongst the people due to Geta and Caracalla’s endless spending on the war machine of Rome.

You cling to him, shaking in his arms, “Geta. He- oh gods, Marcus. He wanted me to- I said no and he-” Marcus holds you, “breathe. You need to breathe for me.” He demands and you inhale shakily. “Geta wanted to fuck me before the wedding and I couldn’t - I said no so he - he grabbed me and I fought. He hit me and slapped me and called me - called me a whore. Said he couldn’t - that I gave it up for you but not the emperor. I thought he was going to kill me but I managed to get away.” You rush out, your lungs stinging with the need to breathe.

“Fuck.” Marcus hisses and shakes his head in anger. “I’ll kill him.” He growls but you grab his arm. “Don’t- you will be killed.” You gasp, and he knows you are right, he would be struck down by Geta’s personal guard. “We will leave.” Marcus tells you instead, grabbing a cloth from the table to wet with water from the pitcher he had for Ceres. He wipes the blood off your face gently. “Now. We will take our daughter and leave Rome right now.”

You have to get away. Geta has hit you more times than you’d care to admit to Marcus and you couldn’t survive a marriage to him. Especially if he could go as far as to try and force himself on you. You are exhausted from fighting but you know you don’t have a lot of time. “We need to leave as soon as it’s dark. They will come for me again. He will want to apologize. That’s what he’s done before.” You confess and Marcus growls, “he’s tried to-?” You cut him off, “not - he just hit me when I did something wrong or I put Ceres before his needs.” You confess, “we need to go. Tonight.”

Marcus grits his teeth together, trying hard to keep from squeezing your arms in his own fit of anger. “Can you pack anything or would you rather leave it all behind?” He asks and you shake your head. “I could not get anything out of the palace without someone seeing.” Marcus rocks his jaw. “I will order a carriage to take my belongings to the villa tonight.” He decides. “You and Ceres will hide in the trunks. Dress her in multiple layers, yourself too.” He explains. “Only what you can wear on your body. My trunks will be handled with care by the men.”

You nod, knowing you need to take Ceres away from this place. All the coins in the world cannot make you stay in this place with the monsters who lead the empire. You can't help yourself as you surge forward to press your lips to Marcus's, adrenaline rushing through you.

He worries that you will hurt yourself, your face sore from Geta’s attack. “Amor.” He pulls back and searches your beautiful, swollen face. “We don’t have to do anything, I will get you away from here.” He promises.

You nod, feeling rejected but later when you think about it, you’ll appreciate his clear mind when you were all over the place. “I know. I- I love you.” You caress his cheek and look over at Ceres. “She looks so much like you when she sleeps.” You smile, wincing at the way your face aches.

“Have some wine.” Marcus urges, guiding you over to a chair and then rushing over to pour you a cup. “I love you, sweetheart. I will make sure that you escape this place.” He promises as he brings the cup to you. “You and our daughter. We can go to my villa and then I will make plans for us to leave Rome

You take the wine and down it, hands shaking and you know you can't take anymore from Geta. You look at Marcus after glancing at Ceres. "Get us out of here." You demand and he nods, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. You grip his forearm and lean against him, breathing him in.

He doesn't want to leave you, but he has to make arrangements. He needs to speak to the few officers that he trusts. Making plans to make sure that you get out of the city to his villa safely. Once you are there, he will still have to move quickly, but he will leave Rome behind with you and Ceres. Making a life together after so much time apart.

****

You wait for the knock at your door, Marcus told you the plan after you’d left his rooms with Ceres in your arms. It’s dark and you wrap the cloak around you and Ceres as you gather what you can carry on you and make your way to the door. A man stands there and you narrow your eyes at him, “he said the word was ‘lilies’ .” You nod, knowing that Marcus used your favorite flower as a code word, and you follow the man through the halls and out into the shadowed alleys of the palace.

Octavius is nervous as he guides you out of a side courtyard door that is suspiciously unguarded. His faith in his general is unwavering, but he knows that you are Geta’s intended empress. The door swings open silently to reveal the wagon loaded down with trunks on the other side of the thick wall. “Hurry.” He moves to the back and opens the largest truck to reveal that it is empty besides a thick fur for comfort.

You eye the trunk, nervous but you need to do this to save yourself and save Ceres. You get into the trunk and reach for Ceres. The guard places Ceres in the trunk and closes the lid. “Mama.” She whimpers and you stroke her hair, “it’s okay, my darling.” You coo, kissing her hair.

Every soldier loyal to him surrounds the wagon. Marcus himself is cloaked so he will not be recognized by the guards as they start to slowly travel down the narrow alleyway, away from the palace. His hand grips his sword under his cloak, ready to pull it from the sheath if one of the centuries moves wrong.

You are anxious, heart pounding as the wagon rolls you and Ceres from the palace. The noises make your stomach twist and you’re so nervous to escape. You trust Marcus but you don’t trust the palace, the guards. “It’s okay.” You murmur to Ceres, “it’s okay.”

It takes nearly two hours to slowly travel to his villa and Marcus frowns when he sees the overgrown tangle of vines and dead vegetation. It looks like the home has been abandoned since he had left to go to war. "Damnit." He hisses when the wagon pulls to a stop and he hops down. "Clear the house, find wood for a fire." he instructs his men before he strides to the back of the wagon and starts to open the trunk.

You look up, blinking at the brightness of the lanterns, and you inhale deeply, praying you’re safe. “It’s okay.” Marcus promises and you shake Ceres, waking her up. “Wake up, amor. We are home.” You murmur, rubbing her back as she wakes up and looks up at Marcus. “Pater.” She mutters, reaching for him.

Reaching down into the trunk, he easily lifts her out and then sets her against his shoulder. "Let's get mama out." He murmurs, offering you his hand as you sit up. "The villa is abandoned." He tells you quietly. "We might be safe here for a day or so, but I will need to find us a ship leaving port tomorrow."

You get out of the trunk, hand shaking in fear that the emperors have found you. “They will know I am gone by now.” You choke out, “we must leave as soon as possible. Ceres needs to be safe. You know they will kill her.” You tell him, aware of how insane they are. “We must protect her.” You reach out to caress the cheek of your daughter.

“We will stay tonight and then leave tomorrow.”‘Marcus promises, pulling you close and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “The men are gathering wood for a fire and we will make sure you two have a warm bed.”

You caress his chest, leaning into him and breathing him in. You feel safe for now and it doesn’t take long for you to settle Ceres in bed by the fire. You stroke her cheek as she sleeps, watching over her, and you look up when Marcus walks into the room. “My men are stationed at the entrances and I have someone watching the horizon for any intruders.” He says and you nod, looking back down at Ceres. “All this effort for me.” You sigh, “she would’ve been protected by the emperor and I- I would’ve been fed to the dogs after I gave him what he wanted.”

“You don’t know she would have been protected.” Marcus shakes his head. “Geta is spoiled and vicious, a dangerous combination.” He throws some more wood on the fire. “I would risk all of Rome for you, our daughter.” He tells you. “I would fight to the death in the colosseum for you.”

You shake your head, “hopefully it doesn’t come to that.” Your heart clenches at the thought of Marcus fighting for his life because of you. You stand up, leaving Ceres to sleep and you cover her up. “You need to rest.” You tell Marcus, noticing how exhausted he looks.

“You should sleep too.” Marcus comments, knowing he won’t sleep well tonight. He will be up and down, checking in with the guards. “Come.” He offers you his hand. “Come to the gardens with me.”

You take his hand, letting him guide you to the gardens and you squeeze his hand when you are surrounded by the walls of the courtyard. “My poor plants.” You sigh, “and vegetables. I worked so hard on that garden.”

“I know.” He murmurs, rubbing your arm. “Wherever we settle, I will make sure that you have a garden you can enjoy.” He promises. “The entire courtyard will be for your enjoyment.”

You hum, wrapping your arms around him and you tilt your head towards his, “thank you. For everything. You saved us and I- I love you so much.” You lean closer to kiss his jaw, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Marcus promises. “I prayed for you every day.” He doesn’t tell you how disappointed he was when he never heard anything from you; but he knows why now.

“And I you.” You promise, cupping his cheek, bringing his dark gaze to you. “I love you, Marcus. I always have. Since that moment you helped Ceres.” You tell him and his eyes soften, “I wanted it to be you. From the start.” You sigh and nod, leaning in to press your lips to his, “we will have each other. No matter what it takes.” You whisper against his lips until you tilt your mouth to deepen the kiss.

This time Marcus doesn’t pull back from you. He opens up, allowing you to take charge of the kiss, to control what happens now. So much of your life has been dictated and he wants you to feel like you are in control. Groaning into your mouth when you slide your tongue against his.

You slide your hands around to grip his neck, pulling him even closer and you moan as you slide your tongue into his mouth, loving how he surrenders control to you.

Marcus closes his eyes, leaning into the kiss and his hands slide down to your ass and he palms it gently. He loves your body, always has and even though you have been apart for so long, he wants you.

You moan into his mouth, feeling him harden against your hip and you slide your hands down to caress his chest, “I want you, amor. I need you.” You pant against his jaw, pressing a kiss to the stubble that’s formed there. “Please take me. I’m yours.”

"Here?" Marcus asks, but you are reaching down and squeezing his cock through his tunic and he groans into your neck as he presses his face into your pulse, inhaling your sweet scent. You would love having sex in the gardens, as much as you loved spending time here. "The wall," he growls, moving you towards it. The short wall would be perfect to prop you up against and make you cum.

You let him walk you backwards and when he grabs your thighs, he lifts you up onto the short wall. You’re already wet for him and you reach for the hem of his tunic, pulling it up so you can wrap your fingers around his hard length. “Marcus please.” You beg, needing him.

He knows you have not had any man but him between your thighs and he groans when you start to pump his cock. “Uxor.” He moans, knowing that while it might not be official in any legal capacity, you have always been his wife in his heart. From the very beginning. “I’ll give you what you need.” He promises. “Do you want me to fill you?” He asks softly.

You whine, “yes. Want to feel all of you. I don’t care.” You tell him with a moan as he shuffles closer. “Please, Maritus.” You demand and spread your legs wider for him. He hisses when he shuffles closer to slide the head of his cock through your folds.

He should work you open on his fingers, but he’s too eager for you to care. Gripping your hip as he starts to slowly push into you. “Fuck.” He pants your name, pressing his lips against yours as he breaks you open. He knows his soldiers won’t disturb him unless it’s important, so he can take his time with you.

You whimper, letting him work you open with each rock of his hips and you are moaning his name, pressing your lips to his chin as he takes his time, making you pant as he stretches you out for only the second time ever.

One he is fully buried inside you, he closes his eyes. “I love you.” Moaning softly, he tries his hardest to hold still while you get used to him, your walls fluttering around him so beautifully. “Fuck.”

You caress his shoulders over his tunic, admiring the way he looks in the moonlight as he starts to move inside you. “That’s it, Maritus. Take me. I’m yours.” You promise again, wrapping your legs around him.

He loves that you are calling him your husband, holding onto your hips as he sets a pace that is slow and steady. Taking his time to fill you and then pull back. Wanting to feel everything as he reacquaints himself with the way you feel around his cock.

Your head lulls back and he leans forward to kiss along your neck. “I love you.” You promise breathlessly, “I always have. Always.” You vow and he bites down on your chin, wanting to claim you completely and you gasp, walls fluttering around his cock.

Marcus growls out your name, feeling possessive over you. You’ve had his child, you’ve given him your innocence. You are his. He’s not leaving you or letting you go this time. He will fight to the death for you and Ceres.

You are breathless as he rocks into you, making you gasp his name, and you cling to him. The wall digs into your flesh but you don’t care. You want him to ruin you, to take what's his and he does. He rocks into you, hard but slow, and you whimper his name again. “Gods, that feels - right there.” You choke, clenching around him.

“Right there?” He huffs, smirking at the awe on your moon lit face. He rolls his hips again, wanting you to come apart for him. “Thought about you for three fucking years.” He confesses. “Imagined coming back to you every day, finding you in my tent.”

“I wish I was there. I would’ve made sure you had something to fight for. To make you feel good.” You promise with a gasp when he starts to thrust into you a little harder. “I would’ve been yours every single night.” You vow, “I am now. Yours. Completely. Always.”

“You are mine.” He grunts. “You, our daughter. You are going to be beside me for the rest of our lives.” He grits his teeth and lifts your legs onto his hips as he fucks into you.

You moan his name as he rocks into you, getting you closer and closer to your peak. “Yes. Gods, Marcus. I- fuck. I am going to- I need - your fingers. Please.” You beg, moaning and your thighs shaking but you need more to send you over the edge.

Marcus hisses at how close you are, releasing one of your thighs. Snaking his hand down between your bodies and pressing his thumb against your bundle of nerves. Pressing his lips to yours to absorb your moan as he starts to rub. “Cum for me, uxor.”

You can’t deny him even if you tried. You clamp down on his cock within seconds and cry out his name. You soak him and your chest heaves, finally returned with the man you love. You caress his chest, “fill me up. I don’t care.”

Marcus hisses in pleasure, your words sending him over the edge. He pumps deep twice more before burying his cock. Throbbing inside you as he paints your walls with his seed. He could get you pregnant again, but he doesn’t care, he would love that. Once you are safe, he wants more kids with you, and wants to be present for your time carrying them.

You moan his name, loving the way he fills you up without care and you know he will keep you and Ceres safe. No matter what. “I love you.” You pant and caress his chest over his tunic, “we will be safe tomorrow.” You promise despite not knowing what tomorrow holds. You spend several moments kissing and caressing while he softens inside you until he pulls out and tells you you need to rest. “Rest with me.” You order, noticing the darkness under his eyes.

“After a check in with my men.” He promises. He knows he will wake every hour to check in, but he will give you what you want and lay down with you. “Love you.”

You smile, caressing his cheek and he takes your hand to press a soft kiss to your palm. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep with him wrapped around you and he strokes your side as he watches you until he pulls himself away to speak with his men. Tomorrow, you’ll escape from the clutches of the emperors.

****

Marcus woke several times during the night but after the guards had traded off, he had stayed asleep. He had given strict orders to wake him if something happened, but he had curled around you until just before the sun broke the sky and one his men rushed into the villa. “General! We have a rider approaching!”

Marcus is swift to get out of bed, grabbing his chest plate and sword after tying his sandals to see what the rider has to say. It’s likely an order of execution from the emperors for everyone here. You gasp, waking up and you rush to get Ceres, wanting to protect her while you hear the news from the rider.

Coming out to the gates, Marcus frowns when he sees a lone rider, a dispatch messenger. His only job is to ride to the prominent villas with important news, although only one other man in Rome had known he was going to be here. The man he had left behind to send word about the order to execute Marcus for kidnapping the future empress. He must have been sent here by Octavious after he had parted ways once you were in the trunk. “News!” The messenger cries before he even pulls his horse to a stop. “Emperor’s Geta and Caracalla have been killed!”

You are holding a moaning Ceres, angry at being woken up, when you hear the news. Your eyes widen as you look over at Marcus. You don’t respond, too in shock, and you shake your head. “They are dead. The senate - they heard you had escaped and quickly moved to form a coup. They stabbed the emperors when they gathered to discuss your execution.” The messenger declares and Marcus frowns, “and where is your proof?” He asks and the man holds out a coin. It’s covered in blood but you know it. Geta had it on a string around his neck. A charm his father gave him when he was a boy. “He’s dead.” You choke in relief, “we are free.”

Marcus nods, turning and crushing you against him. “I will have to return to Rome.” He tells you quietly. “Stay with my men.” He still doesn’t trust it not to be some kind of trap; but he doesn’t want to worry you. “I will be back tonight.” He promises.

You cling to him, “Marcus. What if it’s a trap?” You ask, knowing that the emperors are evil and you wouldn’t put anything past them. “I know, but I have to make sure. We need to know for certain.” He says and you cup his cheek, “come back to us.” You demand, pressing your lips to his.

“I will.” Marcus presses his lips to yours again and again. “You are my uxor.” He tells you quietly before he looks to the men who follow him, gathered around him silently without you noticing. “Protect the general’s family with your lives.” He orders them.

Ceres reaches for her father and he pulls her close for a second, kissing her cheek. “Be good, my girl.” He murmurs and she pouts, “pater.” She wants him to stay but you know he has to go. He will never settle without knowing for certain that you are safe. “It’s okay, amor.” You murmur to her, “pater will be home soon.”

“Help her restore the villa.” He instructs his men, hanging you a large bag of coins. “I will be back as quickly as I can.” He promises again before stealing one last breathtaking kiss.

You watch him go, your heart clenching in fear that this is a trap and he’s going to be killed. You hug Ceres tight, the bag of coins in your other hand, and you look at his men. “Well, gentleman, let’s get started. We have a lot to do to make this place suitable for the general’s return.”

****

Three days later, a rider approaches, the guards tense and gripping their swords as they wait. Until they recognize the general, calling out for the gates to be opened, to greet Marcus as he comes galloping into the courtyard calling for you and Ceres as he jumps off his horse.

You are in the garden with Ceres, showing her how to plant some flowers and you look up when you hear his voice. “Pater!” Ceres shouts and runs towards the gate where Marcus is and you are relieved.

He’s relieved to see his daughter come careening towards him. Bending down to one knee so he can scoop her up with a grunt. “Little one!” He hugs her close and kisses her cheek. “Have you been good?”

Ceres nods, hugging her father tight with her arms wrapped around his neck. You walk over, your heart thumping in relief, and you rush towards him, wrapping your arms around him and Ceres and you press your lips to his.

“I’m home, uxor.” Marcus promises you with a soft smile. “The emperors are dead.” He had made sure of it and stayed for the coming changes to Rome. “You and I are to return to the city to be married. And I have been promised that we will not be sent off to war for at least a year.”

Your eyes widen as you look at him, “we are to be married?” You ask and he nods, “the senate have approved it. I have claimed Ceres. We can be at peace.” He vows and you choke, “finally.”

“Finally.” Marcus smiles at you and leans in to press his lips to yours. “We will be together. And I will make sure that you never have to worry about your future again.”

****

You smile at Marcus as you look out across the fields, the baby boy at your breast as you cradle him while Marcus shows Ceres how to plant a seed for vegetables. You’re married and at peace. What you’ve always longed for. Marcus may have rescued your sister that day in the market, but he’s saved your life and you’ll always love him for that.

#pedro pascal #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x f!reader #marcus acacius x plus sized reader #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius fanfiction #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius imagine #gladiator ii #gladiator 2

135 notes · View notes

avastrasposts · 3 days ago

Text

Bona Dea - part 5 The End

Plot: Stumbling through a dark town, general Marcus Acacius encounters the festival of Bona Dea. But what at first seems like just a pleasurable way to spend the night leaves a greater impression on him than he counted on.

Series master list

General Marcus Acacius x female reader

Warnings: Explicit smut. No use of y/n, the reader is pretty much a blank slate if you're a Roman noble lady in 2nd century Tuscany?

Word count: 8.4k

A/N: Fifth and final part of Bona Dea (at least until I watch the film next Sunday and start making up new stories....). All happy endings here! Please come tell me your thoughts, yell in my inbox, ask me about all the strange Roman customs I squeezed in here, I'd love to hear from you all!

A few notes on the Latin. I think most of it is pretty self-explanatory but just in case: Caligae - typical Roman sandals Carrisme - dearest or sweetest Sepmer - always Amica mea/Amica meus - "my love" in female and male form Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia - Ubi tu Gaia, ego Gaius - Wherever you are, I will be

The next morning, just after you’d finished breakfast with the family and Alba, one of the servants came in to announce a guest. Your heart caught in your throat when you heard the name. Alba gasped loudly and it made Titus look up at first her and then you, when he saw your shocked faces, he quickly understood something was not right.

“Who is he?” he asked, rising to his feet as you did the same.

“My father,” you replied, your hands shaking as you smoothed down your stola, “I didn’t think he’d risk the journey, but it seems I was wrong.”

“Siro,” Titus called to the servant who had brought the news, “Send word to general Acacius at once, tell him Domina Lunaris’ father is here and he should come at once to meet the father of his bride,” his words were light but the grim tone spoke volumes

Titus gave you a reassuring look as Siro left the room, “Don’t worry, Marcus will come as quickly as he can and make sure your father does not interfere.”

“We’ll come with you to meet your father,” Antonia told you, coming to your side with Alba and taking your hand, “You won’t have to face him alone, and Marcus will be here soon.”

“Thank you both,” you replied, still nervously smoothing down your stola. Alba squeezed your hand and gave you a scared look.

“He can’t say anything, can he? You’re a widow now, and under the protection of general Acacius.”

“She’s not just under his protection,” Titus said, “She’s his betrothed, he’s given her a ring and shown Rome that she belongs to him now,” he beckoned you all to follow him, “Come, let’s see what your father has to say and show him that you are not some lost young girl.”

Your father was seated in the reception room and stood up as Titius walked in through the door, and then you, arm in arm with Antonia.

“Nerius Vernio,” Titus greeted him, “Welcome to my home.”

The two men bowed and Titus introduced himself and his wife as your father eyed you. You dropped your eyes to the floor and curtsied low.

“Father, I didn’t know you were coming to Rome, I hope your journey was uneventful,” you greeted him and he gave you a cursory nod.

“Daughter, I’ve written and requested for you to return home several times, but my letters have gone unanswered,” he said and then turned to Titus, “Aurelius, I’m grateful you’ve taken in my daughter and her cousin after the bandits attack that took her husband’s life. I’ve arranged for accommodation for us and I’ll take her into my care now.”

You immediately shook your head but your father ignored you, “Alba, pack up both of your belongings, I have a letica waiting for us outside.”

“No, father, I’m not-” you began to protest, but Titus interrupted.

“Vernio, there is no need for them to leave, we are happy to have them stay and they’ve both become very good friends of my wife. And your daughter has made a very happy connection while in Rome. And-”

“I’ve heard of this connection, and the upcoming wedding,” your father snapped, his eyes on you and not Titus, “But you are still my daughter and you belong to my family and I will not allow you to marry anyone without my consent.”

“Father, I’m a widow and can choose my own husband now,” you replied, but he shook his head, interrupting you again.

“No. You will come back home, we will set Lunaris affairs on order and then I will choose a new husband for you,” Vernio was grabbing at your arm now, ushering Alba at the same time, trying to make you leave, “I will not have you dishonour our family name by running off and remarrying mere days after your husband dies.”

You tried to dig your heels in, and Antonia was reluctant to let go of your arm, “Please, father, I am not going back. I don’t care what tradition says, I’ve found a good man to marry, many times better than Lunaris and I love him.”

He scoffed in reply, looking at you with contempt, “Love? When did love ever play a part in marriage? You’ll marry who I choose and if the gods will it, you’ll grow to love your new husband as much as you did Lunaris.”

“I never loved Lunaris,” you cried, pulling to get your arm back now as your father looked close to slapping you in his anger, Titus looked appalled and stepped in to calm the situation.

“Please, Verio, your daughter is allowed to have a mind of her own, she is no young maid going to her first marriage,” he said, placing a hand on your arm, “Both law and tradition says a widow can choose to marry whom she wants.”

Suddenly there was a flurry of activity by the door of the reception room and the next thing you knew, Marcus was striding over to you, his face dark with rage. He was dressed in his full armour, the dark leather decorated with the intimidating Medusa, his gladius hanging on his hip. The sight made your father abruptly drop your arm and take several steps back as Marcus reached your side and immediately cupped your cheeks.

“Amica mea, I came as fast as I could,” he said, looking only at you and not acknowledging your father with as much as a glance.

“Thank you, amor,” you replied, smiling up at Marcus and taking immense satisfaction in the way your father seemed to be almost cowering from Marcus’ imposing form. It felt like having a fearsome lion as protection, storming in with a roar and making sure everyone knew that you were his to protect.

“My father has arrived,” you said finally, after Marcus had dropped his hand to your waist and turned to the room with you securely in his arms, “Father, I’m pleased to introduce you to my betrothed, general Marcus Acacius. General, this is my father Fabius Nerius Vernio.”

“Vernio,” Marcus said, giving your father a short nod. Vernio on his hand seemed to have lost his ability to speak, he only stared at Marcus.

Marcus continued to look at Vernio with thinly veiled rage, and your father seemed no closer to finding his tongue and the room lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. You were delighted seeing your father squirm under Marcus’ sharp eyes and had no intention of easing his uncomfort. Eventually it was Titus, ever the diplomat, who broke the silence.

“General Acacius is one of Rome’s most celebrated military commanders, and enjoys great favour from the emperors. I’m sure you can understand that your daughter is making a very wise choice in accepting his proposal,” he said, almost imperceptibly and gently ushering your father towards the door of the room.

“I’m still her father and I can’t allow her to marry some stranger,” he protested weakly, “Lunaris estate must be taken care of.”

“Oh, so that’s where your concern is!” you exclaimed, only Marcus’ arm around your waist stopped you from stepping closer to your father, Marcus tightened his grip and held you back. “You only want Lunaris’ assets so that you can marry me off to someone with lands next to the olive groves!”

Next to you, you felt more than heard Marcus’ growl. Your father tried to bring himself under control and took hold of the edge of his toga, nervously adjusting it on his shoulder. Under Marcus’ glare he seemed pitiful.

“Your daughter will want for nothing when she is my wife,” Marcus said, his tone betraying that he had no patience for this conversation, “If it’s money you want to let her go, then you can have whatever you want. Unlike you, my only aim is to make her happy and I don’t need money for that.”

He turned to Titus as he took your hand in his, “I’m taking my future wife to the temple to prepare for the ceremony, I trust you to have evacuated your guest when we return, Titus.”

Titus gave him a smirk, a look exchanged between the two old friends that spoke volumes, “Of course, general Acacius.”

And with that Marcus led you from the room, stepping between you and your father as you passed by him, you kept your eyes from him, not wishing to see his reaction.

Later, when you reclined next to Marcus in his private reception room, you went over the events in your mind. After Marcus and you had left Titus’ villa he’d taken you to visit the temple of Juno to honour the goddess of love and marriage. On the day of your wedding you’d have a ceremony at the temple of Jupiter, but it felt right to honour Juno and ask her to protect your love for each other after your father’s anger today.

Afterwards Marcus had asked if you wanted to see his villa, the place you would effectively be taking control of once you were married. So now you sat next to him in his private rooms, picking at the food the servants had brought from the kitchen.

“I think, in reality, he loves the idea of a great Roman general as husband to his daughter,” you told Marcus, thinking of your father, “both he and Lunaris were obsessed with power and you’re certainly more powerful than Lunaris ever was.”

“He didn’t seem too keen today though,” Marcus replied as he pulled you closer on the seat you were on, “You’d think his daughter was marrying a homeless sewage collector.”

“I think he was mostly angry that he had no say in it, he hates not being in control,” you said, “but I won’t let him ruin this. I’m marrying you and I’d marry you even if you were a sewage collector.”

Marcus chuckled at that and playfully pinched your nose between his thumb and forefinger, “But you’d make me bathe every day before I came home? Or would you let me into your bed smelling like the excrements of Rome?”

He laughed as you giggled and squirmed under his grip, finally letting go and capturing your smiling mouth in a tender kiss.

“Would you love me even if I smelled like shit, carissime?” he asked with a mischievous grin.

“Maybe a smidgen less,” you laughed, accepting his insistent kisses along your neck.

He kept you occupied in that way for some time until it was time for you to return to Titus’ villa. Your lips were swollen and your hair less than smooth as he escorted you through the gates.

“How are the preparations for the wedding going?” he asked, walking next to you with his hands clasped behind his back, keeping his roaming paws to himself to stop too many rumours to spread amongst the slaves at the villa.

“We are almost done, the clothes are prepared, Antonia has made the wreaths for our heads, and the jewellery will be delivered tomorrow,” you replied. The big door was opened by an unseen slave and light spilled out onto the courtyard, “Will you come in?” you asked.

“Yes, I need to discuss something with Titus,” Marcus said, “But I’ll say good night to you now, my love, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I wish it was our wedding day tomorrow,” you smiled, “I don’t want to wait any longer to be your wife.”

Marcus smiled and pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, “Sleep well, amica mea.”

Alba woke you up the next morning, insisting on an early visit to the villa’s thermae, dragging your sleepy form along.

“Antonia and I want to make sure your wedding day is perfect so we’re rehearsing it all today,” she said, “do all the steps so that we have time to make changes.”

“Sounds sensible,” you yawned, “but why so early and why do we start in the baths?”

“Because there will be a lot of standing around getting adjusted today so we’re starting with a relaxing bath and massage.”

You were too tired to question her and both the massage and bath were enough to put you back to sleep, snoring lightly on the marble slab until Alba woke you up again. Antonia then greeted you in the largest reception room, where the servants had just finished setting up a light meal. So while you tried to nibble on sweet dates, you were shrouded in all your wedding finery. A brand new, pure white tunic was pulled over your head and your hair then fiddled with while you yawned again. Alba and Antonia were debating how to best braid your hair while making the customary flammeum, the bridal veil, stay attached. It would be seen as a very bad omen if it fell off. You had to squint to see through the fabric as they finally agreed on how to fasten it.

You admired the white tunic and the bright yellow veil in the polished brass mirror that was being held up in front of you. You remembered how much you’d hated it on your first wedding day, now you smiled at your reflection as Antonia tied the belt securely around your waist until you realised what she was doing.

“No, wait, don’t tie that yet. Only Marcus is supposed to untie it and the wedding isn’t for another three days,” you protested, but it was too late, the Hercules knot was securely in place.

“You’ll just have to stay in your wedding clothes until your wedding night then,” Antonia laughed and you frowned at her, untying the knot was a major part of the ceremony once the newlyweds were alone in their new home. Only when the husband untied the knot and slept with his wife for the first time were they truly married in the eyes of Rome and the gods.

You were about to protest again as the doors to the room slammed open and Titus rushed in.

“Protect the bride!” he called in a dramatic voice, throwing his arms up in the air as Marcus stepped in behind him and pushed him aside with a grin.

“No man will stop me from robbing this woman away from her family and making her mine,” he called, striding over to you with long steps, mischief glinting in his eyes as Alba and Antonia tried to hide the bright smiles.

“What are you doing?” you laughed, “The wedding isn’t for another three days.” Tradition held that the groom would pretend to steal his bride away from her family, and the bride should act as if she was both sad to be taken from her home, but also excited to begin her new life. But now he was three days early and you were confused when he grabbed your arm and pulled you with him towards the door as Titus pretended to try to stop him from leaving.

“I’m claiming you as mine, we will go to the temple of Jupiter this very day and let the gods know that you will be my wife from this day on,” Marcus said, keeping the tradition with a stern voice, but you could see the glint in his eyes. He pushed Titus to the side, who made a big show of falling to the floor and Antonia ran over to him, pleading with the gods to stop Marcus. The smile she gave you made you realise she’d been in on it all along and you had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from laughing out loud. Marcus had taken your hand in his and now he was ushering you along the hall, across the courtyard and into his carriage. He helped you step inside and you managed to wave to Titus and his family who had followed. Now they were throwing walnuts over your heads as the family’s slaves joined in, shouting well wishings. You suddenly realised, you were getting married today, somehow Marcus and Titus had moved things forward, and now you were on your way to the ceremony.

Marcus climbed into the carriage and you couldn’t help beaming up at him. He was dressed in white armour adorned with gold details and he was grinning widely at you as he pulled you into his side, laughing as more walnuts rained down over the carriage.

The procession to the temple of Jupiter was filled with blessings called to you both from the people on the streets, many joining in behind you together with Titus and his family. By the time you arrived in the square before the temple of Jupiter, the crowd was pretty large. The flamen Dialis, the head priest of Jupiter, stood at the top of the stairs, awaiting your arrival together with his wife.

“You changed all the plans,” you said to Marcus as the carriage made a lap around the square.

“I talked to Titus and he sent out messengers last night,” he replied, his smile disappearing as he looked at you with serious eyes, “We didn’t want to risk your father trying to disrupt the events. Neither Titus nor I trust him to not try to influence someone to get control over both you and Lunaris’ assets,” he cupped your cheek and let his thumb caress your skin, “And honestly, I was tired of waiting for you to be my wife, we have spent enough days apart, now I want you to be mine.”

“Then let's pay our respects to Jupiter so that you can take me to our home,” you smiled at him and he smiled back.

The carriage came to a stop at the foot of the stairs and Marcus tenderly kissed your forehead before he took your hand and helped you step down. The large crowd cheered as you began to climb the stairs, Titus’ family and Alba behind you. At the top of the stairs you stopped in front of the Dialis and he called up Jupiter to make your marriage a long and happy one. Two slaves brought forward a sow and the auspex performed the sacrifice to the god Ceres, reading the entrails of the dead animal as its blood dripped down the stairs. After much humming and mumbling, he finally stood up straight and loudly declared the omens to be good, loud enough for the crowd to hear. A big cheer erupted and you saw Marcus smile from the corner of your eye. He took your hand and turned you so that you were facing him, and the Dialis told you it was time for the groom to look upon his bride.

Up until now you’d enjoyed the spectacle, it felt like your first real wedding day, not the unhappy day you’d married Lunaris. But now suddenly you felt the weight of the moment, emotions racing to the surface as you looked up at Marcus. He could only see the shadows of your features through the veil, but his smile was warm and tender, his eyes soft, as if he could see through the veil and into your nervously beating heart as you lifted your shaking hands and removed the flammeum.

“Semper amare,” he whispered, so low that only you could hear it, and his words filled you with calm as you slowly lifted the bright yellow veil from your face. Stillness filled your mind as you met his eyes and you smiled back at him and took a deep breath.

“Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia,” you said, your voice loud and clear, carrying across the square.

Marcus reached out and took your hands in his and replied as was the tradition;

“Ubi tu Gaia, ego Gaius.”

His voice also carried across the square and the crowd cheered as the Dialis cleared his throat and looked pointedly at where Marcus was holding your hands.

“General, you need to let go of her so that I can initiate the dextratum iunctio,” he said and Marcus chuckled, dropping your hands.

“I got carried away, apologies.”

The Dialis took your hand and then Marcus’ and joined them together again.

“Your hands are joined in the concordia, the mutual bond of affection and marriage. Now offer this bread to Jupiter.”

He held out a small piece of round bread to Marcus, who let go of your hand. With a grin, he broke the bread over your head, showering you with crumbs before offering you a piece to eat. The bread was dry but you smiled back at him as you chewed and swallowed it down as Marcus did the same.

The Dialis brought forward a tablet and you both signed the papyrus, marking your names to the contract that would now bind you together in Roman law. The last time it had felt like a death sentence, reluctantly scraping your pen over the surface. Now it felt like you were signing your release papers, setting you free from your father’s influence and becoming a part of Marcus’ family, his name now attached to yours. Marcus moved closer as you placed the pen on the table, his arm over your shoulder, as a sign to the crowd behind you that you were now under his protection.

Together you walked back down the stairs towards the carriage, the crowd had swelled and they cheered as they saw the patrician newlyweds. Again Marcus helped you up into the carriage and then waved at the crowd as his driver turned back up to the Palatine, this time returning to his villa.

The crowd followed you all the way back, continuing to shout blessings. When you performed the rituals of entering the house the first time as mistress of it, blessings of good omens showered over you. Marcus picked you up, lifting you into his arms with a big smile and carried you not just into the courtyard and house, but all the way into the reception hall, followed by Titus’ and his family and a few of Marcus’ closest officers who had been told at the last minute that the wedding was changing days.

The feast was a small affair, just as Marcus had promised you. Alba sat across from you at the best table together with Titus and Antonia while their children chatted away at another table. And although the food was excellent, and the wild stories about Marcus from his closest friends made you laugh until your sides ached, you wanted nothing more than for it to end so that you could have Marcus to yourself and perform the final part of the wedding ceremony.

But there was one detail that made you want to stay a little bit longer. A young man, only a few years older than Alba, caught your eye. He was looking at Alba with admiration as she told him about a weaving technique she’d been taught. For a young man to be so immersed in weaving could only mean one thing, and you carefully nudged Marcus to look in the man’s direction. He gave a low chuckle when he saw the way the boy seemed to hang on to Alba’s every word.

“Octavian Livius Catius,” he whispered close to your ear, “A junior in my army and Titus’ mentee. He comes from a fairly low birth but he has a good career in front of him, Alba could do much worse if she wishes to marry.”

“Is he a good man?” you asked, keeping your voice low as you tried to glance at the two of them without being seen.

“He is, Titus says he has good morals and a stable head, he’s fostering him to become a strategist too. And of course, since we’ve been away for two years, he’s well past the age most boys marry, I’m sure he’s looking for a future wife.”

“Only if Alba wants him,” you replied immediately, “She’s in my care and I won’t let her be married off without her consent.”

“I would expect nothing less, domina,” Marcus mumbled, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “Now, I think we have been polite enough to our guests, let’s leave.”

Taking your hand, he stood and pulled you to your feet as the small group of guests grew quiet.

“I’m now fortunate enough to call this incredible woman ‘my wife’, he said, addressing the room, “And it is time for our final ceremony and to honour the gods, to thank them for bringing us together and letting us have this happy day.”

He smiled down at you as he continued to speak, “Never could I have imagined that a chance meeting on a dark street would lead me to such a happy end. I’m still not convinced you’re not Venus stepped down among us mortals.”

You squeezed his hand and brought it to your lips for a kiss as you felt heat rise in your cheeks at his praise.

“Please, enjoy each other’s company, the wine, the food, have a glorious evening,” Marcus told the guests and then turned to you again, “Come, wife,” he smiled at the word, “let me untie the knot.”

Titus raised his glass and cheered, and the others joined in as Alba got to her feet and gave you a big hug, wrapping her arms tight around you.

“I’m so happy for you both,” she said and kissed your cheek.

“Thank you, my darling Alba,” you replied, “and his name is Octavian and Marcus says he’s a good man,” you added with a whisper in her ear, smiling as you pulled away and looked at her. Her cheeks went red as she giggled.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she grinned and gave you a little push, “Now go with your husband and tell me everything tomorrow.”

Behind you, you heard Marcus chuckle at Alba’s comment, and his hand took a firmer hold of yours. “I agree with your cousin, come now, carissime, I have waited long enough.”

He wrapped his arms around you as he guided you through the villa, towards one of the few rooms you had yet to see in what was now your new home; his private bedroom. It sat on the second floor and as the short December day was nearing the end, the sun glowed golden outside the windows. One of the servants had lit the oil lamps in the room and they filled it with a warm light, illuminating the warm colours of mosaics that decorated the walls. Thick rugs covered the floor and the bed was draped in soft looking blankets and pillows to warm against the cold night outside.

Marcus closed the door behind the two of you and let out a deep breath that made you turn towards him.

“Why such a deep sigh?” you asked and he gave you a small smile as he took your hand again and led you to the bed and sat down.

“It’s a relief to close the door, to finally have you to myself, as my wife,” he said, “I didn’t realise until yesterday how much I’d feared that something would hinder our wedding. But when your father turned up…” Marcus sighed again and rubbed a hand over his face, “I knew I had to act fast, I hope you didn’t mind the surprise this morning.”

You smiled at him and cupped his cheeks with both your hands, smoothing out his worried frown, “Not at all, if anything I’m delighted I didn’t have to wait another three days. Now, untie this knot and prove your virility,” you teased, “Antonia made it very tight so I hope you’re up for the task.”

Marcus laughed and took your hand, making you lie down in the middle of the bed as he sat next to you.

“I’d say you already know my virility is just fine enough,” he said, his smile turning more mischievous as he let his eyes roam over your body. The look in his eyes made your skin tingle and you sighed when he finally put his hands on you properly and caressed your curves. He toyed with the belt, tugging at it to pull you closer as he leaned forward.

“Marcus….” you said, your voice a low whine when he pressed his lips to your cheek instead of your lips, his hands still not touching the knot.

“Patience, domina,” he hummed, pulling away and getting to his feet, his eyes darker now.

With slow, practised movements he unwound the long toga from around his body, laying it on the seat next to the bed, loosening his belt and caligae next. When he pulled the tunic over his head, you held your breath, it had been so long since you last saw him fully naked and standing tall in front of you. He was just as glorious as the first time, his strong body littered with scars, his posture proud and powerful like the statues of Mars in the temple.

He smirked at the way your hungry eyes drifted across his body, from his wide shoulders, over his chest and down to where his heavy cock was rapidly growing. When he put his knee on the bed and crawled over your body, your insides squirmed and his grin widened. He knew the effect he was having on you and he planned on taking it slow on this first time as a married couple.

“Domina…” he all but purred, lowering himself onto his forearms and caging you underneath him. You were still fully clothed and writhing with impatience as he dipped his mouth to your neck, his tongue slipping out to taste the sensitive skin under your ear, a wet kiss following.

“Marcus…” you pleaded again as he moved further down your body, his hands caressing and kneading as his teeth nipped through the thin fabric of your stola.

“Patience is a virtue, mi amor,” he replied, and you could hear the smile in his voice against your breasts.

Your breath was coming in short huffs, and you struggled to stay still, as he reached the knot in your belt. He was kissing your body around the knot, through the fabric, his hands stroking your thighs, reaching up under the stola and grabbing at your hips. His body was nestled between your legs but still he wasn’t touching you where you needed him the most, and with an impatient whine, you arched yourself up against him, seeking any friction.

Marcus growled, and grabbed both your hips, pinning you down with his weight, “Patience…” he smirked.

He began to mouth at the ornate knot in your belt, keeping you where he wanted you with a strong grip. The edge of the stola was pressed into your core by his firm chest and you could feel how you’d soaked through your undergarments already. With a moan you reached down and grabbed at Marcus’ bare shoulders, urging him to move faster even though you knew he was intent on taking it at his own slow pace tonight.

When you glanced down to see him stretched out between your legs, you were met by the sight of the strong planes of his back working as he held you down, his teeth grabbing the knot and pulling it loose. With a wicked grin he flashed you a look, before he began to work the stola up over your hips, the belt falling loose to the sides.

He pushed up to his knees and pulled the stola with him, finally freeing you of it as it slipped over your head. With an impatient wave you tossed it over the side of the bed and reached up for Marcus again, willing him to kiss you and sink his hard cock into you, you could feel the heated drag of it over your thigh. But he ignored your hands, instead he grabbed your thighs and spread them, sinking down with his eyes fixed on your centre.

“Carissime, I’ve missed this sight,” he hummed, slowly dragging a finger through your slick folds, reaching the aching pearl at the top and circling it as he looked up at you. Your eyebrows were drawn together, your mouth open and panting. It made his cock twitch to see you so laid out for him, and with all the time in the world to pull you apart and make you cry his name in pleasure.

Your warm thigh rested on his shoulder as he leaned in closer, brushing his nose over your soft curls and tasting the salty liquid. A shuddering breath left your lungs as you seemed to melt into the bed at the sensation, and Marcus licked a wide stripe up your centre, making you gasp again.

His fingers spread you open, making more room for his tongue, and methodically he began to explore your cunt in earnest, taking the time he hadn’t had on the night of Bona Dea. Every sound you made, your whimpered pleas and moaned cries of his name, it made him try even harder, his own arousal aching and pressed against the bed. Your hands found his hair and he groaned when you pulled him closer, burying his face in your cunt, driving his tongue in as deep as he could while you made his nose rub against the swollen nub at the apex of your sex.

“Marcus…please….” you panted, your skin flushed and hot as you felt yourself begin to crest the wave he was building up.

“Carissime, you taste so good,” he mumbled into your flesh, moving his tongue up to lap at your most sensitive part, “so sweet and delicate, my wife’s perfect cunt.”

With a deep breath he began to suck at the puffy button, his fingers digging into your thighs and pushing them wide, burying his face between your legs with a growl.

His mouth seemed to be making red hot flames shoot out through your body, your hands tightening their grip on his curls as shockwaves rocked through your limbs. Crying out, you threw your head back, his name the only word you could muster and each lick and suck from Marcus brought fresh moans of pleasure from you until your throat felt raw and dry. He was working you into hysteria where all that existed was his mouth and the way he made your body sing.

You pulled tight like a bow string and with a strangled cry of his name, you snapped, sobbing as Marcus continued to lick and suck at your cunt, clenching around nothing. Your body was begging for him to fill you up as the orgasm coursed through you, but your mind couldn’t find the words, there were only stars streaming across your field of vision as your body shook and trembled under his tongue.

Panting hard you finally fell back against the bed, your taught body relaxing in Marcus grip and he gave your folds a few soft kisses before he pulled back. With a low chuckle, he nuzzled your thigh, trailing sticky kisses across the hot skin as he made his way up to lie next to you.

“My sweet wife…are you still with me? Do you think you’re wet enough to take my cock now?” he smiled as he pressed kisses to your cheek and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Your body felt like liquid and Marcus chuckled again as you smiled back up at him with half closed eyes, unable to form a coherent response yet.

“It seems I did a proper job as husband,” he said, letting you pull him closer, “Are you satisfied, wife?”

“No, husband,” you replied, seeking his mouth out for a slow kiss, “You did good, but I know how good it feels to have you fill me up, and now nothing else will do.”

Marcus smiled and caressed your cheek as he moved to cage you under his wide shoulders again, your arms around his neck.

“I want to take you slowly, feel every part of it,” he said in a low voice as you spread your legs to make room for him, the weight of his cock pressed against your core, “feel your kisses when I fuck you deep into our bed, feel every tremble in your body as I fill you up again and again, keep you here underneath me until we forget everything except this.”

He rolled his hips, the fat tip of his cock catching against your opening, making you both hiss.

“Nothing exists except you, Marcus,” you whispered, cupping his face between your palms as he moved again. The head of his cock breached your tight hole and you could feel his jaws clench under your hands, a tight breath escaping him.

“You feel so good, Marcus, amica meus,” you mumbled, caressing his soft beard, tracing your thumb over his plush lips. The feel of him slowly pushing inside made your core clench, your hips trying to rise up to meet him, but his heavy weight kept you pinned underneath him, your legs locked around his waist. With a groan he squeezed his eyes shut and drove himself in to the hilt, the liquid heat of your tight cunt closing around him.

“Gods, domina…” he panted, “keep me in your bed and let me fuck you, let me always feel this tight cunt around my cock, it’s all I ask, and I’ll be the happiest man in the world…” he rambled. “So tight and wet and hot, my sweet wife’s cunt has me on my knees until it milks me dry…”

He slid out and drove himself in again with a loud groan, his arms wrapping around your shoulders as he buried his face against your neck, “Goddess…” he moaned and you felt his mouth suck at your skin as he rocked himself into you, his cock filling you up and making you gasp every time he sheathed himself fully.

Your hands grabbed at his back, his golden skin warm and damp to the touch as you dug your fingers into his tightly wound muscles. Over you he was unravelling, mumbling into your neck between kisses and bites, his control slipping as he continued to fuck you, lost in his own haze of lust. He came up for a deep breath of air and leaned his forehead against yours, his dark brown eyes locked on yours as his hips continued to thrust his hard cock into you, your breaths mingling as you both gasped at each impact.

“Amica mea, I love you, my wife, I can’t believe you're finally my wife,” he mumbled, his hands gripping your shoulders and pulling you down on to him again and again.

“I love you too. My husband,” you whispered between gasps, “amica meus, semper.”

Marcus pressed his mouth to yours, his tongue slipping between your lips as he picked up his pace, and you squeezed your legs tight around his waist. The coarse hairs around his cock were rubbing against your swollen pearl, each slide making sparks ignite and shoot out all the way to your fingertips, even your toes were curling at the impact of his cock deep inside your weeping cunt.

The pace grew frantic, Marcus groaned loudly, pressing his mouth against yours as his body began to tremble, he was gasping, slamming his cock into you, chasing his release as you cried out underneath him. He was hitting a new spot deep inside, new stars appeared in your field of vision but you tried to keep your eyes open and watch your husband as he began to come undone. His eyebrows pulled tight, his hips stuttering into yours, he dug his fingers almost painfully hard into your shoulders as he grimaced and cried out. With a loud shout he slammed into your cunt a final time, grinding deep inside as your own climax hit again. He rolled his hips over yours, milking himself and pushing you through each wave of pleasure as it washed over your bodies.

He was heavy on top as he finally relaxed, his body hot and sticky with your arms and legs wrapped around him. He could feel your hands begin caress him, slowly bringing him back from the haze that had taken over his mind as he finally let go and fucked you as hard as he needed too. The heavy thumping of his heart echoed in his ears and he knew he should move, but you didn’t seem to mind his body pushing you into the mattress. So instead he turned his head and leaned his cheek against your chest, his softening cock slipping out, making him hiss. He felt you press a kiss to the top of his head, his hair damp, and your fingers raked carefully across his scalp.

“You make me happy, Marcus,” you mumbled against his soft curls, “so happy.”

He sighed against your warm skin, a long, content exhale, “Then I’m happy too, carissime.”

With another sigh he pushed himself up on his forearms, smiling down at you underneath him. His hair was a halo of dark curls, his eyes soft and warm, and you cupped his cheeks and pulled him down for another kiss. Your lips felt swollen and tender but you still moaned with satisfaction when he licked into your mouth and deepened the kiss. It took several long moments before you both were satiated again and he carefully rolled off you and got out of the bed.

“Let me clean us both off, I’m too tired to go to the thermae now,” he said, going over to the wash basin and picking up one of the washcloths.

Your body felt loose and almost as if in a liquid state as he began to gently wipe the cool cloth over your skin. You hummed and smiled at him as he paid extra attention to the white liquid slowly dripping from between your legs.

“Proud of your work, husband?” you teased him and he chuckled, running the cloth between your legs again and making sure to apply just a little bit too much pressure to your most sensitive area. You hissed and arched against his hand.

“If I was a younger man, the sight would make me hard enough to do it again,” he replied, grabbing at your hips to make you spread your legs for him, “such a perfect cunt…”

He smiled at you and began to wipe himself down, running the cloth over his soft cock as you admired the sight.

“Next time, I want to do that,” you said, watching as he pulled back the skin to clean himself.

“Next time, I want your mouth around it,” he replied, and the look that he gave you, made heat shot through you again.

Marcus grinned and tossed the washcloth to the side and crawled into bed, pulling the covers over you both this time. His body was warm and firm as he made space for you, his arms pulling you into his chest.

“We have all the time in the world now, carissime,” he said, his lips close to yours as you looked up at him, “And I intended to make good on my promise to keep you in my bed night and day.”

“I only have one more thing that’s going to make me leave this bed,” you said, smiling at his confused look and pressing your lips to his when he opened them to ask.

“Later,” you mumbled, “now I want more kisses from my husband.”

Marcus chuckled and you could feel the rumble in his chest, “Anything for you, wife.”

The people going about their daily business outside the great structure of Circus Maximus may have stopped and looked an extra time as the patrician carriage drew to a halt outside the wall of the nearby temple. The general who stepped out was dressed in his formal armour, the white and gold shimmering under the bright sky. The woman he helped down with a gentle hold on her hand, was dressed in a similarly rich stola, the veil loosely wrapped around her head but leaving her face bare.

“Here we are, carissime,” Marcus said, putting his arm around your waist and leading you to the entrance of the temple, “I’ll be waiting outside, let Bona Dea know I’m forever her servant too and that I apologise for delaying our visit to her temple for a full two weeks.”

“I will, my love,” you smiled at him, “And I’m sure she understands that newlyweds have trouble leaving the house. I only wish you could be allowed inside the temple too.”

“The rules of Bona Dea must be obeyed,” he laughed, “I learnt that in the best way possible.”

You laughed with him and gave him a quick peck on his smiling lips, before leaving him behind and entering the temple grounds.

Alba followed close behind as the vestal virgin returned your bows, and then led you up the stairs and into the sacred rooms. In the package you carried were cakes and breads you’d made yourself that very morning, using the best ingredients that could be found in the market. Alba carried an amphora of olive oil, and one of wine, the finest Marcus had in his storage, and as you reached the great altar, you both placed your offerings on the ground.

The priestesses began the rituals and you gazed up at the marble statue standing tall behind the altar. The cornucopia in her left arm was overflowing, a symbol of her generosity, and in her right was a bowl, a snake feeding from it, a sign of her healing powers. The goddess had certainly been both generous and healing when dealing with you and Marcus, and it was time to repay her and honour her influence.

“I thought I was trapped in a loveless marriage for the rest of my life,” you said, looking up at Bona Dea, “No children to distract me, just a vile man who blamed me for my barren womb, and made me question why I should even wake up each morning. But you brought Marcus into my life and steered his actions, making it possible for us to be together as husband and wife. And for this, both him and I will forever be your most humble servants.”

The priestess tossed the bread and the cakes into the sacrificial flames, making it hiss and spit as Bona Dea accepted your gifts.

“And I have one final prayer for you, Bona Dea,” you said, kneeling down as Alba looked on in surprise.

The cool marble of the floor was smooth under your forehead as you prostrated yourself fully at the feet of the goddess. You closed your eyes and sent up a silent prayer, the smoke of the sacrifice in your nose, the silence of the temple heavy in your ears. The gods had never spoken to you, but as you sent up your plea to the one who seemed to have seen you at your most miserable, and sent a saviour, a calm came over you, a sense of completion.

You took a few deep breaths, holding back the tears that were threatening to spill, and then sat up onto your heels.

“Thank you.”

The sunlight was still sharp as you left the temple, and you pulled up your veil to shield your eyes. Marcus was standing next to the carriage with his hands clasped behind his back, his posture straight. You had come to recognise this as his ‘public persona’, the powerful general who expected everyone to obey him. In private, he softened whenever you were near, and became the Marcus you loved more with every minute that passed.

“Carissime,” he smiled as you and Alba came out from the temple gates, “all done?”

“Yes, husband, the goddess accepted our sacrifice and the priestesses seemed most pleased with the generous contribution.”

You took his hand and held him back as Alba stepped into the carriage.

“Bona Dea has given us another gift,” you whispered, and he raised his eyebrows in question as he leaned closer to you.

“Another gift?” he asked and you brought his hand to the front of your stola, his eyes widening.

“I always thought I was barren, but now someone grows inside me thanks to her healing powers.”

Marcus stepped closer, his arms going around your waist as he pressed his palm across your belly as if he could already feel the heartbeat of the child within.

“Truly?” he whispered, his wide eyes filled with hope.

“I’ve missed my courses twice since our first night, it’s still early days, but yes, truly,” you smiled up at him.

“Carissime…” he whispered again, bringing his hands up to cup your face, pressing his lips to yours, “I thought I couldn’t be happier but now I feel like my heart will explode.”

He pulled back a little, you could feel tears spilling over and rolling onto your cheeks, and he wiped at them with his thumbs.

“Are you happy, amica mea?”

“Yes, Marcus, you make me very happy,” you smiled through your tears, “And it makes me even happier to have a new family with you.”

“A new family,” he hummed, pressing kisses to your face and lips, “a new family with my beautiful wife and our beautiful child.”

He smiled and kissed you again before taking your hand, “Now let me take you home and spoil you rotten while you care for our child, she already holds my heart in her tiny hands.”

“‘She’?” you asked curiously, and Marcus laughed, a bright smile lighting his eyes.

“I’m certain Bona Dea will give me a daughter as beautiful and strong as her mother, so that I can live the rest of my life worshipping two incredible women,” he replied, still smiling, “That will be my lot in life, my heart held captive by the two of you.”

“You are the most wonderful husband and you will make the most wonderful father, Marcus,” you said, tears welling up in your eyes again as Marcus smiled and wiped your cheeks.

“My sweet wife, carissime,” he said, placing his palm on your belly again, his touch gentle and warm as if he was already cradling his daughter, “I would give up every title the emperors have bestowed on me only to keep two.”

He kissed your left cheek and then the right, his soft lips brushing gently over your tears.

“Your husband, and her father.”

Tagging some lovely people who showered the first four parts with love: @gothcsz @missladym1981 @txlady37 @timelordfreya @bluesweaters15

@indiegirlunited @jessthebaker @likeficinthewnd @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @inept-the-magnificent

@angiewatson @wintersquirrel @sheepdogchick3 @asobeeee @harriedandharassed @cozylittlepigeon

@i-own-loki @pedrit0-pascalit0 @lady-bess

#marcus acacius #marcus acacias x reader #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius smut #pedro pascal fanfiction

72 notes · View notes

tightjeansjavi · 2 days ago

Text

Et Auream - Act 2 : Even In The Darkest of Places

A/N: despite the state that our world is currently in, I’m really proud of this chapter and how it has turned out. This was another chapter that I had completed gutted and rewrote from July. As always, a huge thank you to @sinsofsummers for being my beta 💗

word count: 4.8k

Summary: Even in the darkest of places, hope remains.

Pairing | Marcus Acacius x f!oc

Warnings: canon typical violence, enslavement, power imbalance, domestic abuse, language, transactional sex (not between Marcus & oc) misogyny, derogatory language, +18 minors dni! Let me know if I missed anything

series masterlist

SENATOR CASSIUS’S VILLA

“Amalthea, I have never witnessed such an act of defiance!” Aurelia whispered excitedly. The kitchen maid had become one of her dear friends—perhaps even a mother figure to her. She cherished the moments away from Cassius where she could simply be. Amalthea was old and wise, and she served Cassius longer than any of the rest of his servants had. She had taken Aurelia under her wing in every sense.

“It has been many years since a gladiator so boldly defied an emperor,” Amalthea said in disbelief. She was seated at the meager prep table, a basket of freshly plucked peas from the field were waiting to be shucked for Cassius’s dinner later. “Come sit with me, child. Help shuck these peas and tell me more of this brave gladiator.”

Aurelia tore her gaze from the archway window where in the distance she could just make out the city of Rome, and the looming Colosseum. She could still hear Cassius’s voice droning in her ear about how rogues like Acacius should be terminated. With a sigh she walked to the empty seat next to the older woman and sat alongside her. She reached into the basket and pulled out a few pea pods.

“They called him Acacius the merciful, but I fear that he is not receiving the same mercy that he gave his opponent,” she said quietly, her voice laced with genuine concern.

Amalthea reached over the table and gently squeezed her forearm with a saddened smile. “Defiance against an emperor is often met by cruel punishment, Aurelia. Acacius the merciful may not live to see another day,” she said pensively.

Aurelia’s shoulders slumped forward at the thought of Acacius being wrongfully punished for his defiant actions. She knew that this was customary, but it didn’t make it any less morbid.

“I want to go to him,” she said suddenly, surprising not only herself, but Amalthea as well.

“Aurelia,” she warned. “That would be foolish of you, and not to mention extremely dangerous. Our Dominus wouldn’t stand for it either. You and I both know his disdain towards the gladiators all too well.”

“Amalthea, your concern will not go unnoticed, but our Dominus will be at the brothel for hours after dinner. He won’t return till the early morning hours, if at all.” She had wishful thinking in her mind that her abuser would miraculously never return again and she would never have to endure his cruelty for another day.

“Would your intrigue for this gladiator weaken if he had not acted in defiance?” Amalthea said teasingly, a playful lilt in her tone.

“Amalthea!” Aurelia gasped and giggled softly at her teasing. “My admiration for Acacius is not what you’re thinking it is, I swear!” she protested.

The older woman laughed and the corners of her eyes crinkled, showing her own buried youth appearing, even if just for a moment.

“Forgive me, child. I had to ask,” she said softly and reached for another peapod. “I know well enough that once your heart is set on something, there is no deterring you. The Ludus Magnus is no place for a woman, Aurelia.”

“Rome is no place for a woman, and yet, here we are,” Aurelia solemnly reminded her.

Amalthea huffed out a laugh and shook her head with a knowing grin, “I just want you to be careful, Aurelia, but if you’re truly that determined, take Luna from the stables. She will guide you.”

“I knew you would come around eventually,” she winked subtly at the older woman, and the two returned to their fits of giggling as the sun began to slowly make its descent from the heavens.

When dinner was prepared, Cassius requested for Aurelia to present him his meal in his private study and she knew what this entailed, but she had no choice but to obey.

Amalthea gave her a sympathetic look as she placed the tray that contained Cassius’s meal in her awaiting arms and Aurelia wordlessly turned on her heel and walked towards the direction of his private quarters.

Cassius was seated at his desk, hunched over and focused on the parchment laid out in front of him when he heard a soft knock on the other side of the door.

“You may enter,” He said.

Aurelia took a deep breath and quietly pushed the door open while keeping the tray steady in her arms.

“Good evening, Dominus,” she bowed her head slightly before approaching his desk and gently placed the tray down in front of him, careful to not disturb the papers laid out in front of him.

Cassius paid no attention to her and reached blindly for a piece of thigh meat from the perfectly roasted chicken and tore off a chunk with little care when the savory juice dribbled down his chin.

Aurelia assumed that she could take her cue to leave, but as soon as she turned to walk away, Cassius finally acknowledged her presence.

“I did not dismiss you, Aurelia,” he sighed through his nose. “Sit with me,” he commanded.

She steeled her expression, her fists clenched at her sides. She had foolishly hoped that tonight she would not have to endure his unwanted touch.

“Don’t be shy,” He said wryly, and with his freehand he tapped his knuckles along the desk impatiently.

Aurelia moved towards his side, expecting that he had wanted her to sit in his lap, but when he tilted his head to the side and his eyes flickered towards the floor, she slowly lowered herself to her knees.

He placed his hand against the crown of her head and threaded his fingers through the tresses of her mahogany hair and let out a content sigh from the back of his throat.

“That’s better.” He was pleased, but not as much as he would have liked to be. And when he sensed her discomfort, he tightened his grip around her skull, just enough to make her wince from the sensation. “Although, you could be doing more than just sitting there,” he said suggestively, not masking his true intent when he guided her head towards his lap. “It would please me even more if you were so kind as to tend to me with your affections.”

So much for wishful thinking.

—

When Cassius finally left for his evening excursions, Aurelia crept from her chambers and headed down to the stables. Amalthea was waiting for her, unexpectedly, and while she focused on tacking up Luna, Amalthea reminded her of the very real dangers to being out after dark. Aurelia appreciated her concern, but this did not deter or sway her mind to stay within the safety of the villa.

“I will be back before the sunrise, I promise. Cassius won’t even know that I was gone,” Aurelia reassured her as she gracefully swung her leg over the front of the saddle and gathered up the reins in her hands gently.

“I’ll pray to Fortuna for your safe return, and to Salus for the gladiator Acacius. Ride swift and silent and do not let anyone see you. Bona fortuna, Aurelia.”

“Et videbo vos ante solis ortum,” (and I will see you before the sunrise) Aurelia whispered and gently squeezed her heels against Luna’s sides to ease her into a trot down the gentle sloping hill. She used the moon as the only guiding light to where Acacius and the rest of the gladiator’s were imprisoned within the city.

A cloak over her head concealed her identity, and when she neared the Ludus Magnus, she slowed Luna to a walk before she carefully and quietly dismounted in a secluded area. She imagined that the structure would be well guarded, but after investigating the area, she discovered a side entrance that was well hidden by shrubbery.

The interior was dimly lit, with only a few torches providing limited light. As far as she could see, there were no guards keeping watch in the immediate vicinity.

She could hear the crackling of flames from the torches, and the scurrying of rats along the floor, and just as she was turning a corner to head down one of the many corridors, a hand reached through the darkness and clamped down around her mouth. She struggled in its grip as she was forced back against a hard chest.

“Well, well, well,” a darkened voice chuckled against the shell of her ear, holding her captive. “What do we have here?” The voice belonged to a male, one of the guards she had presumed. “A pretty little lamb that has wandered far from her flock? Perhaps the gods have finally answered my prayers!” he cackled gleefully.

Her voice was muffled against his hand as she continued to struggle in his grip. “Un-hand me!” she cried out, but it was useless.

“Absolutely not!” he laughed and with his freehand he blindly searched for the knot to her stola. Her eyes widened in fear, and she bit his hand that held her mouth captive as hard as she could. He let out a surprised yelp, and his hand instinctively loosened around her mouth just enough for her to wriggle out of his grip, but he recovered quickly and shoved her roughly against a nearby wall. “Stupid fucking bitch!” he spat and unsheathed his dagger. “You’ll pay for that,” he snarled and pressed the edge of the blade against her throat. “Been waiting for something pretty to stick my cock into. I’ll give you a real reason to scream, whore.”

“Wait!” she yelled in fear. “If you release me now, I will see to it that you are rewarded!”

He narrowed his eyes, brows pinched together and dragged the tip of his blade down the column of her throat, but he didn’t get very far, not with the iron collar on her neck blocking the path of his blade. There was even a tag dangling in the middle of it, and when he leaned in closer, he could make out the engraved lettering: Si repertus sum, Cassium me senatorem redde. Retribuetur vobis. (If I am found, return me to Senator Cassius. You will be rewarded)

The guard stowed his dagger back into its sheath. “I wonder how well rewarded I will be when I return you to your Dominus,” he mused with a grin.

“You will be rewarded less if you have come to harm me. My Dominus will not take it lightly if there is even a scratch upon me,” Aurelia said boldly.

“Senator Cassius will reward me for what I feel is owed,” he snapped and grabbed her roughly by her forearm.

“Before you return me to him, I have one request,” she winced from his tight grip on her arm. “Must you handle me so roughly? I will go without a fight, I assure you.”

“I don’t believe you’re in the position to be requesting anything of me,” he scoffed and started to drag her towards the exit, but she dug her heels into the ground in an attempt to slow him down.

“Please!” she cried. “It is one simple request,” she pleaded. “I can offer you more than just coin if you agree!”

He sneered at this and loosened his grip around her arm. He turned around and faced her fully. “Is that so?” his eyes trailed down her body, lingering at the gentle swell of her covered breasts, and the curve of her hips. He licked his lips in anticipation. “Perhaps I can be…persuaded.”

She fought the urge to turn her nose up in disgust at the way he was violating her with his eyes alone.“I will give you what you want, and I will not fight it. But in return, you will show me where the gladiator Acacius resides.”

“Acacius?” he questioned with a scoff. His frame towered over her and his eyes held nothing short of malice in them. “What’s a pretty thing like you want him for, hm?”

She refused to make direct eye contact with him and turned her head to the side. “It does not concern you.”

“Oh,” he laughed. “I think it does concern me and unless you want me to make it hurt, I suggest you start talking. Don’t be so naive to think that just because your Dominus would be angered to see his prized whore scuffed up, that I won’t be cruel.”

Aurelia had always found it morbidly fascinating to experience just how quickly men would resort to threatening violent measures if women did not immediately give them what they wanted. She had experienced this exact scenario many times with Cassius, and by now she was numb to the mistreatment and cruelty she endured almost daily. Her heart, nonetheless, would always sink to the pit of her stomach whenever situations like this would arise.

Were all men truly this cruel?

He studied her intently, and when she didn’t respond, he grabbed her chin between two fingers and forced her to look at him. “Do you want to fuck him, is that it?” he questioned her dryly, amusement dripping in his tone.

“I beg your—”

“Oh, don’t act like you’re pure all of sudden. Besides, it was a fair question.You think you’re the only whore that has skipped down here in hopes to lay with a gladiator?” he snorted. “You’ll be met with sheer disappointment m’afraid. I heard a rumor that all of the gladiators were gelded.”

She fought her immediate urge to glare at him and his wild accusations.“I do not wish to lay with him.”

“Sure, sure,” he waved her off dismissively. “That's what they all say.”

“Well, rest assured, that is not why I am here. I just found his act of defiance in the arena today…admirable,” She admitted truthfully.

“Admirable?” he released her chin only to grab her by the waist and yanked her roughly in his grip so her chest collided with his own. “Defying the emperor’s command is admirable? Hm. I’m sure that’s exactly the reason why he was punished for his merciful actions then.”

Her face fell at his words. Was she too late? Was Acacius beaten to death for his defiance? No, he couldn’t be. The guard was just toying with her vulnerability. Acacius was surely alive. He must be.

“Don’t look so sad, whore. Acacius is still breathing. I’ll gladly escort you to his cell, after you complete your end of the deal, of course,” he said with a twisted sneer.

A deal is a deal, after all.

____

Just down the corridor, in a compacted cell, Marcus Acacius laid in filth. His bed, the single form of comfort that he had, was stripped from him, and he was forced to sleep upon the cold, unforgiving floor. His ankles were bound in iron, shackled to the stone wall, and his back was bare. The lacerations on his marred skin had since begun to crust over with dried blood, but he was badly wounded and received no care. His dreams were restless, and images of his mother flashed behind his trembling eyelids.

Let me go home, please. I wish to feel her gentle embrace. To hear her voice. Gods, take me out of my misery, I beg you.

“In this life and the next, you will always be my son, but your time has not yet come, Marcus. There is much life you have left to live. Remember, you must continue to be brave, gentle, just and compassionate. No matter what life throws your way, promise me you will always remain true to your heart and the values I have instilled in you.”

“How can I be brave, gentle, just, and compassionate in a world that is so cold, and has only been cruel to me?”

“You have to believe in your heart that there is goodness left in this world. There is kindness you have yet to experience, my son. Do not close the door on the possibilities of happiness. There is evil, yes, but there is also light in this world, Marcus. There is hope and there is love that dwells even in the darkest of places.”

Her image began to fade from his conscience as his body began to stir and wake at the sound of approaching footsteps, and hushed voices.

“Wait! Please, don’t go! Mother, please!” he called for her in his dreams and his hand reached for her in the darkness, but he grasped nothing but cold, damp air between his calloused fingers.

“Why has no one tended to his wounds?” a soft, feminine voice filtered in through his semi-conscious state.

“The orders were not given,” the guard, who Acacius knew as Cato, said to her in a hushed tone.

“Well, I am giving them. If his wounds are not treated soon, they will fester and he will die of infection,” she whispered in urgency.

“What do I look like to you? A charity service?” Cato laughed, and the sound grated Marcus’s ears.

“Please, just fetch me a pail of water, and do so quickly.”

Cato let out a grumbled sigh and nodded before turning on his heel and walked back the direction they had come from with little urgency in his pace. He was unsure as to why he was so willing and compliant to obey her request, but did little to question it.

Acacius sensed her presence as she knelt on the floor outside of his cell. Who was she? Why had she come? What was her purpose? Questions ran wild in his head.

She was relieved when she could just barely make out the shaky rise and fall of his chest, and the wheeze of labored breaths escaping through his chapped, parted lips. The pale moonlight from a single window in the cell, casted an eerie glow upon his severed and torn back and the stench of death permeated her senses.

He will not die tonight, this is certain. I will save him. She was determined.

“Sir!” she whispered through the stagnant air, not wanting to raise her voice enough to startle him from his rest.

Acacius, however, did not stir from his light slumber, and even when she rattled the steel bars that kept him imprisoned from her, and her from him, between her fists, he laid there, unmoving except for the slight twitch of his hand that was still outstretched, as if he had been reaching for something in the never ending darkness that consumed him.

“Acacius, please! You must—”

His eyes snapped open at the sound of his name leaving her lips like a plea, and out of reflex he immediately reached for his sword, forgetting that it was no longer on his person. He was in a daze, feeling delirious from dehydration and the unbearable pain he felt in his pulsing shoulder and in his back from the deep, exposed gashes that marred his beautiful tanned skin.

He let out a grunt as he struggled to pull himself up into an upright position from where he laid on his side. Every muscle and tendon in his body screamed at him to rest, his brain sensed danger until he whipped his head around and his hardened, and disoriented stare landed upon her.

“I mean you no harm, sir. I swear it,” her words were rushed as she wanted to reassure him that he had nothing to fear, not from the likes of her. She didn’t even have the desire to harm a mere fly.

“How do you know my name?” he rasped through clenched teeth. His voice was even deeper than she imagined, with an edge of hardened grit, but she could sense a warmth residing in his tone; hidden but unmistakable.

She opened her mouth to speak and explain herself, but Cato had poor timing and arrived with a pitcher of water and a vial of olive oil.

She tore her gaze from Marcus’s and glanced upwards at Cato with a desperate look in her eyes. “Unlock his cell.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“How am I to tend to his wounds if I am not in there with him?” she retorted.

“Di boni sint,” (Gods be good) Cato muttered under his breath and reached inside of his tunic pulling out a set of bronze keys. Acacius warily watched him from where sat.

The iron bars swung open, making a creaking sound along the hinges, and Marcus scrambled towards the wall till his back was met with cold hardness. His eyes widened with fear, and for a moment he was just a boy again and enduring the cruelty from a father who never wanted him.

“Peace, Acacius,” she said softly and rose to her feet. Her features were illuminated by the torch clasped in Cato’s hand and Marcus felt that the gods themselves were playing a cruel trick upon his already mangled brain. Surely, he was dreaming, for he had never gazed upon a maiden as beautiful as her. Was she even real? Or was she just a sick figment of his imagination? He did not notice the iron collar fastened around her dainty neck, he saw the softness in her eyes, a genuine kindness and warmth in them that he had not experienced for many years. He was awestruck.

“Gods, am I truly being blessed by Venus in the flesh?” he gasped. His eyes widened further before drooping from exhaustion. His mouth was dry, lips cracked and bleeding.

Cato couldn’t help but snicker at his delusions, but he was silenced by a stern look from her and quietly backed off.

“Leave us,” she said firmly, without looking at Cato and he retreated from the open doorway.

“Sir, I’m afraid you are mistaken. I am not the goddess Venus. I’m just…a girl,” she said quietly.

His fear manifested when she crouched down in front of him, the sincerity in her eyes did not fade, and she cautiously outstretched her hand in his direction. “I am here to help you, Acacius.”

His posture stiffened at this. His apprehension was apparent and he glowered in her direction. “I am not requiring your help, girl,” he hissed.

“You are untrusting of me, and I understand why, but if I do not tend to your wounds, they will fester and you will die,” she said soberly.

“Do you think I am not aware?” he scoffed. “Let them fester. Let me die. Why should you care what becomes of me?” he snapped.

She did not flinch or cower from his tone and her hand hovered near his reach, but he still did not acknowledge it. “I cannot allow you to die, Acacius. It is against my morals and nature.”

“Then you must be a figment of my imagination,” he muttered and turned his head to the side to stare at the wall. “Morals don’t exist here, my lady. Only suffering and death. It is only a matter of time,” he said defeatedly.

“I am as real as they come, I assure you.”

He tore his gaze from the nearest wall and looked upon her once more. He eyed her hand suspiciously, and then trailed his gaze across her face and down to her neck. His stare paused at the mark of ownership, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

“You’re just a slave to the Empire…like me,” he whispered and his hand slowly rose from his side, brushing the brass tag attached to the collar. He expected her to flinch from his touch, but she did not.

He dropped his hand back to his side and sank further against the wall with a deflated sigh. He eyed the pail of water and vial of olive oil alongside her that would be used to cleanse his wounds, if he allowed it. “You have yet to answer my question, my lady. How do you know my name? How did you know where to find me? Who sent you?” he fired off questions that were buzzing in his brain.

“No one sent for me, Acacius. I came here on my own accord after watching you bravely fight in the arena today. That is where I learned of your name.”

“I wouldn’t say I was brave,” he said humbly. He eyed the collar around her neck once more, and despite his guarded demeanor, and his engrained nature to lash out like a wounded animal, his shred of empathy extends to her. “My lady, I mean no disrespect, but the Colosseum is no place for a selfless, kind soul such as yourself. You shouldn’t be exposed to such…brutality,” he trailed off.

“Acacius, I am no lady. I am just—a common whore. My Dominus takes great pleasure in watching you and other Gladiators fight to the death. I’d even say it’s his favorite event.”

“Who is your Dominus?” his question lingered heavily in the stagnant air.

“Senator Cassius.”

“He may have labeled you as a whore, but in my eyes…I see a lady,” he whispered without understanding just how greatly she appreciated that he saw what others did not.

“You are too kind, Acacius. Your words touch me.”

His grim, hardened demeanor quickly returns in the form of a deepened scowl on his face and he leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. He inhaled a lungful of air, his chest expanding and then deflates as he released the air through his flared nostrils. “You truly should not be here. This is no place for a lady, and if something were to happen to you, I could not protect you. These chains bind me till the morning,” he said quietly and yanked on the chains that bound his ankles to stone for good measure. “You should leave immediately. Leave me to rot here.”

“Acacius, I cannot stomach leaving you here and allowing your wounds to fester. Not when you have done nothing to deserve the punishment you endured. Bravery should not be met with the cruel lash of a whip,” she reached her hand near his shoulder, to brush her fingers against his tarnished skin, but he recoiled from her touch and pressed himself further against the wall. He felt the torn skin on his back wailing for reprieve, but he grits his teeth to mask the pain.

“Bravery?” he seethed through clenched teeth. His pupils seemed to darken under the shallow guise of the pale moonlight. “My acts of mercy upon my opponent made me appear weak. As if my heart wasn’t forged in steel! As if my compassion for humanity means more than the pride I feel when my blade pierces through the hearts of my enemies! I am a gladiator. I was raised as a ruthless fighter as soon as I could grasp a sword!” he exclaimed. The whites of his eyes showed a faux fierceness, but hidden in the depths of brown, there was fear.

“I have the blood of the innocent on my hands. Killing has been ingrained in my being since I was a small boy! My duty and honor lies with the empire, to the Emperors. It is all I have ever known, and all that I will ever know,” he gritted out, but his voice wavered, trembling with each syllable spoken as if he was trying to convince himself that being a gladiator under the Emperor's rule was truly all he’ll ever amount to in life. That he would never know softness, or genuine—real love from another unfortunate soul like his own.

She felt his pain, heard it seep in through his somber tone, and saw it in his anguished expression on his rugged, gold-kissed face. He may have been a bloodthirsty warrior in the Emperor's eyes, but in her own softened gaze, she saw a frightened boy that had been broken, ripped apart by cruel hands. “No,” she said sadly, “You’re just a boy.”

Aurelia and Acacius were two sides of the same coin; slaves to the Empire and forced into a life of endless servitude, bowing at the feet of those born into riches with their fancy silks and golden adornments. Their cruel whips in their dominant hands, and overflowing goblets of wine in the other.

A heavy charged silence simmered in their close proximity. He could hear her heart beating from where he sat and the sharp inhale of breath that she took.

“Please leave me here, my lady,” he said quietly, tone deflated of any emotion. He was giving up, she was certain of it.

“Please, Acacius,” she tried one more time to break through his guarded exterior. “Let me help you.”

His feelings were conflicted, it was written across his face, between the furrow of his brows, the subtle pout of his lips, and the swirl of brown and flecks of gold in his irises. He wanted to fight against the softness inside of him that begged to be released. The part of him that he had buried for so many years. He wanted to fight it tooth and nail, barred teeth and sharpened claws ready to strike at a moment's notice, but he remembered the words his mother had spoken to him.

“There is evil, yes, but there is also light in this world, Marcus.”

Could this unnamed stranger be the light that his mother spoke of? Could she be his purpose? His reason to fight to see another day?

“Marcus,” he whispered, “my name is Marcus.”

star banner made by @saradika-graphics 🫶🏻

follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic updates and notifications

#Et Auream #chapter 2 #marcus acacius #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius fic #general marcus acacius #general acacius #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fandom #tw violence #gladiator 2 #gladiator 2 fic #gladiator 2 fanfiction #emperor geta #emperor caracalla #marcus acacius x oc

34 notes · View notes

pascalispretty · 4 months ago

Text

each man's mad desire

General Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Marcus Acacius is a conqueror. You invite him to conquer you.

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: marcus fucks a nymph, predator/prey, knifeplay, blood, thigh riding, rough sex, sorta consensual-non-consent? Reader very explicitly wants him and invites him to hunt her down. Marcus has an unfashionably huge dick.

A/N: I swore I wasn't going to write for another character from an unreleased film, yet here we are. I loved studying Classics, so there are easter eggs within for those familiar with mythology. "Nymph" is more Greek than Roman, but it's also the better-known version of the word. Barcinus is a completely made-up cognomen for him (from the Latin name for Barcelona). Ichor is a Greek concept, but too delicious not to borrow here. Big dicks really were considered unattractive - it was a sign of barbarism to have a big penis. Title from Book IX of The Aeneid. Painting is 'The Charmer' by John William Waterhouse. (ao3)

The battle is won, the men are settled, and General Marcus Acacius is restless. He wears the efforts of the day in the blood and grime and sand coating his skin, the ache in his muscles. The city is retaken. The barbarians have been slaughtered or captured. He knows he should rest.

And yet, he wanders.

The camp is close by the beach. As he walks, the sound of the army behind him fades away, drowned out by the sound of the sea. The inviting aroma of the campfires and roasting meat is replaced by the smell of salt. There are sentries out here, somewhere in the night. He pays them no mind; he wishes to be alone. Grass turns to sand underfoot and still Acacius walks on. At the edge of the sea, he pauses briefly.

Across the Great Sea, to the east, stands Rome. It’s veiled by darkness and distance, but he turns to look for it anyway. He misses it the way a loyal son misses a beloved father. Word of a great victory will travel before him, the whispers moving faster than any army can.

When he returns home, he hopes he will be warmly welcomed. Those seeking to ride his skirts into Imperial favour will doubtless fall over themselves to praise him, at least. They will preen and flatter, and he will nod humbly and thank them.

“The Gods were with me.” It is always his answer, when asked of his victories. It is a clean answer. Men praise him for his piety; they do not imagine the lives he has sacrificed, the atrocities he has committed, the horrors of sacking a city. The Gods were with him; he does not have to speak of loosing his men like feral dogs upon innocents, of slaughtering barbarian sons so they cannot grow up to seek their vengeance on Rome.

Acacius turns and walks down the beach, leaving the camp behind him. The silvery light of the stars and moon light his path along the coast. He simply enjoys being away from all others, the crash of the waves and his own footsteps the only noise he can hear. The ground to his right begins to rise, soft grass yielding to rock. He has no sense of how long he has walked for when the beach before him suddenly ends. The shoreline curves sharply inward, creating a rocky inlet.

He has no desire to turn back now. Perhaps the path reemerges on the other side. He follows the curve of the stone inward. Ahead, he can see the path sloping down towards the waterline, leading towards the dark mouth of a cave. The tide is coming in; the water at the entrance to the grotto must be at least knee-deep.

Acacius is turning to leave when he notices her.

The inlet in the rock forms a pool at the entrance to the cave. Even in the silvery moonlight, the water looks beautiful and clear. It should not surprise him that a maiden might come to bathe there, away from prying eyes.

For it is a maiden that stops him in his tracks, fixes his boots to the stone. Her back is turned to him; she is perched atop a rock, her bare feet dangling in the saltwater of the pool. Now that he is aware of her, he thinks he hears her singing over the sounds of the waves, a melody he does not recognise.

An honourable man would depart. Acacius can only see her back, but she must be noble. Her dress is so white it is almost blinding, even in the starlight. Her feet are bare, but he spies a pair of finely-wrought sandals on the rocks beside her. Certainly a noble lady then.

His mind is made up to leave.

And at that very moment, she turns.

***

You had not expected to be discovered. Perhaps you might have toyed with him if you had. You could have disguised yourself as a maiden in need of assistance, a princess cast ashore by a shipwreck. There are endless amusements to be found among the mortals.

Yet he has stumbled upon your grotto quite by accident, and from your first glimpse, he intrigues you.

Marcus Acacius Barcinus.

Something whispers his name to you; you know it as soon as you see him, just as you know he has dark hair threaded with grey. You allow a smile to play on your lips.

To his credit, this man does not move. Confronted with something so nakedly celestial, other men have lost their minds. What is it for a man to look upon the face of the divine? They do not always survive it. This one seems strong. He may yet survive you.

“Hail, noble General,” you start, turning in your seat on the rock so you may face him more directly. He is a handsome one. His lovely dark eyes drink you in from head to toe.

“You know me?” He manages after a moment. Not mad then, not yet anyway. You laugh, and he seems startled by the sound.

“I do.” Sliding off the rock you step into the water, your stola clinging to your skin. “General Marcus Acacius Barcinus, son of Gaius Acacius. Your piety is known.” He is always attentive with his sacrifices. You can smell the burning flesh and spilled wine dedicated to the heavens from here, in honour of his latest victory.

You take a few steps towards him. He’s still atop the rocky crest, almost looking down on you. You near the base of the slope, your skirts drying the moment they leave the water, and halt again. The mouth of the grotto is to your back; you can hear the lap of the waves echoing against the rocky walls.

“And which noble goddess do I have the honour of addressing?” He asks. You have many names, too many to sift through. A mortal wrote you into a poem once; you give him the name the poet gave you.

“I had not thought ever to look upon a nymph before.” There is something in the way he says it; a tone of disbelief colouring his voice. It’s as though he expects to wake up in his tent at any moment. In the dark violet light of twilight, the blood on his skin looks brown and rusty. You can almost taste the iron on the air.

“Are you content merely to look?” You ask him, a sly smile on your lips. You already know he is not. This man is a conqueror, and he is looking at you with all the intensity and desire of a man set upon conquest. He does not speak for a long moment. Perhaps he is afraid of offending you, of saying the wrong thing and finding himself transformed into a pig or sea foam.

You walk a little closer to him, emerging from the water. Closer now, the smell of him drowning out the salt of the sea. He reeks of man, of blood and sweat and such pure vitality you nearly stagger. He’s so breathtakingly alive. If all mortal men are thus, you understand why your sisters seek them out and take them to bed, even bear their children.

“I admire a man who knows how to take what he desires. A conqueror in all things,” you continue, feeling the warmth of his gaze as he watches the sway of your hips. Once you are an arm’s length away from him, you reach out. You cannot help it. He’s such a marvellous specimen of manhood, the kind that ought to be honoured with a kingdom or a divine son or his form traced in the stars.

He does not stop you when you rest your palm against the leather of his cuirass. It’s warm to the touch, whether from the heat of his body or a day of the sun beating down upon it. The black leather has a gilded woman’s face across the front; Minerva perhaps. It gives you pause. If he values Minerva and her strategies above Mars and his frenzy, he may not enjoy your games.

Nevertheless, you will not let the tastes of mortal men unnerve you. He watches you as you undo the knot at one shoulder, and wordlessly reaches to help you. Together, the two of you free him from his heavy armour. As he sets it down gently against the rock, you nearly choke on him. You can hear the thrum of his heart, smell the salt of his sweat, the iron in his blood.

You have never starved. Yet this conqueror of men is like being blessed with a feast and realising for the first time that you have been dying of hunger all your life. Freed from his heavy leathers, you step so closely to him that your glimmering white dress brushes against his filthy red tunic. You reach out to cup his jaw, enjoying the way his skin feels to your touch.

He swallows thickly, his lovely eyes searching your face.

“I want you.” He says it simply, though you know it must have taken courage. Men have died for such insults before. You let a smile curl around your lips.

“Mars himself had my maidenhead. I do not submit easily to the advances of men.” Standing on tiptoe, you lean in until your lips nearly touch the shell of his ear. “If you want me, you will have to take me.”

It’s all the prompting you give him before you turn and run.

You run down the beach, back the way he came. You have more powerful kin who could outrun him with ease, if they chose. Minerva could be a continent away in moments, if she chose. You do not have their same powers; you might be fleeter of foot than a mortal woman, but you cannot transform yourself into a swan and fly back to the heavens.

Behind you, you hear Acacius’ feet pounding against the sand. The noise blurs with the roar of his heartbeat, thumping harder as he chases you. You run faster, pulling your skirts up with one hand so they cannot tangle around your legs. It has been far too long since you felt this exhilarated. Off in the distance, you can see the lights of his camp, the torches and bonfires burning brightly in the twilight.

You lose yourself to the chase, paying the distance no mind as you race down the beach. Sand flies up beneath your bare feet, gritty under your toes as you run. Something in you wants to turn around, to see if the handsome general is still close behind you. You can hear him well enough to know he is behind you, but not well enough to gauge the distance.

You don’t look. You only run.

Even though you had invited the hunt, desperately hoping to be caught, the hand that catches your waist surprises you. He seizes you by the waist and tackles you into the sand, pinning you beneath his muscular bulk. The feeling of being trapped sends a perverse thrill racing through you, something warm stirring in your belly.

Though he has caught you, you do not give in so easily.

You thrash underneath him, trying to throw him off you. Acacius is unyielding. His large hands grip your arms; his knees squeeze at your sides. You get one arm free and bring it up. You’re not sure what you intend to do; you don’t want to break him. Scratch him, perhaps? You never get the chance to find out.

Before you see him move, he seizes your arm and pins your wrist beneath his foot. One hand flies to your throat; the other draws a dagger from its sheath and holds the point against the swell of your breast.

For a long moment, you cannot breathe. The large hand at your throat squeezes just enough to threaten a loss of air. The foot on your wrist makes the delicate bones there grind together on just the right side of pleasure-pain. And oh, the blade at your heart. The tip pierces your skin and you don’t know whether to scream or cry or vomit from the shock.

You have never been so still in your life.

When has anything mortal ever pierced your skin? When has anything mortal managed to cut through the skin of your kith and kin? You have vague memories; bandaging Mars’ side after the great spearman Diomedes struck him outside Ilium. You watch in horror and awe as a bead of ichor seeps from the pinprick wound. Mars has made you bleed before, but you never thought a mortal might draw your glittering, golden blood.

You look up at him, your conqueror. He is panting hard, but his face shows no exhaustion; only determination. His eyes are nearly black with desire, and his lovely black and grey curls are damp with sweat. Gods, you want him. You want him to hunt you down as he would a deer, to throw you down and take you like some common mortal whore.

Watching you closely, Acacius eases his grip on your throat. A man used to gauging the weakness of his enemies has seen right through you in turn. He knows you do not need air to breathe. He knows he has done something astounding in the knife at your breast. He holds it steady as he reaches beneath the skirts of his tunic, pulling at the strings of his underthings. He pulls it free with a grunt and discards it beside you in the sand.

Free from its confinement, his manhood pushes against the skirt of his tunic. Something low in your belly twists in anticipation, slick coating the insides of your thighs. Your blood feels as though it’s boiling beneath your skin as Acacius grips the fine cloth of your stola in one filthy hand.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes upon,” he tells you, in all sincerity. You tremble underneath him as he pushes your skirts up around your waist, another bead of ichor welling up around the tip of the blade.

You gasp as the metal shifts, and his eyes flick to your face. Almost lovingly, his hand wraps around your throat again.

“Do you yield?” When no reply is immediately forthcoming, he presses his advantage. The hand at your throat and foot at your wrist push harder; more glittering blood beads at your breast. The surface tension finally breaks, sending the blood dripping down towards your neck.

“I yield.” In an instant, he relaxes his hold. The foot on your wrist disappears, as does the blade. The hand on your throat remains, tipping your head up so he can kiss you. He kisses like his master, Mars; hard and demanding. You return the kiss with bruising intensity, nipping at his lower lip. It seems only fair that you make him bleed a little, in turn.

His beard prickles against your skin, and you answer it by sliding your hand into his curls and pulling roughly. Acacius groans against your mouth, crushing himself closer to you and forcing your legs apart with his knee. His muscular thigh presses against your bare cunt, the pressure sending liquid fire dancing through your body. You rut up against his thigh eagerly, your slick smearing against his skin.

Acacius notices your movements, breaking off the kiss to stare at you. The raw lust in his eyes makes you keep going, rocking your hips desperately against him. His thigh flexes between your legs, and you groan loudly. Without taking his eyes off you, his hand drifts to cup your breast, tantalisingly close to the tiny wound on your unblemished skin.

“Are you going to stab me again, slayer of men?” You ask him, tauntingly. You wouldn’t mind if he did.

“No, dear mistress. I’ll watch you debase yourself on my thigh.” Oh, you want to keep him. Your sisters have kept mortals before; you remember well the fuss around sweet Hylas, cunning Ulysses. Your conqueror finds your nipple through the fine material of your dress, the flesh stiffening beneath his fingers as he toys with you.

Your hips roll easier, faster as you sink deeper into your pleasure. Every glide becomes slicker as you soak his skin. It’s been some time since you’ve so blatantly sought your own pleasure, and you welcome it back eagerly. That familiar tension is coiling tightly in your belly and sends you spiralling higher with every movement.

Acacius watches you with fascination. His own pleasure is forgotten for the moment, though you suppose he is enjoying this. Something divine rubbing against him like a cat in heat; no man alive would believe him if he told them. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps and you clutch at Acacius’ wrist to ground yourself. He’s so solid and warm to your touch; his vitality is unlike any aphrodisiac you have ever known.

It’s not long before you come with a cry, your nails digging into Acacius’ skin as you shudder against him. The fire in your belly burns through you, the heat of it radiating out to your fingertips. It leaves you boneless beneath your conqueror. He seizes the advantage, pulling your legs wider apart to slot his other leg between them.

You struggle. Why not? It amuses you to make him manhandle you into place. He pulls your legs wider with one hand. With the thumb of the hand at your breast, he presses just below the cut. The burst of pain makes you hiss. Cowed, you let him pull your legs apart, his eyes feasting on your cunt. You must look a mess, swollen and soaked.

Acacius lets go of your leg and pulls up the hem of his tunic. He’s big, unfashionably so for his countrymen. Beads of fluid leak from the reddened tip, and he swipes them away with his thumb. He settles himself between your thighs, and you gasp when he notches the blunt head of his cock against your entrance. Without warning or reprieve, he forces his cock inside you.

You throw your head back against the sand, stars exploding against your closed eyelids as you dance along the knife edge of pleasure and pain. A deep groan rumbles out of Acacius’ throat as he presses deeper, working against your tight muscles to seat himself within you. He’s unrelenting, his length thick and twitching as it fills you.

There’s no other word for it; you wail up at the star-strewn sky, pleasure flooding through you. Your body feels too small to contain the fire being stoked inside you, deep in your core. You pull at Acacius, nails clawing, dragging him down to kiss you. His lips meet yours in a messy crash, all tongues and teeth as he finally seats himself fully within you.

He barely allows you a moment to adjust. He retreats almost fully, his cock nearly leaving you completely, before sliding back in with one fluid stroke of his hips. You’re shaken by how willingly your body accepts him, colouring any pain with so much pleasure you barely notice the discomfort. His hand finds your throat again, squeezing just enough to make you feel lightheaded.

Acacius’ incursions become sharper, harder, as he finds his rhythm. Your hands slide under the hem of his tunic to clutch at his back, your nails leaving behind tiny red crescents in his skin. Every breath you take is shared by him, your mouths so close together you can taste the wine lingering on his tongue. The two of you move together, your moans melting into one another as you fuck like animals in the sand.

It doesn’t take him long to send you over the edge again. Bliss wipes all words from your mind; you can only lie there and let your release crash over you. The ichor in your veins feels like it’s singing. Acacius looks down on you in awe, and it only drives you higher. You want to keep him. The Heroic Age is too far past; the world is lacking for heroes. Perhaps you and Acacius can make a few; handsome, strong boys, half-god children who reflect their father’s divine favour.

“Would you give me sons, Acacius?” You ask, breathless at his onslaught. Your foreheads are pressed together still; you cannot see the look on his face. He groans sharply, his hands clutch tighter at you. Is that a yes? What greater blessing to a pious man than a son born to a goddess.

He certainly shows no signs of stopping. He fucks you with the same vigour he fights with. You feel like you’re floating, high above your own body, lost completely to pleasure. Jupiter himself could command you to stop, and you’d be unable to obey. You grow restless beneath him. His hand has slackened around your throat, so you lean down to lick a line across his neck. The taste of salt and iron explodes across your tongue, so delicious that you have to force yourself not to sink your teeth in.

Acacius grunts above you, forcing you back down against the sand. His hips are stuttering; a sign that he’s close to his own release. You want to cry, want to prolong this as much as possible, but you know he has limits. Your sisters have pushed mortal men too far before; you will not make the same mistake, not with so delicious a playmate.

Instead you spur him on. Your nails dig harder into his back, making him groan sharply. His short, desperate thrusts make your eyes roll back into your skull as he touches something deep and private within you, unknown to anyone else.

“I- I must-” He starts, words failing him as he chases his release. You pepper his face with kisses, nip at his kiss-swollen lips.

“You must,” you agree. “I want you to fill me up.” You’re both breathless, barely any air between your bodies to breathe. One of your hands slides into his curls, pulling at them. You guide his head down until your lips are at his ear again.

“I could give you a son,” you whisper. “But only if you finish inside me. Claim me; mark me as yours. Conquer me.”

He tips over the edge with a loud groan, his hips stuttering as he comes. You can feel his cock twitch inside you as he does, filling you with his seed. Perhaps something might catch; he seems virile enough. You cradle his head against the crook of your neck as he catches his breath, his body heavy as he relaxes on top of you.

“Noble Acacius,” you murmur fondly, stroking his curls. “Marcus. What do you make of your new conquest?” He is quiet for a long moment. The crash of the waves fills the silence, the tide drawing closer. Soon, the two of you will have to move.

“I shall never know another victory like it.”

Taglist:

Tagging some people who might be interested: @iamasaddie (per their request for Acacius filth) @avengersfan25 @misscharlielulu @apenny4thots @its-nebuleuse

#general marcus acacius #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius fanfiction #gladiator 2

2K notes · View notes

pedgito · 4 months ago

Text

𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐕𝐄 | Marcus Acacius x reader

summary | once your dad's greatest friend, now his greatest enemy. you cannot shake the desire and care you feel for the fallen general, even as he heads toward death.

author's note | LISTEN, none of this is going to be accurate. and frankly idc, i'm horny i needed to write this do not come at me. no source material? idc i'm still writing it. anyways, enjoy the p*rn. (if you're reading this prior to the movie coming out, none of this is canon. this is just an idea that i wanted to write and felt like posting, if you do not like the idea of writing without source material, please do not engage or send me asks to be combative, they will be deleted. i won't be continuing this specific fic and will not be writing for him again until the movie comes out.)

content warning | 18+ smut, this is dbf for the gladiator girlies (gn), sneaking around, descriptions of smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, creampies, breeding kink, age gap (reader is early 20s, marcus is late 40s/early 50s), alcohol tw, innocence kink

word count —2k

You knew he would be here soon, he must.

You curled into the dark corners of the arena hall, having been here since dawn with your own father, a high military commander who struck down Marcus as punishment for such things even he wouldn’t tell you about. You knew nothing, heard nothing—you weren’t allowed such privilege.

It has been days since you last saw him—Marcus. General Acacius to many, another esteemed leader amongst the masses, and a once great friend to your father. Though, that was no longer.

You often called him sir, finding that General Acacius was quite the mouthful. Or often just General, but his endearment toward you was blatant and he insists, almost pleading that you drop the formality when alone. Which was easier, as your fondness of him grew.

It started at a celebration, one of the many grand parties thrown in celebration of fight won or any reason for the men to drink, but Marcus liked to linger. Often tucked away in a corner watching the madness unfold, you were too curious to stay locked up in your room.

The first night he caught your eye, it was a smile around the edge of his silver goblet drowning in red wine, a hand crossed over his chest as he watched you slip away in fear that he may say something to your father.

But, he never did.

For weeks after, it progresses. From a smile, to a lingering gaze, eventually he finds himself inching closer to you, week by week. Until one night he finally finds the courage in himself to be waiting by the corner you often sneak around, watching curiously.

“You are pushing it, dove.” He speaks softly, his eyes downturned to look at you from the step he was on above you, slowly inching down until he was level, “if he catches you—”

“He hasn’t,” You tell him in a clipped, hushed tone, “and you haven’t said anything. You won’t….will you?”

He bypasses the question, “Why do you come here?” Marcus curiously asks, “These men, they are—animals, if they see you dressed like that, they would not hesitate to—”

You had on a pale nightgown, thin and barely enough to cover your modesty but it was enough. The sticky, summer heat prickled your skin, formed a line of sweat across your brow and you huffed out at his words, “My father would murder them. Besides, you are not like them. So, why do you linger here?”

He was much more than a friend, closer and akin to family.

But, he had his own troubles. Stepson, a wife, he should be away caring for them. Yet, he was there with a disgruntled scowl and eyes only set on you.

“Why not?” He shrugs, “It is…quite entertaining. Isn’t that why you sneak around here to watch?”

You mimic his shrug, shying away slightly as you pull away to leave, but his hand catches your wrist, his cup placed in the gap of pillars separating you both. His facial expressions show an internal battle of thought, like he’s fighting against the bad and hoping the good would win out.

Unfortunately, the bad prevails.

“Let us walk,” He tells you, nodding toward the exit a few feet away, “if you would accompany me?”

You nod eagerly, switching the grip on your wrist to curl around his bicep, muscular and hard from years of fight training. He flexes slightly at the touch, covering his free hand over yours in a comforting gesture.

He made you feel safe. And that was all that mattered to you.

—

The walk was the first mistake.

It wasn’t more than a few minutes before you found yourself tucked away by a nearby tent, unbuckling and unfastening Marcus out of his gear hastily before he fucked you under your nightgown—gentle but firm. He was the first man, the first ever to have you in such a way. You’d told him so as your hands shook under the weight of his gaze, the taste of bitter wine on his lips. He’d kissed you as he pushed his cock inside of you and didn’t stop until you were tipping over the edge.

Over time, you grow bolder. Sneaking him back into your home was easy, knowing the guards weren’t as watchful in the late, late hours of the night. It was dangerous, reckless, but as you tug him down into the cellar and sink to your knees, it all fades away quickly.

His little dove, he often calls you. Sweet dove, so pure and innocent. His hand caresses your chin as you swallow him down, eyes locked on his half-lidded gaze before he comes down your throat, nose scrunching up slightly and his brow furrowing, biting at the back of his other hand to muffle the groan that escapes him.

It was always like this—hurried and quick fucks that didn’t diminish the feeling, but reminded you how easily you could both be caught. It continues for months…and months, until suddenly he stops coming around.

No parties, no visits—Marcus had become a ghost.

But, enough digging had led you here, tucked away in the shadows again—but watching as he fought for his life. The other man was much older, weaker, and Marcus struck him down within a matter of minutes, blood splattering across his face as he stuck again and again, bashing the poor man’s skull in until it was nothing, teeth gritting as his body surged with adrenaline.

Gladiator fighting wasn’t a new thing—and you knew he wasn’t the only one, but why?

He’s making his way down the arena toward the pillar you are tucked behind unknowingly, alone and battered as the guards run off to dispose of the body. You aren’t sure where Marcus is going now or when you would see him again, but you take the chance when you know no one is watching, grabbing him by the armor plate on his chest and pulling him away and into a dusty closet, knocking into a stack of buckets in the process.

You gasp as his hand wraps around your neck, fist cocked back in preparation of an attack.

But, then his eyes land on you.

“Dove, what are you—”

You shush him quickly, hands molding against his face and the dried blood, his breathing quick and short as you attempt to calm him.

“I had to see you—I thought…I thought you had—”

“I might as well be,” Marcus replies somberly, “we cannot meet like this. We cannot meet at all.”

“It’s fine, It’s fine–” You assure him, reaching forward to press your lips against his.

Marcus pulls away hesitantly, grabbing your face roughly until you look at him, eyes widening.

“They will kill you. I cannot see you again. I should not even be here with you.”

Your eyes well with tears, forcing yourself forward again to capture his lips and this time he allows it, opening his mouth slightly as your tongue dips inside, working silently at the buckles to his chest plate.

“No talking. Let us…enjoy this. If it is the last time.”

You were both well aware—he would fight for his life or die, that was it. And he would fight until that point came. He was no longer a General, completely stripped of his power. But, he was still Marcus. And you would hold onto that for as long as you could.

He’s shaking, the adrenaline raking his body and making him restless as you kissed him, tongue dipping into his mouth again as his hands roamed, squeezed, caressed.

“I will not break,” You whisper into his mouth, “take what you need, Marcus.”

It was all he needed to hear, turning you around swiftly and forcing your down with a hand against your back, arms pressing into the shelf in front of you as he pushed up the silk, carefully woven and intricate fabric of your dress—so pristine and perfect. He wanted to rip it off you, be he refrains, squeezing at your hips while he kneels behind you.

“Marcus, you need not—”

“Quiet, little dove. Let me have this,” He licks against your cunt hungrily, noisy slurps as he lapped you up, squeezing less than gentle at the inside of your thighs as they shook, his tongue swiping over your clit, a broken moan slipping past your lips, “beautiful—let me hear you.”

“Marcus,” You plea, his fingers joining his tongue as they breached you and drag against the soft, but incredibly sensitive spot inside of you, your hand reaching for his wrist tucked between your legs as you whined out his name once more, twice, until your legs gave out, feelings his strong, broad shoulders flexing as he used his brute strength to keep you upright, licking up the gush of fluids that leak out of you, rising with haste and untucking himself from his garments, wrapping a gentle hand around the back of your neck before he’s pulling you upright harshly.

“Want to leave you something,” He whispers against the shell of your ear, “something to remember me, if I shall never leave here. Something of me for you to carry on. Alright, sweet dove?”

You nod knowingly, as Marcus had always been careful to pull himself out before breaching that point. He was always careful, hesitant—but being on the brink of death, he found himself careless and desperate. He couldn’t let you go.

He slips inside of you with a hand tucked around your throat, pulling your back to his chest as he snapped his hips into you firmly, groaning lewdly into the side of your neck as he bit down, squeezing at your throat with every soft sound you made and you want it just as bad, forcing your hips back into every push of his cock—you were positive this pain would last you into next week, but you needed that reminder. His fingers dip into your skin, hard and uncaring and sure to leave marks, but that was what you wanted.

And his groans quickly turn needy, more high-pitched than you’ve ever heard them

He’s holding back, restraining himself. You turn your head, catching his heated gaze as he pants, your thumb tracing over his lip. His hand drags over your stomach, rests, curious of how beautiful you would look swollen and carrying his child.

It is a hopeful and distant dream, one that he will never foresee.

“Give it to me, Marcus,” You beg him, “I want it.”

It so easily undoes him, “Take it, my dove,” He growls, coming deep inside of you with a shaky thrust of his hips, squeezing you tight against him, “I think of you, always. You must know—know that.”

It pulls at your heart, tugs in a way that makes your entire body ache. He pulls out with a low grunt, silently tucking himself away as you adjust your dress.

“And I love you,” You admit, watching as his gaze pulls up quickly, “even if you cannot say it back. I know. I know you do.”

Marcus breathes harshly through his nose, crowding you once more but it is soothed by a gentle kiss, “You need to leave—do not come back here.”

“Marcus,” You counter, sadness lacing your tone.

“If, by some miracle, I make it out of here,” He drags his thumb along your jawline, pausing on his words as he looks you over, memorizes you, “I will find you.”

You nod jerkily, eyes never breaking from his, “Just like you always have.”

divider creds: @/cafekitsune

thanks to @chaotic-mystery & @pr0ximamidnight for being the absolute best friends ever and beta'ing this for me on a moments notice, ily both.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x y/n #gladiator 2 #marcus acacius smut #gladiation 2 fanficition #marcus acacius fic #marcus acacius fanfiction #my writing #ANYWAYS

2K notes · View notes

juletheghoul · 12 days ago

Text

primus

a/n: Something a little different, I am obsessed with General Marcus and the idea of him becoming a gladiator. Hope you enjoy this other world I want to live in lol, no beta and barely proofread!

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, body / breast worship-Marcus gives it so right🤤, hand-stuff - female rec'g, taking of virginity, (reader is a slave so there is a power imbalance but so is Marcus), gladiatorial violence, nothing graphic- let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 3.4k

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist

The crowd roars loud enough to deafen, the sound of it like a great wave threatening to wash you out to sea but it's nothing new, you’re used to it. The house you serve, have served since birth, has done well for itself in recent years, all thanks to one Gladiator.

Marcus Acacius, the champion of the house of Romulus.

You’d seen him come in years ago and although you had been little more than a child, even then you could see what he had been reduced to, disgraced and defeated and practically at death's door. He had fought though, Gods knew he had fought. And just as you grew and flowered into a woman, he honed his skills anew, won matches throughout the city and had transformed from the disgraced General of Rome, to a true champion of the people.

You could see it even now, watching him make quick work of the paltry opponents sent to fight him in the arena. He swatted them away like troublesome flies, and the crowd loved him for it. The cup was held out to you, just as the man in the sand raised his sword.

“He really is of a form.” One of the hosts of the games remarked about the man fighting below, and your Domina smiled proudly.

“My husband has taken him and honed him, I dare say none in Rome are his equal.”

“We shall have to see about that.” The guest chuckled, not quite convinced but your Dominus laughed, unperturbed and unconvinced.

“My wife speaks truth, my Ludus has shaped him into a God of the arena.”

They continued their friendly bickering, while you watched the man below, you couldn’t deny his allure despite being more than a few years older than you. He looked up to the pulvanis and saluted to his Dominus, to his Domina, and for a heartbeat it felt as though his eyes locked with yours.

Lightning struck in your belly, the intensity of his gaze, even so briefly made your heart race. Ghostly fingers squeezed at your heart when the opponents fell on him, cornering him until he was surrounded. Attention locked on him despite your station, the laughs and doubts of his victory wreathing through the guests you served turned your stomach.

Deaths in the arena were a guarantee, that was to be sure. Every time your Dominus secured spots for his gladiators in the games it was expected that not all would return, this felt different though. He had to survive, why, you could not be sure.

“Aha! There we are. The legend of him is proved. He is victorious, and my wife’s words are true, as always.” Your Dominus smiles, kissing his wife’s hand as the doubters grumble about luck and ill-trained opponents.

The words flow over you, the only thing that draws your attention is the man standing below you, victorious and whole.

–

“The good wine, fetch it for me girl.” The sun shines through the balcony as your Dominus congratulates the gladiators who returned to the villa victorious. His wife, your Domina, sends you for the wine while he speaks at length of their virtues, stoking the fire of survival and vanity in them.

In truth the games hold no interest for you, never had you particularly enjoyed watching men fight to the death, it was a waste and had you the choice, you would never attend another.

They cheer louder than before when you return with the heavy jug, narrowly avoiding dropping it when he turns and catches your eye once more. Marcus has been invited out of the ludus below, and up into the main house.

He is much bigger than you expect. Tall and broad enough to intimidate anyone but the most surprising thing are his eyes, they are the softest thing about him.

“I would reward you, for your victory, for the honour and wealth you have brought to this house. Name your desire and I shall see it done.”

You pour for your Domina, ears straining to hear his voice.

“You honour me Dominus.” It’s so rich, deep and full of smoke. Your main focus is on not spilling the wine.

“I confess, I have felt a desire of late.” Your ears perk up, eyes following suit and when they meet his, they’re already set upon your face.

“You want her?” Your Dominus looks to you now as well, and you feel like a piece upon someone else’s board, to be moved around at their will.

“Only if she desires me as well.” He bows his head, and despite the tiny bloom of gratitude in your chest, your Dominus laughs.

“If she is what you desire, take her. The guards will lead you to the private quarters below and you may keep her there until the morning. I will have wine and a meal brought for the both of you.” Your Dominus waves a hand and it is done. Your virtue has been gifted to a Gladiator.

Your Domina frowns, but says nothing. She merely watches as you are led away, to spend the night with the former General of Rome.

The quarters are indeed private, but meagre. A lumpy bed, a small table with two chairs, an even smaller table with a large basin full of fresh water and clean linen, and a window. The door closes and your heart jumps into your throat.

“Shall I disrobe and lay on the bed?” You reach for the hem of the tunic, silently praying that he would not be too rough. The prudent thing to do, is to get it over with.

“No, wait-“ his hand engulfed yours, stopping you from reaching down and pulling off the fabric that hides your nakedness from him.

“I would speak a while, come.” He gestures to the table and you frown.

“Do you not desire my virtue? Is that not why you asked for me?”

“Yes, well, in truth I desire your company, as well as your body. I have noticed you of late, you have grown into a beautiful woman and I find my thoughts drifting to you often. Of your voice and of your touch. I dream about you.”

Your eyes widen, shocked into silence by his confession.

“I would have you enjoy our coupling, rather than simply enduring it.” His eyes dart away from your form when the guards bring a platter laden with food and drink, and when he gestures again, you finally sit.

He takes his time cleansing himself of the grit and grime of the arena, scrubbing away until a handsome, lined face appears underneath. Once clean, and armor free he sits with you, and urges you to eat.

It is a silent, slightly tense meal. Your fraying nerves had you mostly picking at the fruit and cured meats. The flutter in your belly kept you from overfilling it.

“How long have you served in this house?” His eyes are bright, curious.

“All my life. I was born in this house.” Your fingers fiddle with the edge of your tunic.

“Are you treated well?”

“I mostly tend to the Domina, she is very kind.” Your eyes drift to the bed, and the bottom of your belly falls again to imagine what he’ll ask of you once his own belly is full.

“You spoke of your virtue, you are as of yet untouched?” His voice lowers, almost apologetic.

“Yes. Well, untouched by anyone, except myself. There have been covert kisses here and there, friendly ones with others of my station.” He says nothing, but his gaze travels the expanse of your body. The slide of them is heavy from your breasts down to the slit in your tunic. His food sits forgotten on the small plate in front of him, and now there is hunger of a different kind on his handsome face.

“Do you find me desirable?” He leans back in his chair, broad and golden from the sun. Heat blooms in your chest, filling the corners of you.

“You are kind upon the eyes, I will not lie.” He smiles at this, and the heat spreads to the place between your legs, the place he will fill soon and a shudder travels along your spine.

“Have you enjoyed my victories in the arena?”

“I confess, I do not favour the games. Watching men kill each other holds no interest for me.” He laughs, surprised yet delighted.

“And yet you live and serve in a ludus, watching gladiators come and go your whole life.”

“The Gods have their reasons, I do not presume to question my place.” You shrug, unable to stop the corners of your lips from pulling up into a shy smile.

“Perhaps it is I who is blessed to end up here, in your company.” He muses and for a moment you cannot face his direct stare. “Come, lovely one. Let us to bed.” He rises, holding out his hand for you, It engulfs yours when you accept and join him.

Butterflies swarm as he guides you to the edge of the bed, the fine hairs all over your arms and legs standing on end when those rough, calloused palms skate softly over the curve of your shoulders. His breath fans over your face as he reaches the bottom of your tunic, pulling it up and off. The urge to bring your arms up over your breasts, to reach down and cup your sex makes your hands shake.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” His hands settle on your hips, squeezing at the flesh for a moment before removing his own layers. The sight of him, naked as you, with his heavy sex hardening before your eyes makes you shiver, part nervous, part exhilarated.

When he lays you down, you part your thighs to make space for him, once again praying the pain won’t be unbearable. The confusion paints your face in a frown as he lays beside you, and not directly on you.

“I would have you wet for me before I slip inside.” His tone, his words send another shiver down your spine before he presses his mouth to yours.

You have kissed before, a soft press of your lips to another, the barest taste of their tongue between rebellious giggles in the dark. Marcus’ kiss is nothing like that. He pulls you close, turning your body to press it to his, the stiff peaks of your breasts meeting the solid wall of his chest as his tongue slips past your open mouth and tangles with your own. For a moment, it is a little awkward but he guides you, pulling away before pressing forward again, leading you in his rhythm.

Your heart races, a curious excitement pooling low in your gut, in the yet untouched place between your thighs. You press them together while he claims your mouth.

When he pulls away, his breath comes out in pants and his sex presses hot and heavy against your belly.

“Lay on your back my sweet.” He kisses your shoulder, and you obey. Now, you think, now he will shove that thing inside me and rip me in half. You swallow thickly at the thought, it is so much thicker now, too big, surely.

He presses kisses to your shoulder, trailing them down to your arm, then the side of your breast before he pulls your nipple into his mouth. The steady suck of his mouth at the hardened peak forms a direct line to your cunt, the ache in it pulling a whimper from your mouth and a huff of self-satisfied laughter from him. Your skin is shiny with his spit when he lets it go.

“Does that feel good?” His hand holds the plump of your breast, tongue flicking against the peak while you nod, mouth-open in a silent stare. “What do you feel?” He sucks at it again, harder this time and a gasp leaves your mouth.

“I feel, hot. Warm all over, and an ache–” You pull in a sharp breath when his teeth pull teasingly at the bud. He soothes with his tongue, pink-cheeked and focused.

“Where do you ache?” He lets go, smoothing his palm in the valley between before holding the other one, and worshiping it just the same.

“I ache–oh, I ache–” It’s hard to focus when he sucks at the other nipple, your thighs pressing together without your permission. He stops, eyes flitting about your face.

“Where do you ache, tell me.”

“I ache here.” He follows your hand as it cups your cunt, the soft, fine hair there soaked in arousal like you have never known. He groans to see it, and then his hand pushes yours away, slipping between your thighs to pull them apart. He leans on his elbow, muscles glinting in the soft candle light as his fingers spread open the lips of your sex, exposing your dark pink insides to his gaze.

“Your pretty little cunt is so much better than I dreamed, spread your legs for me my sweet, I would work her open to take my cock.” Your heart races, your cunt clenches and then his fingers find the crux of you. They swirl slowly around the pert, sensitive pearl of your clit. Your mouth drops open in a silent ‘O’ at the way he manipulates you.

“So wet already.” He lowers his head, lips wrapping around a nipple again as he keeps his slow, maddening circuit. Your hands grip the threadbare linen beneath you, whole body clenching as he shoves you closer and closer to a shattering climax with his slow, delicious circles.

“Doesn’t that feel good? Doesn’t that feel so good, my sweet?” He presses his lips to your neck, whispering into your ear and you nod, frantically, clenching around nothing while the edges of everything blur with the threat of pleasure. Around, and around, and around he swirls, consistent, devastating until you can almost taste it.

Your mouth forms a steady chant of yes, yes, yes, as he continues his gentle exploration between your legs, fat pearly drops of his own arousal slipping against your hip but he is in no hurry.

The ache intensifies, the slick pools at the mouth of your cunt, and it's with a final, wet swirl that your climax washes over you. Your legs clamp shut around his hand, your body folds in on itself with the strength of it but it does not stop him, two thick fingers spear into your fluttering entrance, stretching and drawing out the pleasure of it while you gasp into his kiss.

“Gods above.” You whisper to yourself as the blood pounds in your ears, the warmth of his skin, the slick, rhythmic sound of his fingers working away between your legs stoking the fire once more.

“I could spill just watching you.” He pulls his fingers out, dripping in your lust and shoves them into his mouth. “Sweet as summer wine.” He licks them clean, vulgar and sweet all at once.

Again he reaches between your legs, slipping his fingers inside once more but with his thumb swirling around the crux of you.

He brings you to climax again, more intense with his fingers inside, petting at a divine spot you’ve never touched, and again, he doesn’t stop. He repeats his movements, his tongue flicking at your nipple, or licking into your mouth, until it’s too much and you push his hand away.

“Please, no more–I cannot.” You gasp for breath, skin shiny with sweat, the spot beneath you wet where your arousal has dripped down and soaked through the linen.

He laughs softly, proud and cocky at how many times he made you fall apart under his hand.

“If you would let me, I would do that for days.” He presses another kiss to your shoulder before moving up and settling between your thighs. The nervous flutter intensifies as his cock slips between the mess he’s made of your sex.

“I think you are open enough to take me now, I will try to go slow.” He kneels back on his haunches, lifting one leg up to hold. His fingers curl around the top of your knee, your calf resting on his shoulder as he grips his cock in the other hand.

Your belly trembles, part embarrassed, part excited to be so exposed to his gaze. The blunt end of it slides through your swollen folds, coated in your slick before he notches it and it’s with a slight burn that he slips it in. Inch by inch he presses forward, molding you to accept him, shaping you to fit him like a glove.

“Gods above.” He curses low as he bottoms out, so deep you feel him in your lungs.

Your hands ache from how tightly they grip at the fabric beneath you.

With a shuddering breath he holds himself still, allowing you a moment to get used to the intrusion of him, only a moment.

A sharp thrust pulls a gasp from your lips. His grip on your leg tightens, the other hand slides up and holds onto your hip, steadying you to accept the snapping of his hips.

The flex in his arms, the strong, firm muscles of his thighs pressed up against yours, the sheen of sweat glinting on his face and on his chest, all of it only makes it better, his beauty and his obvious desire for you serve to make you leak around him. You can feel it, dripping down your ass to add to the damp spot beneath you, it collects at the base of him too, drenching the curls there.

Your pants, his heavy breathing, and the vulgar sound of his skin slapping against yours is the song of your coupling. The burn is replaced with a pleasant feeling of fullness. It is not as good as his fingers at your clit but his obvious pleasure adds to your own.

“I’m going to come, going to fuck it deep inside of you.” Sweat drips down his nose and the vision of him, so like when he’s in the arena might push you closer to another climax.

“Here it comes–” He presses your legs up, opening them wider, folding you in half while he fucks into you hard enough to make the bed shake. With a low groan, and a thrust deep enough to hurt, he swells impossibly thicker for a moment before emptying himself inside you.

He shudders, grinding himself deeper as you wince, milking himself inside your body before pulling out and falling onto the bed beside you.

You catch your breath for a moment. Surprised, and grateful that despite there being the edge of violence to his taking you, it wasn’t the brutal, awful experience you were afraid it would be. Considering your station in life, it was quite nice.

“Give me a little while, and I will be ready to take you again.” He turns and presses his lips to your shoulder again.

“Again…? You wish to take me again?” There is clear confusion threaded through your voice, but he laughs, goodnaturedly.

“Oh yes, I have you for this one night, I plan on taking advantage. Did you not enjoy it?” He rests on his elbow, head held in his palm while his other hand skates over your skin, raising goosebumps in its wake as it palms one breast, then the other.

“I enjoyed your fingers, you brought me to climax more than I ever have on my own in a single night.” You curl onto your side towards him, soaking up the warmth of his skin.

“But you did not enjoy my cock?” His hand lands on your hip, holding you there and it’s curiously exciting how much skin he can touch at once.

“It was… a lot.” He laughs, nodding for you to continue. “I liked the fullness of it, but you were very deep. I could feel you in my belly and when you spilled it was intense.” He lets out a groan before pressing forward and stealing another kiss.

“It will feel better, we have to find which position you like best. Which angle you enjoy more.” He pulls you closer, tilting your chin up for another kiss, softer this time.

“What position do you enjoy most of all?” Your hands gravitate to his chest, pressing against it to feel his heart thumping against your palm.

“I am partial to being ridden.” He smiles, lip caught between teeth and heat floods your body to know he is imagining it.

“Why do you favour it?”

“Because I like when a woman takes her pleasure from me, It pleases me, to please her.” You could see it then, his soft eyes staring up in devotion as some faceless woman rides his cock. The longer you think on it, the more that faceless woman starts to resemble you.

“I would have you like that next.” He smiles, and you smile back, nodding.

By the time the sun rises, he has taken you every way you can imagine and your sex is so sore you don’t think you’ll be able to walk without wincing.

When the guards come to take you both back to your respective places, they have to physically pull him away from you, his lips pressed against yours in a goodbye kiss.

“You are the only prize I will ever ask for.” He calls over his shoulder as you smile at him.

For the first time in your life, you are excited about the next games.

Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus acacius x female reader #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius #marcus acacius smut #general marcus acacius #general acacius #marcus acacias x reader #gladiator 2 #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius fanfiction #gladiator ii

658 notes · View notes

lokischocolatefountain · 4 months ago

Text

at last, my love has come along

Fandom: Gladiator II Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Wife!Reader Rating: PG13 Word count: 2.9k words Summary: After the end of a loveless marriage, your father finds a match for you in General Marcus Acacius. Warnings: age gap, arranged marriage, mentions of maternal and infant mortality, widowed reader, widowed Marcus, past neglect, virgin!reader. A/N: Marcus Acacius has me in a chokehold and he knows I like it. This is a second look at the characters from home in three days, do not wash but happens earlier. You can read them in whatever order you wish. Title stolen from Etta James' At Last.

“What is he like? The Dominus?”

“He is very kind,” said one of the girls who worked on your toga. You nodded, the pearls in your earrings brushing against your skin and making the hairs on your body stand upright.

“What of my hair?”

“What of it, Domina?”

“The sun has already set. You said the Dominus will be home soon,” you said, fidgeting with the silk fabric that your sisters had presented you with before you began your travel from your village to the city. Something that would help you fit in better with the fashionable ladies and not make your husband, the General, look bad in society’s eyes.

It was not for lack of wealth that you did not own many luxurious fabrics. Only that such things did not reach your village easily and your father, despite his place in the Senate, never brought the right things home. Not for a lack of love for you and your siblings but a lack of taste in women’s clothing and jewelry.

You thought as a young girl of only fourteen that your husband, the first one, would bring you the soft silks and lustrous gold unlike your father. But he did not even bring himself home. You had been married off through letters exchanged between him and your father. It took two of living in his mansion and raising his two children from his last marriage before he finally came home. And when he did, he did not act as a husband should. Not how your older sisters told you he ought to be.

When Consus passed, you mourned not as a wife but as a friend.

“The dominus prefers unbraided hair,” the girl standing behind you said. You nodded, registering the information in your heart. You wanted to know all that there was to know about him before he even arrived. Perhaps then you would be pleasing enough to have a fate different from your last marriage.

It had been all but a year since you were widowed that your father brought you news that you would be wed to a General who lived in the capital. There was no wedding for you even this once. A repeat of your last fate. You had resigned to never knowing your husband when you reached his grand home and spent your night with servants rather than his bed.

How foolish you were to hope.

But the situation changed for the better quite suddenly when you received word that General Acacius was returning from his travel soon. You expected that the news would calm your nerves but it somehow achieved the opposite. Fear.

When the girls were happy with how they had decorated you for your husband’s eyes, they led you to his chambers. They left you there alone to stew in your anxieties about how the night would fare. The quiet of the night did not help matters. All that filled the space was the tides of the sea and the occasional clinking of your bangles as you fidgeted with your dress.

It was all you yearned for in your last marriage, a night of intimacy as a husband and wife should. But now that you were at the precipice of getting what you wanted, dread filled your chest. You’d heard from your older sisters and servants what it was like to lay with a man. From their stories, it did not seem enjoyable. Not for women. It was only something to bear for the sake of having children. And all you wanted was to have children.

You loved Consus’ children of course. They were all you had in the lonely life you led with him. But they were taken from you soon, married off or sent to battle in many campaigns. And you wanted your own children. Have what your brothers and sisters had. Hold your newborns in your arms and raise them from their first breaths rather than from the middle of their childhood.

In your fantasizing of motherhood, you had completely forgotten that you had to be bed by your husband to become a mother. You had forgotten your sisters describe how painful it would be the first time a man took you. If one’s husband was a barbarian with a big cock, it would hurt each time although not as much as the first. A servant girl told you that she had the luxury of a kind husband who would not touch her if she said she was feeling unwell. But there were also husbands who would beat their women for refusing to perform their marital duties when asked.

Your thoughts grew louder and louder in your head until you couldn’t hear the ocean anymore. And you most certainly did not hear when the doors opened and your husband entered. When you perceived his presence, he was already sat by you. When he spoke your name, your heart nearly jolted out of your chest.

He laughed softly and looked you over with a smile on his plush lips. The candle lights illuminated his golden skin and the strands of gray that interspersed his dark hair. The candle on his other side shone bright to highlight his silhouette, his aquiline nose standing bold, characteristic of a valorous man. The sight had you transfixed and you wondered if his godlike visage aided him in battle. If it distracted his enemies long enough for him to slay them.

He reached his hand out to yours, brought it up from your lap and placed a kiss on your fingers. He looked up at you from your fingers, his brown eyes drawing you in like Cupido himself was pulling your strings like a marionette.

“I have kept you waiting for long.”

Not as long as Consus did. But you kept the comment to yourself. You’d never come close to a marital bed but something told you that men did not want to hear about a woman’s previous husband.

You spoke for the first time in his presence. “You are an important man. I understand.”

He smiled, dropping your hand to the space between you but not leaving it. His hand was rough from battle yet gentle in touch. It enveloped yours, exuding a soft dominance like the rest of him did. He was quite large and you winced internally, hoping that it did not translate to his size elsewhere. Did your sisters ever tell you about the relationship between the size of his man and his manhood? You couldn’t quite remember.

“Have the servants made the home comfortable for you? It has been quite a while since this home had a domina.”

You nodded and licked your lips, wishing you could run out to fetch some water for your drying mouth. “It is comfortable. And very beautiful. I have never seen the ocean before.”

“There is nothing like the peace the sound of the waves brings. Nothing like the cool breeze at night and relaxing on the balcony to indulge in the stunning blue expanse.”

“The sight of the ocean when the sun sets is truly incomparable. I spent many evenings mesmerized by it.”

Like magic, the pressure in your lower belly disappeared. You spoke about the beauty of Rome and indulging in it. He put you at ease, drawing smiles out of you, each one wider than the last. But you had a way of finding something to torture yourself over. As you exchanged details about your past, you blurted the question out.

“Am I to your liking?”

“You are beautiful. Worthy of the praises your father sings of his younger daughter in the senate. And at banquets. The bathhouses and libraries and markets. Rome does not know your name but she knows you.”

“I…” you swallowed, relieved that he found you beautiful but afraid for everything else to come. You were inexperienced but even you knew that beautiful faces were not enough to be an adequate wife. It was not adequate for Consus and you did not want a repetition of that with the General. “I do not know what you require in a wife. But I will learn. I have kept my hair out of braids. I learned that you prefer it that way. I will learn everything else too.”

Please allow me to learn. Do not discard me for my inadequacies before I have the opportunity to prove myself.

“Your father also described you as dutiful. I see he was right.”

“Stand up,” he said and took your hand once again, guiding you to stand in front of him. “Undress. Let me see you.”

He leaned towards the headboard of the bed, relaxing with his arm draped over it as he looked at you. You felt your heart thud like a galloping horse on the battlefield. Like a good soldier would, you persisted into your own battle and undid the ties and clasps that kept your clothes in place. He sat back, exuding power with his broad shoulders, wide chests and thick thighs spread apart.

Something about the situation made you feel like cattle in the market being evaluated by customers. Did the cows feel the way you did? Did they wonder as they were purchased if they would be slaughtered for meat or kept to be bred and milked? At least they had the peace of mind knowing that the man who bought them was satisfied with his purchase.

The General hadn’t seen you before he took you for a wife.

Silk pooled around your legs and the cold breeze he’d waxed poetic about caressed your skin. The cold and the shame of being bare in front of a man persuaded you to cross your arms over your chest. You kept your eyes on the ground, focusing on his feet and yours being so close together.

You jumped when his hand grazed your elbow but refused to look at him for fear of what you would find. Disappointment? Disgust? Anger? You could not fathom which would be the worse outcome.

“Do not hide from your husband,” he said, gently prying your arms apart. Arms by your side, you dug your fingernails into your palm to keep from covering yourself again. Consus never laid a hand on you— never bedded you, never hit you. The General had been sweet so far, but you did not know who he was and what he did when angered.

He held your hip and caressed your soft skin with his calloused hand. You inhaled sharply, overwhelmed by the proximity of his hand to your core. You pressed your thighs together, your feminine demureness anxious to keep your most intimate parts hidden from men’s eyes.

“Turn around. Slowly,” he said, guiding you by your hips. As soon as you faced away from him, you brought your hands back up to cover your breasts. He did not seem to notice as his hand trailed down to your rear and grabbed your flesh in both hands. You whimpered, feeling somehow more exposed though you had not become more naked.

“Beautiful…” he hummed as he rotated you to face him once again. You dropped your arms to your sides as though you had touched a hot pot, his instruction ringing in your ear.

“And obedient… I could not have chosen better. Now show me what you can do, girl.” It was enough for you to finally look up at him. There were none of the expressions you feared you would see. He looked quite relaxed and you were afraid you would ruin that with your ignorance of what you were to show him.

“I will do anything you ask,” you answer meekly, hoping he would tell you exactly what he wanted you to do. Hoping he would instruct you every step of the way.

“Show me how you will serve me.”

You swallowed, thinking through every bit of information your sisters and servants had given on pleasing a man. It all came down to obedience, to lying down and taking what your husband gave you. Were you supposed to do something else?

“P-please,” you whispered, the world distorted as it spilled from your trembling lips. “Show me what I should do.”

He stood up, startling you and forcing you to take a step back. He placed a hand on your lower back and caressed gently like you did a litter of feral kittens when you were a girl.

He placed a finger under your chin and nudged you to look up at him. “Nothing you should do, beautiful girl. I only want what you want to do.”

“I have never…” you trailed, shaking your head in denial. “I am still chaste,” you blurted out. He froze in place, deep brown eyes boring into you.

“Your father said you were a devoted mother.”

“To Consus’ children. Borne by his first and second wives. After his second wife died in childbirth, he— I raised the children.”

“You do not want children of your own?”

“I do!” You exclaimed quickly, afraid this life would be taken from you once again. You kept silent throughout your marriage and you couldn’t do that again. Not if it meant your womb staying barren. “I do. Consus, he— both his wives before me died in childbirth and the children— he did not want them to lose another mother. So he never touched me. I am chaste.”

“Your father did not tell me.”

“I did not tell him. Consus wrote to my family that I lost pregnancies. Had my father known that he was— that we did not live as a married man and woman— he would have had me divorce him. Consus did not want that for the children and I could not tell my family the truth until he passed. Please… If my father believed I could not bear children, he would not have arranged for our marriage.”

You naively believed your father would have informed the General of your predicament. Giving one’s daughter to a man when you believed her barren was no small slight. Your felt as though a stone had lodged itself in your throat. You had just doomed yourself and your father. He could march up to the senate come sunrise. Humiliate your father. Take his sword to his neck. All because you were too foolish to know how to please a man.

“What of you?”

“What of me?” You asked, confused. He took your hands in his and guided you to sit on the bed. He joined beside you.

“Why did you remain loyal to such a loathsome man? One who besmirched you to your family rather than admit to his deficiencies as a man?”

“I was young and foolish. When I realized that he would never give me children, I… he had already lied enough to my family about my—” you stopped and shook your head. There was no need to speak ill of the dead man. No need to remind yourself how your barrenness made you the laughing stock of the village. “I resigned myself to the fate the gods had chosen for me. And I grew to love his children as my own.”

“I want more children. I ha— all my sons are dead, a few daughters too.”

You nodded, your chest clenching from the pained look in his eyes. It was universal. Almost everyone who’d had children had lost children. But the pain never subsided. You’d seen it in your sisters, noble women of the highest ranking, in servants and slaves. The first time in a General.

“I want to have children.”

He smiled and nodded before picking up your linen stola from the ground and wrapping it around you. He cupped your cheek, his hand engulfing the entirety of your face. He tilted his head, a soft sigh escaping his lips as his eyes bore into yours.

You leaned closer to him, praying you remembered how to kiss from the few times with a servant girl when you were only thirteen. Anticipation and anxiety had your heart racing together. When he finally touched his lips to yours, he quietened every anxiety, leaving only excitement behind. You placed a hand on his armor, the hardness of the metal underneath the leather contrasting the softness of his lips. Your other hand moved of its own accord, finding the nape of his neck. His soft curls tickled your fingers and he sighed into the kiss.

He traced your lips with the tip of his tongue and you opened up, welcoming him. A sense of calm settled in you as you explored each other. In his arms, you found safety for the first time since your arrival. His lips coaxed you to the gates of heaven and you followed as you imagined soldiers followed your General into war. With some fear of the uncharted territory yet brave because they trusted his leadership.

When you pulled away from each other, something felt changed. He no longer felt like a stranger. Something in his eyes, an openness inviting you into his life.

The ravages of war and time were evident in his features. A scar on the bridge of his nose perhaps from a time he came too close to his own end. His skin was spotted with marks from the sun. His eyes were soft not from the naïveté of youth but from seeing the harsh world. His golden skin peeked from under his beard decorated with a few grey flecks. You caressed a patch of skin where his beard did not grow.

Not an hour had passed since you met him but in his embrace, glancing into his eyes, you knew life would be peaceful.

Follow and turn notifications on on @chocofountain-notifs to be notified when I post. Find my other PPCU fics here.

#marcus acacius #general marcus acacius #general acacius #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x y/n #marcus acacius x female reader #Marcus acacius x ofc #gladiator 2 #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius fic #pedro pascal character fanfic #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 fanfiction #gladiator 2 fic

1K notes · View notes

stylesispunk · 1 month ago

Text

"Shadows of the love under the laurel"

Marcus Acacius x fem!reader

Summary: In the shadows of the Roman Empire, you, a devoted servant, discover love with the honorable General Marcus Acacius. You both navigate the treacherous current of social expectations when a looming marriage comes to risk everything.

w.c: 13k.

warnings: themes of slavery and servitude, forbidden love, mentions of anxiety, mentions of blood, angst, fluff, poorly written smut, no proofreading.

a/n: I don't know what to write in here, but this one was a request by @negrita2345 i hope I did it justice and I hope you all enjoy it and share your thoughts with me because I really love to read your comments and thoughts. They make my day, so thank you in advance! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💌 happy reading 💌✨

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

The sound of the iron gate clanged shut behind you, a cold finality to another day of servitude. You knew that sound well, it was the only sound you had known since you were born, clamoring as a death knell, just reminder of your place in the world. You didn’t even own your freedom, yet you belonged to everyone who had put their hands on your skin or had thrown daggers at you. As a servant, your life was nothing but an endless circle of command shouted from faces that never bothered to learn your name. They simply called you “girl.”

In your twenty-three years, you had learned to endure the sting of insults, the cruel hands that shoved you from one task to another, and the stares that stripped all your dignity. Respect was something that didn’t exist for someone like you, born in the shadows of Rome’s grandeur. You were a property, a tool to serve, to scrub, to clean, and to remain unseen.

And today was no different. You had been sold again.

The place you now found yourself in was the biggest you’d seen. The walls were taller than the marble floors polished to a gleaming white that made your hesitant to step across them. A legion of other servants moved like silent specters, each one avoiding you gaze as you were ushered through the grand halls. It was as though no one acknowledged the arrival of new blood. In their world, new servants were as replaceable as the jugs of wine they carried.

As you moved through the villa, you hear whispers-murmurs of the man who ruled this place. General Marcus Acacius, a name that belonged to a man who had gained respect and admiration. He was no ordinary master, it seemed. He was a warrior, a man who had earned his position through conquest and battle. A man who stood close to the Emperor himself.

Your stomach knotted at the thought. Men of power, you had learned, were often the cruelest. The more they gained, the more they needed to remind those beneath them how little they mattered. You could only hope that Marcus would be indifferent—that he would not notice you at all.

“Girl, this way.”

A sharp voice broke your thoughts. One of the older housekeepers, her face lined with age and wear, beckoned you down a side corridor. It was darker here, the sunlight from the Roman skies barely reaching the shadowed walls. The keeper’s voice softened as you walked.

“You’ll serve General Acacious directly,” she said. “He’s… not like the others.”

You glanced up, surprised by the odd tone in her voice. You weren’t sure if the keeper meant it as a warning or a reassurance, but you nodded nonetheless, keeping your eyes lowered. You approached a set of heavy doors, carved with intricate symbols and flanked by tall, stoic guards. The keeper gestured toward them.

“The general is inside. Speak only when spoken to. He does not tolerate foolishness.”

With a final nod, the keeper disappeared down the corridor, leaving you alone. You stood for a moment, the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest. There was no telling what awaited you on the other side of those doors. You swallowed hard, brushing a strand of dark hair from your face before you stepped forward.

The guards opened the doors without a word, and you found yourself in a large, open room filled with the smell of burning incense and leather. It was dimly lit, the sunlight creeping through narrow windows high above, casting long shadows on the ground. Your gaze lifted, and then you saw him.

Marcus.

General Marcus Acacius stood by a table, bent over a map with a furrowed brow. His armor was still strapped across his broad shoulders, and the crimson cloak draped over his back gave him the appearance of a man who had just come from battle. He was taller than you had imagined, his presence commanding without a single word. His dark hair was cropped close, and his sharp features bore the marks of someone who had lived a life of discipline and war.

For a long moment, he did not acknowledge your presence. You stood still, your heart pounding as you waited for his command, for the words that would decide the course of your life here.

Finally, he looked up, his dark eyes locking onto yours. There was something in his gaze that startled you, not precisely cruelty, but something else. Something you couldn't quite name.

"You are the new servant?" His voice was low, measured. He didn’t shout like the others.

"Yes, General," you replied softly, lowering your eyes to the floor as was expected.

He watched you for a moment longer, and you could feel his gaze lingering on you, almost burning. It was as though he was seeing something in you that others had never cared to look for.

"Good," he said at last, turning back to his maps. "You will serve me directly. Be quick. Be silent. That is all."

His words were not cruel, nor were they kind. They were simple, matter-of-fact. You let out a quiet breath, your heart still pounding in your chest. You turned to leave, but something held you in place, a curiosity that stirred within you, a question you did not dare ask aloud.

What kind of man was General Marcus Acacious?

As you left the room, the weight of your life as a servant settled back onto your shoulders, but there was something different now, something you had not expected. It was faint, a flicker of warmth in the cold corridors of your mind.

In the days that followed, you learned what it meant to serve Marcus Acacius. His world was orderly, precise, and unyielding. He expected his servants to move with quiet efficiency, anticipating his needs before he voiced them. There was no room for error, but unlike you previous masters, there was also no room for cruelty. Mistakes were met with silence, not blows. It was a strange sort of mercy, one that left you both relieved and on edge.

You were tasked with attending to the general’s quarters, a task that placed you in close proximity to him every day. You polished his armor, prepared his baths, and ensured that the scrolls and maps he studied late into the night were neatly arranged. He rarely spoke to you, and when he did, it was brief and to the point. Yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he noticed you in a way no one else had.

It was in the quiet moments between orders that you caught fleeting glimpses of the man behind the title.

One afternoon, as you were cleaning his quarters, you heard a faint groan of pain. Startled, you looked up to see Marcus standing by the window, his hand gripping his side. His face was tight with discomfort, though he said nothing.

You hesitated, unsure if you should speak. “General… are you hurt?”

His eyes flicked toward you, the sharpness in them softening just slightly. For a moment, you thought he might ignore your question, but then he spoke.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice strained. “An old wound. It… flares up from time to time.”

He didn’t offer more, and you knew better than to pry. Yet, something in his tone—a vulnerability you hadn’t heard before made you want to help.

Without thinking, you set aside your cleaning cloth and moved toward him. “I could bring you something… some herbs. For the pain.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, surprised by your boldness. “You know of such things?”

“My mother… she was a healer,” Your replied quietly, your eyes downcast. “Before…” You trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. The silence filled in the gaps—before you were taken, before you became a servant.

He watched you for a long moment, as if weighing your words. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. Bring it.”

You hurried to the kitchens, your heart pounding. It was the first time Marcus had allowed you to do anything beyond your usual duties. As you gathered the herbs your mother had once shown you, the ones that could ease any pain and swelling, you thought of the strange connection you had felt in that moment. It wasn’t just your desire to help him. It was something deeper, something unspoken that passed between them.

When you returned to his quarters, Marcus was seated at the edge of his bed, the tension in his shoulders evident. You approached cautiously, mixing the herbs into a small vial of oil, then holding it out to him.

“You need to apply it to the wound,” you explained, your voice barely above a whisper. “It should ease the pain.”

Marcus took the vial from you, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. His touch was warm, surprising you. Your eyes met, and in that fleeting second, you felt an unfamiliar flutter in your chest—a burn you quickly buried.

“Thank you,” he said, his tone sincere. It was a small word, but coming from a man like Marcus, it carried weight.

You bowed your head, stepping back as he stood and moved to apply the oil himself. You returned to your work, quietly cleaning the room, but your mind was elsewhere. You had never thought much of men, especially men of power. To you, they were all the same: cruel, indifferent, obsessed with their own glory. Yet, Marcus was different. He was distant, yes, and bound by duty, but he was also… something else. There was a complexity to him, a quiet pain that you couldn’t quite understand.

As the days passed, you found yourself watching him more closely. You noticed the way he carried the weight of command, his posture rigid, his eyes always alert. He was a man constantly at war, not just with the enemies of Rome, but with himself. You saw it in the way he would stare out the window late into the night, lost in thought, his fingers drumming against the hilt of his sword as though preparing for a battle that had not yet come.

And then, one evening, everything changed.

It was late, the rest of the household quiet, and you were tidying the general’s quarters as he sat by the hearth, reviewing maps of distant lands. The flicker of firelight cast shadows on his face, making him appear both weary and resolute. You were just about to leave when he spoke, his voice low and thoughtful.

“Tell me,”He said, following by the use of your name for the first time. “How did you come to be here? In this life?”

Your breath caught. No one had ever asked you that before. No one had ever cared to. You hesitated, unsure if you should answer, but the look in his eyes was not one of command. It was curiosity. Genuine, quiet curiosity.

“I was born into it,” you replied softly. “My mother… she was a healer in a small village outside of the city. But when the soldiers came, they took us. I was just a child then. I don’t remember much before it.”

Marcus’s gaze lingered on you; his expression unreadable. “And your mother?”

“She didn’t survive long after that. She grew sick, and no one would help her.”

There was a long silence after that, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. You stood there, your hands clasped in front of you, waiting for him to dismiss you. But he didn’t. Instead, he sighed, a sound so faint you might have missed it had you not been standing so close.

“Life in Rome is rarely kind,” he said, his voice distant. “Even for those who believe themselves fortunate.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You simply stood there, watching as the general seemed to wrestle with thoughts he could not or would not speak aloud. Finally, he shook his head, as if clearing his mind, and looked at you once more.

“You may go,” he said, his tone once again that of a man in command. But there was a softness to it now, something that hadn’t been there before.

You bowed and left the room, your heart pounding. As you walked down the dark corridors of the villa, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you, that the lines separating servant and master had blurred, if only for a moment.

Weeks passed, and Your role in Marcus’s household became routine, yet far from ordinary. You had served many masters before, but none like him. There was a strange rhythm to your interactions now, a wordless understanding that passed between you in brief glances and moments too fleeting for anyone else to notice. Marcus was still the general, the powerful, untouchable figure, but there were cracks in his armor that only you seemed to see.

The changes were small at first. A few words exchanged at the end of the day, a subtle shift in the way his eyes lingered on you when you thought he wasn’t looking. It was during one such moment, late in the evening, that your quiet bond deepened.

You were clearing away the remains of his evening meal, the room lit only by the soft glow of a single oil lamp. Marcus sat at his desk, writing a letter, his brow furrowed in concentration. You moved silently, careful not to disturb him. But as you turned to leave, your hand brushed the corner of the table, knocking over a small cup.

The sound echoed in the stillness.

Your heart leaped into your throat. You had been so careful, always careful. You froze, waiting for the rebuke, the sharp words you had heard from other masters a hundred times before.

But instead of anger, Marcus’s voice came, calm and even. “It’s alright. Leave it.”

You paused, your fingers trembling as you stooped to pick up the cup, determined not to disobey. But as you did, Marcus spoke again, his tone softer this time.

“Do you always expect punishment so quickly?”

You straightened slowly, unsure how to answer. “It’s what happens when mistakes are made, General,” you replied quietly, your eyes still downcast.

Marcus stood, his towering frame casting long shadows in the flickering lamplight. He approached you slowly, the silence between you thick with unspoken words.

“Not here,” he said, his voice low. “You don’t have to fear that here.”

His words, though simple, carried a weight that you weren’t prepared for. For a moment, you dared to look up at him, meeting his eyes. There was something in his gaze—a gentleness that you had never expected to find in a man like him. It made your chest tighten, and you quickly dropped your gaze again.

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t know what kind of men you served before, Mea Columba, but cruelty… it does not make a man stronger. It only makes him feared.”

He was quiet for a long time after that, standing just a breath away from you. You could feel the heat of his presence, the nearness of him unsettling but not unpleasant. You could sense the tension in the air, something unspoken hanging between you like a thread stretched too tight.

“You deserve better than that,” he said finally, his voice almost too soft for you to hear.

Your heart raced, your thoughts a tangled mess. How could he say such a thing? You were nothing more than a servant, a slave, how could someone like him believe you deserved anything at all? But in his words, you heard the truth of what he felt, and it terrified you as much as it filled you with something dangerously close to hope.

Before you could reply, before you could make sense of the moment, the door creaked open, and a soldier entered the room, interrupting them. Marcus immediately stepped back, his expression shifting into the impassive mask of the general once more.

“General Acacius,” the soldier said, bowing. “The emperor has requested your presence tomorrow. Urgent matters to discuss.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “Very well. Inform the Emperor I’ll be there.”

The soldier bowed again and left the room, leaving you and Marcus standing in the silence. The air between you had changed, something fragile, something delicate had passed between you, but neither dared acknowledge it.

“You may go” Marcus said, his voice once again composed, though you could sense the tension beneath it. “Get some rest.”

You bowed quickly and left the room; you heart still pounding in your chest. As you walked back through the dim corridors, you replayed his words in your mind

“You deserve better”

and wondered how dangerous it was to believe them.

You hadn’t expected him to say your name, less to hear a name with such affection from him It startled you, but in a way that made you feel seen, in a way that sent warmth through you despite the cool evening air.

“It’s all I’ve known,” you whispered, barely able to speak the words.

Days passed in a quiet blur, and the memory of that evening lingered between you, heavy and unspoken. Marcus was the same outwardly, maintaining his stoic demeanor in front of his soldiers, the senators, and his household. Yet, when he looked at you, when your eyes met across the room during your brief encounters, you could feel the shift in him, the way his guarded exterior faltered for just a moment.

It was in these fleeting moments that you began to understand the gravity of what was growing between you. You had never been close to a man before, not like this. Your world had always been one of shadows, of quiet obedience. But now, Marcus’s presence lingered in your thoughts, his words echoing in the stillness of your nights.

"You deserve better."

You couldn’t stop hearing it. And it frightened you. How could someone like him, someone with power, command, and the loyalty of an empire, care about someone like you, a servant who had spent her life in the background? The idea felt dangerous, as though it could upend everything you knew, yet it was there, undeniable.

The tension between you simmered, growing with each passing day. You never spoke of that moment again, but it hovered between you, thickening the air whenever you were alone.

One afternoon, you were attending to the general’s chambers when he returned earlier than expected from the training grounds. His tunic was damp with sweat, the edges of his dark hair clinging to his forehead, and a fresh bruise marked his arm.

He entered the room quietly, not saying a word at first, watching as you busied yourself, you’re your work. You tried to remain calm, to focus on your duties as you had always done, but the awareness of his gaze unsettled you. Finally, Marcus broke the silence.

he said your name, almost sounding hesitant.

You turned to face him, your heart quickening at the sound of your name. He had been saying it more often lately, and each time it carried a weight that made your pulse race. “Yes, General?”

For a moment, Marcus seemed to struggle with himself, his expression hard to read. He took a step closer, the air between you humming with tension. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, though the statement felt more like a question. “Are you… well?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. “I am, General. I—” You hesitated, unsure how to respond. The truth was, you had been keeping your distance, afraid of what might happen if you let yourself grow any closer to him. “I’ve just been… busy with my tasks.”

His eyes searched yours, as though he could see past your words to the truth beneath them. “You don’t have to keep your distance, mea columba,” he said quietly. “Not from me.”

The words sent a shiver through you. You wanted to step back, to remind yourself of your place, but something in his gaze held you still. There was a tenderness there, a vulnerability that you hadn’t expected to see in him.

“I’m only a servant,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You… you don’t have to concern yourself with me.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, and he took another step toward you, closing the distance between you. “You’re more than that,” he said, his voice firm but soft. “You’re more than what this life has made you.”

Your breath caught. You didn’t know what to say, how to respond to the depth of his words. You had spent your whole life believing that your worth was measured by your service, by how invisible you could make yourself. But Marcus… he saw you. And it terrified you as much as it filled you with warmth.

“You deserve more than this life, mea columba” Marcus continued, his hand lifting ever so slightly as if he wanted to reach for you but stopped himself. “More than this… than the way others have treated you.”

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. You couldn’t let herself believe in what he was saying. It was impossible. He was a general, bound by duty and honor to Rome. And you were, no, you had to be nothing to him. Anything else was too dangerous to even imagine.

“Please,” you said, almost pleading, “don’t say such things. I can’t…” You trailed off, your words caught in your throat.

Marcus’s eyes softened, the hard edges of his face relaxing just slightly. “I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know we can’t… but it doesn’t change how I feel.”

The admission hung in the air between you, raw and real. Your heart pounded, your mind reeling from the weight of his confession. You wanted to step forward, to reach out and touch him, to tell him that you felt the same—that his kindness, his quiet strength, had stirred something in you that you had never thought possible.

But she couldn’t. The world wouldn’t allow it. He was a man of power, and you were a servant. Their lives were too different, their paths too far apart.

And yet, standing there in the quiet of the room, with only the soft flicker of candlelight between you, it felt as though the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving only the two of you in the stillness.

Marcus reached up, his hand trembling ever so slightly as it brushed against your cheek. You gasped at the touch, your skin tingling under his fingertips. It was the first time he had touched you like this, softly, tenderly, as though you were something fragile and precious.

“I wish things were different,” he murmured, his thumb gently caressing the curve of your jaw.

You closed your eyes, leaning into the warmth of his hand despite yourself. You knew you shouldn’t, knew that this moment could only lead to heartache, but you couldn’t stop herself. “So do I,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

For a long moment, you stood there, suspended in the silence, the weight of your unspoken feelings pressing down on you. But then, just as quickly as it had begun, Marcus pulled away, his hand falling to his side. The mask of the general slipped back into place, his expression once again composed, though his eyes still burned with the emotions he couldn’t voice.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, stepping back. “I shouldn’t have—”

You shook your head. “No, it’s… it’s alright.”

But it wasn’t. You both knew it.

“You should go,” Marcus said, his voice rough with regret. “We… we can’t.”

You nodded, though your heart ached. “Goodnight, General.”

You turned and left the room, your heart heavy with the weight of what had just happened.

The days that followed were unbearable. You tried to go about your duties as usual, but you couldn’t shake the weight of Marcus’s words, the feel of his hand against your cheek, the unspoken desire that lingered between you. It haunted you in the quiet moments, in the stillness of night when you were alone with your thoughts.

And you could see it in him, too.

Every glance you shared, every brief exchange, held a tension that had not been there before. Marcus’s eyes lingered on you longer than they should, his gaze filled with something he dared not speak aloud. You could feel the conflict within him, the struggle between his duty and what lay deep in his heart.

One afternoon, as you were preparing the general’s chambers for the evening, you heard footsteps behind you. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was. You could feel his presence, the energy in the room shifting the moment he entered.

“Columba” he said softly, his voice different from the tone he used with anyone else. There was no command in it, no expectation—just a quiet plea.

You turned to face him, your heart already racing at the sound of your nickname on his lips. He stood in the doorway, his posture rigid, yet his eyes betrayed him. They were filled with the same turmoil that had been building between you for weeks.

“General,” you said, your voice steady though your heart was anything but.

He stepped forward, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. “Marcus,” he corrected, his gaze fixed on yours. “When we’re alone, please… call me Marcus.”

The intimacy of his request made your chest tighten. You had spent your life addressing him with titles, always reminding herself of the distance between you, but now… now he was asking you to cross that distance, to meet him as something more than a servant.

“Marcus,” you repeated softly, the word feeling foreign yet familiar on your tongue.

A small smile touched his lips, but it was strained. He walked slowly toward you, his movements careful, as though he was afraid to shatter the fragile space between you. When he stopped just a step away from you, you felt the air grow thick, the unspoken emotions pressing down on you both.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Marcus said, his voice low and rough with honesty. “I’ve tried… I’ve tried to bury it, to remind myself of who I am, of what’s expected of me. But every time I see you, every time I hear your voice… it’s like I can’t breathe.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. You had never imagined a man like Marcus, a man of such power and command, could feel this way about you. You had always been invisible, always kept in the shadows. But with him, you felt seen. And that terrified you.

“Marcus, we can’t…” You shook your head, your voice trembling. “You know we can’t. You’re a general. You serve Rome. I’m nothing more than a servant.”

“You are not nothing,” Marcus said sharply, his eyes flashing with a rare intensity. He reached out and gently grasped your wrist, his touch sending a jolt through you. “Don’t ever say that. You are everything I—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening as if he were trying to restrain words he couldn’t say.

Your heart pounded in your chest. You could feel the heat of his hand on your skin, the warmth of his breath as he stood so close. Every instinct told you to pull away, to remind him of the impossibility of this, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t deny the pull between you, the feelings that had been growing in your heart, no matter how forbidden they were.

“Why me?” you whispered, your voice fragile as your heart. “Why would you care for someone like me, when you could have anyone?”

Marcus’s gaze softened, his grip on your wrist loosening but not letting go. He lifted your hand slowly, his thumb brushing over your palm in a gesture so gentle it made you ache. “Because you see me,” he murmured. “Not the general, not the man who leads armies or answers to the emperor. You see me.”

His words made your chest tighten painfully. You had always tried to stay invisible, to keep your head down and avoid the eyes of those who held power over you. But with Marcus, it was different. You saw the man beneath the armor, the one who carried the weight of duty and responsibility on his shoulders but longed for something more—something real.

“I can’t stop what I feel for you,” Marcus continued, his voice filled with raw honesty. “Even though I know it’s wrong, even though I know what the world would think if they knew… I can’t stop.”

You felt your resolve crumbling. You wanted to tell him that you felt the same, that his kindness, his gentleness, had woven its way into your heart. But the fear of what could come from this, the danger of their impossible love, held you back.

“I feel it too,” you admitted softly, you voice barely above a whisper. “But we have no future, Marcus. You know that. You’ll be expected to marry—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice tight. “I know I’m bound by duty. I’ve spent my whole life doing what Rome asks of me. But for once, Livia, I want something for myself.”

His words hung in the air, thick with longing and pain. Your heart ached for him, for the man who had given so much of himself to an empire that would never give him the freedom to love who he chose. And yet, even as you felt the weight of his confession, you knew the truth.

“Even if we want this,” you whispered, “Rome will never let it happen.”

Marcus’s face tightened with frustration, his hand still holding yours as though he couldn’t bear to let go.

You stood in silence for a long moment, the weight of your love pressing down on them. Your heart pounded in your chest, torn between the desire to give in to the feelings you had tried so hard to suppress and the reality of the world they lived in.

Finally, Marcus spoke again, his voice heavy with resignation. “I don’t know what the future holds,” he said softly. “But I know that for now… I need you here. By my side. Even if that’s all we can have.”

You swallowed hard, tears burning at the edges of your eyes. You knew he was right. Your love, if it could even be called that, would never be allowed to flourish in the light. But in the shadows, in the quiet moments you shared, it was real. And maybe, for now, that had to be enough.

You nodded, your voice barely audible as you whispered, “I’ll stay.”

Marcus’s shoulders seemed to relax, and for the briefest moment, a small, sad smile crossed his face. He gently released your hand, stepping back, the distance between you once again restored. But the bond you shared remained.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice filled with emotion. “For staying.”

It was a few days later, and the weight of your shared confession still lingered in the air. The nights had grown heavier with unspoken feelings, and each day, the tension between you and Marcus became harder to ignore. You told yourself to be content with what little time you could have by his side, though it tore at you, knowing that it would never be enough.

That evening, you were cleaning his quarters, your movements methodical, when the door creaked open behind you. You turned and saw Marcus step in, but this time he wasn’t the composed general you had grown used to. His tunic was torn at the shoulder, a dark patch of blood staining the fabric. His brow was furrowed, his jaw set in pain. He tried to stand tall, but there was no hiding the wince as he moved.

"Marcus," you gasped, forgetting all formality in the moment, rushing toward him. Your heart hammered in your chest, worry washing over you at the sight of him.

“It’s nothing,” he said gruffly, waving off your concern, though the tightness in his voice betrayed him. “Just a training injury.”

You moved closer, eyes searching his. You had seen him injured before—he was a soldier, after all—but this felt different. There was a vulnerability in the way he looked at you, as though he had allowed himself to come to you in a moment of weakness.

“You should sit,” you said softly, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. “Let me prepare a bath for you.”

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded, walking slowly toward the bed and sitting on its edge, his movements stiff and labored. His dark eyes followed you as you quickly went to work, preparing the bath with warm water and fragrant oils to ease his wounds and the tension in his body.

When you returned, you found Marcus removing his tunic, the fabric peeling away from the gash on his shoulder. His skin was marred with bruises, old and new, the marks of a warrior who had seen countless battles. But it was the fresh wound that made your heart ache, the sight of him in pain stirring something deep within you.

“Let me help you,” you whispered, kneeling beside him. He met your eyes, his expression unreadable, and then he nodded, allowing you to step closer. With trembling hands, you gently unfastened the remaining clasps of his armor, your fingers brushing against his skin. You tried to keep your touch professional, but each time your skin met his, a jolt of electricity shot through you.

Once he was bare to the waist, you guided him to the bath. He lowered himself into the warm water with a sigh, his muscles relaxing as the heat enveloped him. You sat on the stool beside the tub, gathering a soft cloth in your hands. You hesitated for a moment, the intimacy of what you were about to do settling heavily in your chest.

When you began to gently scrub his skin, the water rippling with each movement, Marcus closed his eyes, leaning back slightly. His breath came in slow, deep draws, and for a moment, it was as though the world outside the room no longer existed. There was just you, him, and the quiet sound of water.

Your hands moved carefully over his skin, your touch tender and cautious, tracing the contours of his shoulders, his back, the lines of his strong arms. You could feel the tension in his body slowly easing, though your own pulse raced with each moment that passed. The intimacy of the act was overwhelming, but Marcus made no move to stop you.

As you worked, you couldn't help but steal glances at his face, at the way the flickering candlelight danced across his strong jaw and the softness in his expression that he only ever showed when you were alone.

He opened his eyes after a long silence, catching your gaze. “You don’t have to do this,” he murmured, his voice husky from the warmth of the bath or perhaps something more.

“I want to,” you whispered, barely able to meet his eyes. “Let me take care of you.”

The vulnerability in your voice, in the gesture of your care, seemed to affect him deeply. Marcus’s eyes softened, and he reached out, his fingers brushing against your wrist in a silent gesture of thanks. The warmth of his touch lingered on your skin long after he pulled away.

For a long while, you continued in silence, the only sound the gentle splashing of water as you washed away the blood, the dirt, and the exhaustion from his body. Each stroke of the cloth felt like a confession, a quiet way of telling him what you couldn’t say aloud. That you cared for him. That you wanted to protect him in whatever small way you could, even though you knew you couldn’t keep him from the dangers of the world beyond these walls.

When you reached the wound on his shoulder, you were as delicate as possible, your touch light and careful. Marcus winced slightly, but he didn’t pull away. His eyes remained on you, dark and intense, watching every movement of your hands as though you were something precious.

“You’re always so careful,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why?”

You paused, your heart tightening at the question. How could you explain it? How could you put into words the way your heart ached for him, the way you wished to offer him comfort in a world that demanded so much of him?

“Because you’ve given me more kindness than I’ve ever known,” you whispered, barely able to say the words. “I want to give some of it back.”

Marcus’s gaze softened even more, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might say something, something that would change everything between you. But instead, he closed his eyes, leaning back into the water, his hand slipping beneath the surface and resting on the edge of the tub.

You continued to wash him in silence, your heart heavy with the knowledge that these moments, these stolen moments in the shadows, were all you would ever have. And yet, they felt so real, so profound, that you couldn’t bring yourself to regret them.

When the bath was finished, you helped Marcus stand, wrapping a towel around his broad shoulders. He stood before you, his body strong but weary, the weight of his duties ever present in his posture. You couldn’t help but reach out, your hand brushing lightly against the wound on his shoulder.

“Does it hurt?” you asked softly.

He shook his head, but his eyes told a different story. “Not as much as other wounds,” he said quietly, his gaze meeting yours. “Not as much as the ones I can’t show.”

Your heart clenched at his words. You understood. The wounds of battle were visible, but the wounds of the heart—the ones inflicted by duty, by honor, by a world that wouldn’t allow him to follow his desires—were far deeper.

Marcus’s hand reached out, his fingers gently curling around yours, and for a moment, he held on as though you were the only thing keeping him grounded. His eyes searched yours, filled with emotions too complex to name

Marcus’s fingers curled around yours, and in that moment, the air between you seemed to shift. The world outside his chambers fell away, leaving only the two of you, standing so close, bound by an unspoken connection that had been building since the moment you first laid eyes on him. The intensity in his gaze sent a shiver through you, and you felt your breath catch in your throat as his thumb gently brushed over the back of your hand, a simple touch that carried a weight neither of you could ignore.

His hand lingered, holding yours as if it was the only anchor he had left. His eyes were darker now, filled with emotions too complex to name—longing, conflict, something deeper that neither of you had dared to speak aloud. The space between you felt fragile, like a thread stretched too tight, and yet neither of you could pull away.

“Mea columba” he murmured, his voice rough, barely more than a whisper. The way he said your name sent warmth coursing through your veins, and you felt yourself trembling beneath the intensity of his gaze.

You opened your mouth to speak, to say something—anything—to break the silence, but the words wouldn’t come. You didn’t need them. Everything was in his eyes, the way they searched yours, as though he were trying to find an answer to a question he hadn’t yet asked.

Slowly, cautiously, Marcus took a step closer, his hand still holding yours. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, the pulse in your ears deafening as the space between you closed. His breath was warm on your skin, mingling with your own as he stood so close that the air felt charged, thick with something unspoken.

He reached up with his free hand, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed a strand of hair from your face. The touch was so tender, so careful, that it made your heart ache. His thumb lingered on your cheek, his palm cradling the side of your face, as though he were afraid to break the moment, afraid to shatter the delicate connection you shared.

“I’ve tried to fight this,” he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet desperation. “I’ve tried to remind myself of what’s right, of my duty, of all the reasons why I can’t—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. You already knew. You knew the weight of the world that rested on his shoulders, the impossible choice he faced between the life he was bound to and the feelings that had grown between you.

But in that moment, as you stood in the dim light of his chambers, none of it seemed to matter. It was just the two of you, and the pull between you was too strong to deny.

“Marcus,” you breathed, your voice trembling as his name passed your lips, a quiet plea for something you both knew couldn’t be undone.

He hesitated for just a moment, his gaze searching yours one last time, as if waiting for a sign, for permission to take that final, forbidden step. And then, with a soft, broken sigh, Marcus leaned in.

His lips brushed yours, so softly at first that it felt like a whisper, a question, a promise. The world seemed to still around you, the moment suspended in time as he kissed you with a tenderness that made your heart ache. His hand tightened around yours, holding you close, as though he were afraid to let go, afraid that this fragile moment would slip away if he loosened his grip.

And then, slowly, the kiss deepened. His lips pressed more firmly against yours, and all the emotions that had been building between you, longing, desire, love, poured into that single, desperate kiss. It was as though every unspoken word, every hidden glance, every touch that had lingered too long was finally allowed to come to life.

You kissed him back, your hand finding its way to his bare chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath your fingers. It beat in time with yours, fast and hard, as if it, too, was caught up in the storm of emotions swirling between you. His other hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer, his body warm and solid against yours.

For a moment, nothing else mattered. Not the rules, not the expectations, not the world outside these walls. There was only Marcus, his lips on yours, his hands holding you like you were something precious, something he had longed for but never thought he could have.

“I don’t know how we’ll keep this secret… but gods, I can’t stop myself. I don’t want to stop.”

You felt the same. You didn’t know how you would hide this, how you would keep it from the eyes of the world, but in that moment, you didn’t care. You had already crossed a line, and there was no going back.

“I don’t want to stop either,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “But we’ll find a way… we have to.”

Marcus’s hand slipped from your waist to your cheek once more, his fingers brushing softly against your skin. He leaned in again, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment as though he were trying to hold on to the peace you had found in each other, but as soon as your eyes connected in unspoken pleas, his lips found yours again, this time his kiss screamed desire for you.

The way his right hand slipped down your arm, his touch soft but filled with purpose, sent a shiver through you. His fingers trailed along the curve of your waist, pulling you closer as his lips remained firmly attached to yours, deepening the kiss with a slow, deliberate intensity that made your head spin.

His body pressed against yours, strong and warm, as if he were trying to merge your very beings into one. The world around you seemed to melt away, your senses consumed by the feel of him, the taste of him, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. Each moment felt suspended in time, the quiet intimacy of the moment holding you both captive.

You could feel the heat radiating off his body, his chest rising and falling in time with yours as the kiss grew more passionate, more desperate. His hand at your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him, as though he needed to feel every part of you, to confirm that this wasn’t a dream.

Your own hands, trembling with the weight of the moment, slid up his arms, feeling the strength beneath his skin, the tension coiled in his muscles. You had never been this close before, never allowed yourself to imagine being this close to him. And now, here you were, pressed against him in a way that defied everything you had been told about your place in the world, everything you had believed about what you deserved.

His lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched the fire burning in your chest. It wasn’t just desire, there was something deeper, something raw and unspoken that neither of you had been able to express until now. Every kiss, every touch, was a release of all the feelings you had kept locked away for so long.

As his lips parted from yours for just a moment, his breath hot against your skin, Marcus whispered your name again—so soft, so reverent that it felt like a prayer. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes half-closed, his voice thick with emotion.

“I can’t…” he whispered, his hand still resting firmly at your waist, holding you close as though he couldn’t bear to let go. “I can’t stop this.”

Neither could you. You didn’t want to. You were lost in him, in the warmth of his touch, in the way he held you like you were the only thing that mattered. You could feel the conflict within him, the weight of his duties and the forbidden nature of what was blossoming between you, but none of that mattered in this moment.

His lips found yours again, this time slower, more tender, as though he were savoring every second, memorizing the feel of you in his arms. His hand slid up your back, pulling you even closer, as if he needed to feel the beat of your heart against his own. You melted into him, your own hands finding their way into his hair, threading through the dark strands as you kissed him with a longing you had kept buried for far too long.

No long after, his fingertips caressed your shoulders, slipping the strips of your dress down your arms. None of you stopped locking your gazes as you felt you dress slipping down your body. You were completely bare in front of the man who had made your heart race like never before.

You had never felt like this before, and the fire in the pit of your stomach was a new sensation for you. There was fire everywhere.

Marcus swept his eyes down your body, clearly reacting to the sight in front of him. The dim light of the moon danced across your skin. Marcus couldn’t believe it. You were the most beautiful woman he laid his eyes on, and under his stare he could swear God had made you just for him to find you, to find love in your eyes and in the way they looked at him now.

He placed his right hand on your neck, before trailing the path down to your neck, your breasts, your stomach as if you were the most delicate map he had ever touched in his life.

Goosebumps arise on your skin as you gasped under his touch. The way he unbraided your hair and swept it, looking at you with adoration. He wasted no time to devour your lips with his, stealing the moaning sounds out of your mouth, when his fingers slipped into your entrance. He worked his was in and out, your mouths attached, and his tongue caressed your swollen lips.

Your hands made their way to his back, his chest, his stomach. A groan came out of his throat when your fingers found his cock. Before you could even react, he carefully laid you on your back, his eyes bored into yours. Your lips were parted by the surprise of his sudden movement, and yet you looked beautiful under his stare, and you could feel beautiful too. It felt like a dream, to had found love in someone like him.

Marcus reached out and cupped your breasts. Your nipples hardened at the touch, and he duck down taking one in his mouth. You whispered his name making his cock throb at the sound of you pleading him, clearly enjoying the was your stomach trembled under his body. He then spread your legs to find the place where you needed him the most.

“Marcus” you whispered; voice weak “please.”

He grumbled and buried his entire face on your cunt. Your legs tightened in surprise, but he kept them open by draping one over his shoulder. He'd done this before, but with you, it seemed different. This time, he couldn't contain his thrill at the thought of making you pleased. He wanted you not only for this reason, but also because you cared for him and he for you, and he desired to prove thar by making love to you and waking up next to you for the rest of his life.

He continued sucking on your clit until you gasped for air. You felt hot under his tongue, and the flavor of you drove him crazy.

“You’re so beautiful mea columba” he whispered, pushing your thighs further apart and took his cock to press the head into your cunt, pushing it with pressure. You both moaned. He dropped his head to your shoulder, inhaling your exquisite scent.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, voice trembling at the thought. You were tight. He knew for the way your eyes looked that you never had done this before, so he tried to be as careful as he could.

“Marcus” you moaned, whimpering. He was all the way inside you. He felt embarred as how weak he seemed because of you. He tried not to come so fast, while glancing between you every second to make sure he wasn’t hurting you.

When he felt himself getting close, he tried to lift your back, holding onto your waist, his chest against yours, lips devouring each other.

“I’m in love with you, mea columba” he whispered, while pounding into you with a steady but delicate force it made you squirm.

your lips and bodies moving in perfect harmony, the rest of the world slipping away as you both gave in to the feelings you could no longer deny. The weight of the consequences lingered at the edges of your mind, but in that moment, nothing seemed as important as this. As him. As the way his hand cradled your waist, the way he kissed you like he had been waiting for this his entire life.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads still resting together. The silence that followed was heavy, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was filled with the quiet understanding that you had both crossed a line, and there was no turning back now.

Marcus’s eyes flickered open, his gaze locking with yours, the intensity of his emotions shining clearly in the dim light of the room. His thumb brushed lightly against your waist, a touch so gentle, yet filled with a quiet urgency that made your breath catch in your throat.

“I meant it,” he whispered, his voice low and rough with emotion. “I’m in love with you.”

His words hung in the air, thick and heavy with a truth neither of you could deny anymore. And then, without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed his lips to your forehead, the kiss soft and lingering, filled with a tenderness that made your heart swell.

You felt a rush of warmth flood through your body, his confession sinking deep into your chest. You had heard it in his voice before, seen it in his eyes, but hearing those words—words you never thought someone of his stature would say to you—made everything feel real. His love was dangerous, forbidden, but it was also undeniable.

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, not out of sorrow, but from the overwhelming emotions that surged through you—relief, joy, and the painful knowledge that this love, as real as it was, lived in the shadows.

“I…” your voice faltered, barely above a whisper. “I never thought I’d hear you say those words.”

His forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he closed his eyes, his hand tightening around your waist, pulling you even closer. “I’ve tried to fight it,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet anguish. “I’ve tried so hard to push it away, to tell myself it can’t be. But I can’t… I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

You felt the trembling in his voice, the vulnerability in his words, and it mirrored the storm of feelings inside you. You had spent so long burying your own emotions, convinced that someone like Marcus could never see you as more than a servant, more than someone beneath him. But here he was, his love laid bare, his heart in your hands.

A tear slipped down your cheek, and before you could speak, Marcus lifted his hand to your face, his thumb brushing the tear away with the same care he had shown you so many times before. His eyes were filled with something so raw, so real, that it made your chest ache.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words escaping you before you could stop them, but you didn’t want to stop them. They were the truth, and in this moment, you had no reason to hide.

Marcus closed his eyes again, his lips parting in a quiet, shaky breath, as though the sound of your confession had taken away the last of his restraint. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a tenderness that made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

“I’ll protect you,” he said softly, his voice filled with quiet resolve. “Whatever happens, whatever comes next… I won’t let anything take you away from me.”

His words were a promise, one that felt as fragile as it was powerful. You both knew the risks, knew the world wouldn’t accept this love, but in his arms, in this stolen moment, you believed him. You believed that somehow, against all odds, you might be able to hold on to each other.

As the night deepened, the warmth of Marcus's arms around you became a cocoon of safety and comfort, unlike anything you had ever known. The intensity of your shared confessions, the raw emotions lingering between you, began to soften into a quieter, more intimate connection. His hands, once rough with battle, now caressed your skin with the gentleness of a man who had found something worth protecting, something precious.

You remained in his embrace, the two of you sitting on the edge of his bed, the flickering candlelight casting soft, golden shadows across his quarters. Marcus's thumb traced slow circles against your back, his touch reassuring and grounding, as though he was afraid that letting go would make this moment slip away into a dream. His forehead still rested gently against yours, his breathing steady but deep, as if he, too, was caught in the weight of everything you had just shared.

“I never imagined feeling like this,” you whispered, your voice barely breaking the silence of the room. You weren’t sure if you were confessing to him or simply speaking aloud the truth of what was in your heart. “I never thought I’d ever know this kind of closeness, this… love.”

His grip on you tightened slightly, his lips brushing the top of your head. “Neither did I,” he murmured, his voice thick with sincerity. “Not like this. Not with you.”

For a while, neither of you said anything. The quiet sounds of the night outside his window drifted in—a soft wind, the distant murmur of soldiers on watch, the occasional flicker of torchlight from the corridors. But none of it touched the stillness that enveloped the two of you in this space. Here, with Marcus, the world felt far away.

You felt the exhaustion from the day, from the intensity of everything, slowly creeping into your limbs. Your eyelids grew heavy, and despite the swirl of emotions still lingering in your chest, a deep weariness began to settle over you.

Marcus must have sensed it too, because his hand moved to your cheek, lifting your face gently so that your eyes met his. His expression softened, the hardness of the general gone, replaced by the tenderness of a man who cared deeply for you.

“You’re tired,” he said quietly, his voice filled with concern. “You should rest.”

You opened your mouth to protest, not wanting to leave his embrace, not wanting to lose the warmth of his presence. But he only smiled, his thumb brushing across your cheek in a soothing motion. “Stay here. With me.”

It was more than just an invitation. It was a promise, a reassurance that you didn’t have to return to the cold solitude of your small, servant's quarters. Tonight, you could stay here, beside him, and find some peace in his arms.

You breathed in the scent of him, your heart finding a slow, steady rhythm against his, and in the safety of his embrace, you finally let go.

Marcus’s hand continued to stroke your hair, even as sleep pulled you under. You could feel his heartbeat beneath your palm, strong and sure, and it lulled you into the sweetest, most peaceful sleep you had known in years.

And just before the darkness of sleep claimed you completely, you felt him press one last kiss to your temple, his lips soft and warm against your skin.

“Goodnight, my love,” he whispered.

And with that, you fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, wrapped safely in his arms.

The days that followed were filled with an eerie calm, the quiet before the storm neither of you could ignore. You and Marcus fell into a rhythm of stolen moments—brushed hands when no one was looking, lingering glances that spoke more than words could ever say. In the dim light of dawn, in the safety of his quarters, your world shrank to just the two of you, the outside concerns held at bay for a little while longer.

But the world, especially one as ruthless as the Roman Empire, couldn’t be held back forever.

It began with hushed whispers from the servants, news of political maneuvering at the highest levels. You heard it first while fetching water from the well. Two women were gossiping, their voices low but clear enough for you to overhear.

“The Emperor’s orders,” one of them said, her tone almost gleeful. “General Acacius is to marry Lucilla, they say. It’s all but decided.”

Your stomach dropped, the bucket in your hand suddenly too heavy. You froze in place, the weight of those words sinking into you like a stone. Marcus is to marry. The Emperor’s will was absolute, and any personal desires, any feelings, would be swept away like dust in the wind.

You barely remember how you made it back to Marcus’s quarters, your mind a blur of emotions—dread, anger, helplessness. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing with the terrible reality you were trying to push away. By the time you arrived, your hands were trembling, your breath shallow as if the air itself had become too heavy to breathe.

When Marcus walked in later that evening, you could see it in his face before he even spoke. The weight of duty, the burden of decisions not his own, bore down on him like a heavy cloak. His eyes, once so full of warmth when they met yours, were shadowed with the knowledge of what was to come.

You tried to speak, to find the words to ask him if it was true, but they caught in your throat. Instead, you stood in silence, waiting for him to tell you.

“They’ve ordered it,” he said quietly, his voice strained. He didn’t meet your eyes as he spoke, as if doing so would make it all too real. “The Emperor has arranged a marriage.”

Your heart shattered at that moment, but you willed yourself not to show it. You had always known this was a possibility—he was a man of power and status, and the empire would always demand his obedience. Still, knowing didn’t soften the blow. You felt like the air had been knocked out of your chest.

Marcus took a step closer to you, his expression pained. “I didn’t want this,” he murmured. “I don’t want her.”

He reached for you, his hand hovering just above your arm as if unsure whether he still had the right to touch you. The distance between you felt insurmountable now, the shadow of his impending marriage looming over everything you had built together.

You pulled back, just enough to break the unspoken promise of his touch. “But you must,” you said, your voice trembling. “You have no choice.”

Marcus’s eyes finally met yours, and the anguish in them was more than you could bear. “I swore I would protect you, that I wouldn’t let anything take you from me.��

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to stay strong even as the tears threatened to fall. “And I swore I would stay by your side, no matter what,” you whispered. “But Marcus, this… this is the world we live in…I can’t stay here just to watch you being married to a woman who is not me.”

“I can’t lose you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I can’t pretend this marriage means anything to me. It’s politics, nothing more. You are what I want.”

You felt your resolve crumbling, the enormity of what you were facing pulling you under. “But once you’re married…” The words felt like poison on your tongue. “Once you’re bound to her…”

He shook his head fiercely, stepping closer again, this time not hesitating as he took your hands in his. His touch was warm, familiar, but it couldn’t erase the reality pressing down on both of you. “I won’t let her come between us. I won’t.”

Tears filled your eyes despite your best efforts to hold them back. You couldn’t stop the ache in your chest, the knowledge that your love would now have to exist in the shadows of Marcus’s new life—hidden, secret, and forbidden.

“What kind of life is that for us?” you asked, your voice breaking. “A love hidden away, always in the dark?”

Marcus’s jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with desperation. “We’ll find a way,” he insisted. “Even if the world says we can’t… we’ll find a way.”

You wanted to believe him, you wanted to hold on to the love that had grown between you, but the cold reality was seeping into every corner of your heart. This marriage wasn’t just an obstacle—it was a wall that you couldn’t break through.

You stepped away, pulling your hands free from his grasp. The distance between you felt like a chasm now, one that neither of you could cross. “I don’t know if love is enough,” you whispered, the weight of the world pressing down on your chest. “I won’t have my heart broken every day of my life just for you to see me from afar.”

Your words hung heavy in the air, each one a dagger piercing both your hearts. Marcus's face fell, the determination in his eyes flickering like a candle in the wind. He reached out once more, but hesitated, his hand hovering between you as if unsure whether he still had the right to touch you.

"Mea columba, please," he pleaded, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Don't say that. Don't give up on what we have."

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly brushed it away, straightening your spine to muster whatever strength you had left. "I'm not giving up," you replied softly. "But I can't live a life where I'm constantly in the shadows, hiding what I feel, watching you build a life with someone else."

He shook his head vehemently. "My marriage to Lucilla will be in name only. It means nothing compared to what I feel for you."

"But it changes everything," you insisted, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. "She will be your wife. She will stand beside you in public, share your home, perhaps even bear your children. Where does that leave me? Sneaking around in the dark, pretending I don't exist whenever others are near?"

Marcus's expression crumpled, pain etched into every line of his face. "I would never ask you to diminish yourself like that."

"But that's exactly what this would be," you said, stepping back further to put some distance between you. "I deserve more than to be a secret, Marcus. And deep down, you know that."

He opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. The silence stretched between you, filled only by the distant sounds of the bustling city beyond the walls—a world that seemed determined to keep you apart.

Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse. "What are you saying?"

You took a shaky breath, gathering the courage to face the truth you'd been avoiding. "I'm saying that perhaps it's time for me to leave."

His eyes widened in alarm. "Leave? No, you can't. I won't allow it."

A bitter smile tugged at your lips. "You can't keep me here, not like this. Not when staying would mean watching you live a life, I can never be a part of."

Desperation flashed across his face. "I can speak to the Emperor. I can refuse the marriage. There must be a way—"

"And risk everything you've worked for? Your honor, your position?" You shook your head sadly. "You and I both know that's not possible. The Emperor's command is absolute. Defying him would only bring ruin upon you."

"I would risk it for you," he insisted, taking a bold step forward. "For us."

"And that's precisely why I can't let you do that," you replied gently. "I won't be the cause of your downfall.” You inhaled “Because you would end up despising me for it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every movement. "So, what then? We part ways? Pretend none of this ever happened?"

You felt your heart break a little more at the pain in his voice. "I don't want to forget," you said softly. "I will cherish every moment we've shared. But sometimes, love isn't enough to overcome the obstacles before us."

Marcus's shoulders sagged, defeat washing over him. "I can't accept that."

"Neither can I," you admitted, tears welling up once more. "But it's the only way we can both move forward without destroying each other."

He looked at you with a profound sadness, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hope. "Where will you go?"

You offered a small, sad smile. "I'll find somewhere. Perhaps another household, or maybe I'll find a way to make a life for myself beyond these walls."

A tense silence settled between you. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely audible. "When?"

You swallowed hard. "Soon. Before the marriage takes place."

He closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to steady himself against the inevitable. "At least allow me to ensure you're safe. Let me arrange for you to be placed somewhere you'll be treated well."

You considered refusing but knew it would ease his mind. "Alright," you agreed quietly. "Thank you."

Marcus stepped closer once more, and this time you didn't pull away as he reached out to cup your face gently in his hands. "I love you," he whispered, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "That will never change."

A sob escaped your lips, and you placed your hand over his. "And I love you. More than you could ever know."

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, and for a moment, the two of you stood there, memorizing every detail of each other's faces—the warmth of your breaths mingling, the softness of his touch, the sorrow in his eyes.

"Promise me something," he said softly.

"Anything."

"Promise me you'll find happiness," he murmured. "That you'll live the life you deserve."

You nodded slowly. "I promise."

A single tear rolled down his cheek, and he pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you as if it were the last time—as indeed it might be. You clung to him, wishing you could freeze time, keep this moment suspended forever.

After what felt like both an eternity and a mere heartbeat, you pulled away, knowing that if you didn't leave now, you might never find the strength again. "Goodbye, Marcus," you whispered.

He reached into the folds of his tunic and pulled out a small object—a simple silver pendant engraved with a laurel wreath. "Take this," he said, pressing it into your hand. "So you'll always have a part of me with you."

You looked down at the pendant, your vision blurred by tears. "I will treasure it always."

With a final, lingering glance, you turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last. As you left his chambers, the weight of your decision settled fully upon you, but beneath the pain, there was a quiet resolve. You were choosing your own path, difficult as it was.

Behind you, Marcus remained standing, watching you go until you disappeared from sight. The echo of your footsteps faded, leaving him alone with the emptiness of the room and the ache in his heart.

The days that followed were a blur. True to his word, Marcus arranged for you to be placed in the household of a kind widow on the outskirts of the city. The woman, Julia, welcomed you warmly, unaware of the depth of your connection to the general. To her, you were simply a skilled servant in need of a place, and she was grateful for the help.

Life in Julia's home was peaceful, a stark contrast to the turmoil of your emotions. Each day, you performed your duties diligently, but your thoughts often drifted back to Marcus—the sound of his voice, the warmth of his embrace, the intensity of his gaze as he declared his love for you.

News of his impending marriage reached you through whispers in the marketplace. The union was to be a grand affair, solidifying political alliances and elevating Marcus's standing even further. You tried to steel yourself against the pang of jealousy and sorrow that accompanied these rumors, reminding yourself that this was the path he was bound to follow.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, you found yourself standing on a hill overlooking the city. The distant sounds of celebration drifted up to you—the marriage ceremony was taking place. Clutching the silver pendant around your neck, you closed your eyes and whispered a silent farewell.

"May you find happiness," you murmured into the evening breeze. "And may our paths cross again in another life."

As the first stars appeared in the sky, you took a deep breath and turned away from the city. There was a whole world beyond Rome's walls, and perhaps, in time, you would find your place in it—where you could heal and maybe even find joy once more.

Weeks passed, each one heavier than the last. You had settled into Julia’s villa , trying to find peace in the simplicity of your new life. But the ache in your heart remained, the thought of Marcus and his looming marriage never far from your mind. Each night, you clutched the silver pendant he had given you, hoping it might somehow tether your heart to his, even from a distance.

It had been months since you had last seen him, and you had resigned yourself to the reality that Marcus’s life had moved on, even if yours still felt frozen in time. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

One late afternoon, as you were tending to the garden outside Julia’s villa, you heard the distant sound of horses approaching. You looked up, wiping your hands on your apron, and saw a group of soldiers in familiar Roman armor riding up the path. Your heart skipped a beat. Could it be?

When they came to a stop, your breath caught in your throat. There, dismounting from his horse, was Marcus—his eyes searching frantically until they landed on you.

Your heart raced, and before you could even process what was happening, Marcus was striding toward you, his face a mix of determination and relief.

"Marcus?" you whispered, barely able to believe your eyes.

Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, as if he had been afraid you might vanish if he let go. His warmth surrounded you, and for the first time in months, you allowed yourself to hope again.

"I found you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I told you we'd find a way."

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, confusion clouding your thoughts. "But… your marriage? Lucilla?"

Marcus shook his head, his gaze locked with yours. "It's over. The Emperor himself annulled it."

Your breath caught in your throat. "What? How? Why?"

A faint smile touched his lips, though his eyes were serious. "Lucilla… she didn’t want this marriage any more than I did. She petitioned to me, and together we spoke to the emperor. She’s in love with someone else, someone who she could never marry while bound to me." He paused, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. "And the Emperor, surprisingly, agreed to release both of us."

You stared at him, stunned, unable to fully comprehend what he was saying. "So, you’re free?"

He nodded. "I’m free, mea columba. I can choose my own path now. And I’ve come to ask you to walk it with me."

Tears welled in your eyes, but this time, they were tears of joy. "Marcus, I…" you stammered, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of emotions. "Is this real? Are you really here?"

He smiled then, the first genuine smile you’d seen from him in so long. "Yes, it's real. I love you. I don’t care what anyone else says or thinks. I want you by my side, not in the shadows. I want you to be with me—openly, proudly."

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Everything you had feared, all the obstacles that had once seemed insurmountable, had fallen away. And standing before you was the man you loved, offering you the life you had once thought was impossible.

You smiled through your tears, your heart bursting with happiness. "I love you, Marcus," you whispered. "And yes, I’ll walk that path with you. Wherever it leads."

With that, he leaned in and kissed you, a kiss full of promise and hope, sealing the future you would share. At that moment, everything felt right. The shadows of the past no longer held power over you, and the weight of uncertainty had lifted from your shoulders.

Marcus took your hand when he finally pulled away, lacing his fingers through yours. "Come," he said softly. "Let’s go. There’s a whole world waiting for us."

A few months later...

The soft morning light filtered through the open window of the villa, casting a golden glow over the room as you slowly stirred awake. The cool breeze carried the scent of wildflowers from the hills, filling the air with the promise of a new day. You lay in bed, nestled in Marcus's strong arms, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.

For months now, you had known peace, a life far removed from the chaos and expectations of the Roman court. Marcus had retired from the military, choosing a quiet life with you in the countryside. The villa had become your sanctuary, a place where you could live freely, without the burden of secrecy or fear. No more hiding in the shadows—your love had found the light.

Gently, you shifted in Marcus’s embrace, your hand resting over your growing belly. A small, soft smile spread across your face as you felt the faint flutter of movement inside you. Marcus stirred beside you, his arms tightening around you instinctively, as though even in sleep, he wanted to protect you.

You gazed down at your hand, marveling at the life that grew within you—a symbol of the love you and Marcus had fought so hard to protect. This child, your child, was the future you had once feared might never come.

Marcus’s eyes slowly opened, and he smiled sleepily as his gaze met yours. "Good morning," he murmured, his voice deep and warm.

"Good morning," you whispered back, your hand still resting on your belly. His eyes followed the movement, and his expression softened as he reached out to place his hand gently over yours.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice filled with tenderness.

"I'm well," you replied, your smile widening. "The baby’s been very active this morning."

Marcus’s face lit up, and he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “And he will know freedom.”

His gaze lingered on you, filled with a deep, unwavering love. "I still can’t believe this is real," he said quietly, his thumb gently brushing your hand. "After everything, we’re here—together—and soon, we’ll have a family."

You felt tears prick your eyes, not of sorrow this time, but of pure happiness. "It’s everything I never thought I could have," you admitted softly. "But now, I can’t imagine life any other way."

Marcus leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a tender kiss, one that spoke of all the joy and gratitude you both felt. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, as if savoring the moment.

"I love you, Mea columba" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "More than words can say."

"And I love you," you replied, your heart swelling with happiness. "For always."

Together, you lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of your journey behind you and the promise of a bright future ahead. The child you carried was a testament to your love, a symbol of the life you had built together despite all the odds.

Outside, the world continued to turn, but here, in this quiet, peaceful place, you had everything you had ever dreamed of, Marcus, your love, and the family you would soon welcome into the world.

The future stretched out before you, filled with light, joy, and hope. And as the first rays of sunlight touched the horizon, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you and Marcus would face them together, stronger than ever, bound by a love that had defied the impossible.

Your love had triumphed. And now, the greatest adventure of all was about to begin, the creation of a family, born out of that love.

#marcus acacias x reader #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius x f!reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x reader #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius fic #marcus acacius #gladiator 2 fic #gladiator 2 #gladiator 2 fanfiction #pedro pascal #marcus acacius smut #general acacius x you #general acacius

437 notes · View notes

multific · 8 hours ago

Text

A Husband's Duties

Marcus Acacius x Reader

Summary: After a small injury, you decide it is better to not burden your husband, and hide it from him. But of course, when he finds out and he is less than impressed.

As you prepare dinner in the warm glow of the kitchen, a sudden surge of pain shoots through your body.

In an instant, you feel a sharp pain in your side, causing you to wince and clutch at the source of the discomfort.

As you try to shake off the pain, you can't help but worry about how Marcus will react when he comes home and sees what you've been hiding.

The minutes tick by slowly, each second feeling like an eternity as you desperately try to compose yourself.

You know that Marcus will be upset if he finds out you've been injured and kept it from him. But deep down, you also know that you were only trying to protect him, to spare him from unnecessary worry.

Finally, the sound of the front door opening echoes through your home, signalling Marcus's return. Your heart races as you continue to work in the kitchen, your movements becoming more strained with every passing second.

You can hear his footsteps approaching, growing louder with each step.

"My Love, I'm home," Marcus calls out, his voice filled with a mix of fatigue and excitement.

But as soon as he catches sight of you, his eyes narrow, and concern replaces the joy on his face.

"What happened?" he asks, his voice tinged with anger, his eyes fixed on the pained expression etched across your face.

You take a deep breath, struggling to find the right words to explain yourself.

"I... I didn't want to worry you," you stammer, your voice barely a whisper. "I thought I could handle it on my own."

Marcus' anger softens, replaced by a mixture of worry and frustration. He crosses the room in a few strides, gently taking your hand in his.

"I appreciate your efforts, My Love, but you should never have to face something like this alone. Tell me please, what happened?" he says, his voice filled with a tenderness that reassures you.

You let out a long sigh.

"I fell. I took the wrong step and fell up the stairs. I hurt my side when I fell on the stone steps."

He carefully tends to your injury, his touch gentle and comforting. As he wraps a bandage around your side, you can feel his relentless support, his love flowing through every action.

"My Love, I might just have to follow you everyone to make sure you are safe and sound."

"I do not wish to keep you from your duties."

"Being your husband is my greatest one." he said and you smiled at him.

For the next couple of days, Marcus becomes your rock, taking care of you with such love and care.

He cooks, cleans, and ensures that you have everything you need to heal. But more than that, he listens to your fears and worries, offering a steady hand to lean on during your recovery.

Through it all, you learn the importance of openness and trust in a relationship.

You realize that keeping secrets, even with good intentions, can only lead to misunderstandings and unnecessary distress.

Marcus's anger reflected his concern for your well-being, a reminder that the strength of your bond lies in open and honest communication.

As you heal, you grow closer and closer, cherishing the deep love between you.

In the end, your injury becomes a trigger for strengthening your relationship, reminding both of you of the power of compassion and teamwork in overcoming any challenge that comes your way.

Taglist:

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

55 notes · View notes

punkshort · 4 months ago

Text

'in another life' masterlist

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader (time travel au)

Series Summary: Your brother and his best friend manage to create a time machine in which they travel back to Ancient Rome and bring back General Marcus Acacius to modern day NYC, where he meets you, a career woman working at a glamorous fashion magazine who never has time for romance. Or have you just never found the right man?

Series Warnings: language, physical violence, smut (18+ MDNI), alcohol and food consumption, fluff, romcom vibes, some angst, pining (individual warnings stated for each chapter)

Status: complete

Main:

Part I

Part II

Part III

dividers by @saradika-graphics

#marcus acacius x f!reader #marcus acacius #gladiator 2 #gladiator 2 fic #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius fic #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #general marcus acacius #gladiator #pedro pascal character fanfic

866 notes · View notes

absurdthirst · 2 months ago

Text

The Future of Rome {Marcus Acacius x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 16.6k

Warnings: Mentions of orgies, whores, cuckolding, voyeurism, oral sex (male and female receiving), cream pie, breeding, mentions of feeding kink, vaginal sex, pregnancy, betrayal, conspiracy, murder

Comments: When Caracalla is unable to father a child on you, his empress, he enlists General Marcus Acacius to be his proxy between your thighs. Needing his general's seed in his efforts to father the next ruler of Rome.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Marcus Acacius MasterList ||

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you watch as your husband, Emperor Caracalla of Rome, paces in the large room, screaming and shouting like an overgrown child. At times, it feels like that is what he is, a child. A man child who controls the largest empire in the world, alongside his brother Geta. The two of them engaged in squabbles that would have all of the citizens of Rome demanding new leadership if they knew of them. “You must carry a child!” He hisses, turning and glaring at you as if you are at fault for the monthly flow of blood that comes between your thighs like clockwork. “How have you not been bred yet? I fill you nearly every week.” His eyes narrow and he stops his stride to turn towards you. “Are you doing something? Taking some tonic to prevent a child from growing?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Of course I would not.” You tell him. “It is my duty to provide you with an heir. Before Geta.” You know your husband wishes to best his brother by having a child before he does. “You are still fucking your concubines.” You remind him. “None of them have fallen pregnant with your bastard. Perhaps your seed is bad.” You could be risking his wrath by telling him what no hippocrates would, but he has never sired one bastard and he indulges in orgies and women all the time. You have no love for the husband you had been forced to marry by your father in return for Rome not destroying your homelands.

Caracalla’s eyes grow wide and he hisses, striding over to you and you brace yourself as he hits you across the face with the back of his hand. You gasp and he looms over you, “you dare to insult me like that, uxor? I am divine. Ordained by the gods and you are? Some whore daughter of a King who wilted under the glory of the Roman army. You are fortunate I chose you to be Empress. An honor I bestow upon you and you have the gall to question my seed.” He rants but he knows you could be true. He longs to have an heir before his brother and even if he fucks you every day, you still bleed. He has never fathered a bastard. You cup your cheek, keeping your head down and he sighs, “we must seek a solution.” He declares, frowning as he considers his options to ensure he beats his brother to the heir.

You bite your lip to keep from crying, knowing that tears would only incense the man you are married to even more. Caracalla does not like to see you cry, even if he is cruel and cutting. When he punishes you for any perceived slight. Tears are a sign of weakness in his eyes and he will not have you shed them in his presence. “What solution would you have?” You know he cannot seek out a healer, the risk of rumor would be too great. Any kind of whisper about this would make its way back to Geta.

He paces in front of the balcony, the linens flowing in the breeze. “I need an heir who will be strong, a fighter. I need a boy. I need you to give birth to the next heir. We need to ensure that you get pregnant as soon as possible.” He murmurs, speaking his mind and he finally turns to you. “We need to have someone else get you pregnant. We need - General Marcis Acacius.” He declares, eyes wide.

You frown, trying to recall what the man looks like. He has been away from Rome for nearly two years, since just after you had married Caracalla. “He looks nothing like you.” You point out.

“I don’t need him to look like me. I need a boy and he’s a strong fighter. He will give our child the characteristics he needs to lead Rome and her army.” He declares, “you will fuck him when he returns.” He orders and you swallow harshly, knowing you will struggle to have relations with a man that isn’t your husband but you have no choice but to do as he demands.

“I will gift you to him to fuck.” He continues on, a wild and honestly frightening smile splitting his face. “It will be an honor, for fighting so valiantly for Rome.” He isn’t talking to you, but rather plotting out what will happen. You can’t quite recall what Marcus Acacius looks like, but you hope that he will be quick to cum like Caracalla, or at least his seed will take root quickly.

****

Marcus looks up at the marbled entrance as he arrives at the palace to meet the Emperors and tell them about his success in person. He’s sent messengers but he must tell them of his accomplishments rather than be allowed to return to his home to relax. He sighs as he adjusts the white and gold tunic and armor that suffocates him. It’s for display, not ideal for battle, and he knows the Emperors will have a feast planned soon after his report and he’s expected to be on display. He scratches his cheek as he is escorted through the halls until he arrives in the grand hall where the Emperors are waiting. He strides to stand before them and bows his head, “Rome is in your hands.” He vows, “we have conquered Africa.” He announces, “for you and for Rome.”

Dressed in snowy white silk and gold, you are sitting off to the side, ignored by your husband and brother as they had waited for the general’s approach. You had heard the crowds outside the palace, the roars echoing dimly and you sat up slightly from the chaise when the doors had opened. Finding a much different man than you had expected walking confidently towards them. He’s older than you remembered, but his gray hair is still pleasant as it mixes with his darker locks. He’s handsome, not the sharp nosed beauty of your fair husband, but darker, broader. His nose is curved and his eyes are the color of night from where you sit. You want to see them up close. He’s large, larger than Caracalla and you wonder if you are the whore some have whispered you must be, for you want to see what this man would be like inside you.

Caracalla cannot let his brother know his plan. No one can know. Geta greets Marcus who bows his head and his dark eyes flick over to you for a moment. When you arrived at the palace you were reluctant to marry Caracalla. He remembers hearing the rumors of your attempts to escape, and the way Caracalla treats you from guards that he served with. He clenches his jaw, standing up straight and the Emperors sing his praises so he offers them polite smiles. He’s sick of war. He’s tired of fighting an endless battle for more land when the Roman Empire is struggling. People cannot eat. Men are dying. It’s an endless grab for power and the Emperors are not fighting for it themselves. “Tonight, we feast in your honor.” Geta declares, clapping Marcus on the back and he follows the Emperors to the head table where he will sit while the court and the senate celebrate his success.

When his eyes land on yours, a shiver races through your body. This is a man who has seen death. Dealt out harsh punishments and narrowly survived. He’s much more rugged, raw. So different from your spoiled and foppish husband. He should be a leader for Rome, rather than a man who has never seen war. You are ignored, so you undrape yourself from your seat and slowly stroll into the hall to join the festivities.

Marcus notices you as you sit down beside your husband and he’s taken back by how beautiful you are but he also sees the sadness in your eyes. The lifeless stare across the room tells him you’re lonely while your husband guzzles wine and cheers for the victory he played no physical part in. He does as is expected, eating and drinking his fill but he thinks about the starvation he witnessed, the poverty that the empire has caused from taxing too much and forcing more war on its people. “We shall acquire whores to pleasure you, General.” Geta insists, “you will be serviced until you feel rewarded for your victory for Rome.” The court cheers and Caracalla then leans in towards you, “return to your room. I want you ready to take the general.” He commands, whispering in your ear.

You don’t sigh, nodding and leaning in to kiss his cheek for show before you stand up and walk out of the room without looking back. Knowing the Emperor, he will want you nude and wearing some of the jewels that had been sent back to Rome as tribute. You have already been bathed and perfumed by your servants in anticipation of your husband fucking you tonight, but Caracalla always demands privacy in the wing of the palace you live in. His oddity will work in his favor for concealing who is planting his seed in your belly tonight.

Marcus is ready to head home when Caracalla whispers in his ear, “I wish to speak privately.” Marcus frowns as he pulls back to look into the manic eyes of the emperor and he knows he can never deny him. He nods and stands with the emperor. He bows to Geta even though the other emperor is busy with his tongue down a whore’s throat as the festivities begin. Caracalla dismisses his guards with a wave of his hand and he guides Marcus through the halls until he enters his private chambers. Marcus is anxious, wondering if the emperor is going to kill him even though the idea is laughable. He’s been a man of luxury. Only carrying a sword for show and never for battle. The emperor still doesn’t speak as he strides over to the doors and he opens them to display you on the bed naked and draped in jewels, a nervous look on your face. “What is the meaning of this?” Marcus demands, confused and wanting to leave to retire to his villa. Not to play games.

“I tried to imagine what kind of reward a man of your talents would enjoy.” Caracalla hums as he smirks victoriously. You are a gorgeous creature and he knows that the man will have no problem mounting you. “Whores are too boring, they have had too many men, been soiled by their pleasures.” He takes Marcus’s shoulders and turns him back towards you and the bed. “But an Empress’s cunt? She’s only had one other cock. She’s practically pure and it’s tight.” He chuckles. “My brother gives you a common whore to fuck, I give you a royal cunt.” Again, it’s a competition between the brothers and he’s determined to best Geta.

Marcus’s eyes widen at the Emperor’s offer and he looks over at you. His cock twitches under his tunic at the way you’re on display for him, but he wonders if this is some kind of test from the emperor. He swallows harshly and looks back at Caracalla. “You honor me but I am - I am satisfied with whores. I do not want to sully the empress with my - with my body. She is divine and deserves to be fucked by a man like you, a man chosen by the gods.”

You lift a brow, wondering what the Emperor will say to that. Would he admit that he has been unsuccessful in breeding you? That there is something wrong with him? Or will he blame it on you? There is no telling with Caracalla. You shift to your knees, spread apart on the bed so he can get a good look at your body.

Marcus’s cock twitches again, hardening as your breasts bounce and he swallows harshly, averting his eyes once again. “I don’t - I don’t understand.” Marcus admits, knowing that only the emperor can fuck the empress to get her with child. “I want you to fuck my uxor and I want to watch.” Caracalla confesses, “and I want you to spill your seed inside of her.”

His eyes slide over your body again and you can see the way his cock is starting to lift the fabric of his tunic. Your nipples are hardening because you are enticing this war-hardened general. “The emperor is very generous.” You tell Marcus, sliding a hand up to cup one tit. “He has never been one to share and yet he wishes to honor his general.” You don’t mention why he would want such a thing. “Do you not like cunt?” You ask, wondering if he might prefer the boys in the bath houses. You have heard rumors of some senators who often prefer the company of men than their wives. Perhaps the general is one of them.

Marcus shakes his head, “no. I- I do. It’s just -” He looks at Caracalla, “you’re the empress and I cannot - the heir cannot be from anyone but the emperor.” Marcus reasons and Caracalla reaches out to squeeze his shoulder, “you have to understand, General, I am asking you to fill up my wife. We have been unsuccessful in our venture to have an heir and I must beat my brother to it. I wish for you to spill your seed inside my empress…regardless of the consequences.” He declares and Marcus’s eyes widen slightly as he understands what is being asked of him.

You can see that Marcus Acacius is not a foolish man, he understands the danger he has found himself in. He cannot deny the Emperor, and he could never speak of it. “Maritus.” You murmur softly, bringing his attention back to you. “Tell the general what kind of son you wish to have.”

Caracalla senses Marcus’s panic and he smirks, “I want a warrior son. Someone who will be strong and fight for Rome, to protect our line.” He says even though he knows the child would not be his blood. “The name. My name must continue through him. I want a gladiator and you possess those traits. I wish for my son to have them. Do you wish to fill my beautiful wife with your seed and produce the next heir to the Roman Empire?” He asks even though he knows no one says no to the emperor.

You can see that Marcus is torn. He can’t say no, just like you could not run away from him when he had decided to take you as his empress. “He is handsome.” You coo. “Strong. He will put a son you will be proud of in my belly.” You tell your husband. “While enjoying himself by having an empress spread her thighs for him.”

Marcus knows he can’t refuse. He must fuck you and you’re a beautiful woman but he prays to the gods that the emperor doesn’t change his mind and punish you or him after the act is complete. “As my emperor wishes.” He nods and Caracalla claps, “excellent. My uxor will strip you. I wish to watch the act.” He says, spinning to make his way to the chair in the corner. Marcus is shocked that the man wants to watch but he doesn’t deny him, knowing that could be his head. He nods and walks over to the bed, waiting for your move.

Sliding off the bed, you stand straight, unashamed of your nudity. You might have only had Caracalla as a lover, but he often wanted you nude to just gaze upon you while you were together. You reach for the golden laurel on his head and remove it gently. “Tonight we will see if your prowess in battle is matched by your vigor in bed.” You smile at him, wanting to make sure he doesn’t change his mind. “If your cock truly is as big as your sword.” You giggle. “Some of the women you have fucked talk.”

Marcus’s cock is hardening with your words and your touch. You are one of the most beautiful women in the empire, if not the most, and Marcus is not immune to your beauty. You set his laurel down and Caracalla takes his place in the corner of the room. He flusters at his reputation and wonders what you will think of him. If he lives up to the rumors.

You try to forget your husband is watching, concentrating on the man in front of you. The gold wrist cuffs come off and you wonder if he would prefer the unadorned look. Rather than being weighed down by the ostentatious trappings of his role. You know you would rather live simply. “Relax, General.” You hum quietly. “The emperor has taught me how to please him. Hopefully I will please you as well.”

Marcus is nervous, anxious, and every emotion a man can be when he’s being used for his seed and watched as he pleasures the wife of one of the most powerful men in the empire. He keeps his hands by his sides until you reach for the hem of his tunic. He’s ashamedly hard, unable to be anything but when you are in front of him. You smell delicious and he knows he’d be diving into your cunt if you came to his home without your status and stature.

Biting your lip, you lift the tunic to reveal his hard cock and you moan softly. “Step back, let me look.” Caracalla demands and you turn to the side to show the emperor his cock. “He is very well endowed.” Your husband smirks. “Good. I would hate for my son to have a less than impressive cock.” He is very proud of his own, even if he is not as thick as Marcus. You reach down and brush your finger over the length as you pull the tunic over his head.

He hisses when your fingers brush his length and you smirk, tossing his tunic aside. Caracalla often indulges in men when he is in the throes of an orgy and he is impressed by the general. His shoulders are broad and muscular. Strong arms. Tapered waist and a full head of hair, albeit graying, even in his ripe age. This is the man who could sire him a son who would be legendary in Rome. “Kiss him.” Caracalla demands, wanting to be in control even if it is not his seed securing his lineage.

You lick your lips, leaning in and press your lips to the slightly chapped ones of the general. You sense his hesitation, knowing that he is unsure of the motives behind this. Instead of pulling back, you press your breasts against his chest, feeling the light hairs covering his skin tickle you.

His fingers flex and Caracalla chuckles, “you can touch her, General.” There’s the permission Marcus needs. His hands slide along your back, pulling you even closer and one hand slides up your body to cup your cheek, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. His tongue finds yours and you squeak, unused to such aggressive kissing. Caracalla likes softer especially when he’s wanting the opposite of his lovers or orgies.

Your husband hums, reaching for his wine with one hand and reaching down to squeeze his cock with the other. If it would not potentially ruin the chances of you conceiving a child, he would join you. See how Marcus kisses. Instead, he takes pleasure in knowing that the most powerful general in his army is following his orders even off the battlefield.

Marcus groans into your mouth, his hand sliding down to squeeze your ass while he grips the back of your neck. He’s relieved that he sought the company of a whore before arriving back in Rome. He would embarrass himself if he were pent up. He loves the way your fingers tangle in his hair and he is glad to see the empress is not shy about taking what she wants.

The emperor very rarely lets you do what you wish, so this is a new experience for you and you are greedy for it. “Get on your knees.” The order comes from behind you and makes you pull away. Aware that Caracalla will still try to dictate the way you are fucked. “Let the general see you on your knees before him and feel your mouth around his cock.”

Marcus inhales sharply as he watches you sink to your knees in front of him. His sandals are still on his feet while his cock throbs from arousal. Your eyes are sultry as you look up at him, looking like Venus herself. He swallows and hisses softly when you wrap your fingers around his cock.

You squeeze him gently, feeling him throb in your hand and you roll back the foreskin. You have pleasured your husband like this countless times and he claims you are good at it, so hopefully you don’t disappoint the general. Leaning forward, you press your tongue flat against the tip and then curl it around the head as you take him into your mouth. The general has bathed, so he tastes clean and musky.

His fingers flex by his side as you take him into your mouth. He groans quietly but Caracalla shakes his head, "I want to hear how my empress is making you feel." He demands and Marcus nods, groaning louder when you take him deeper into your mouth. "Fuck." He curses, his hand finding your cheek as he looks down at you.

You hum at his rough praise, feeling the way his hips slightly rock, like he wants to take control and fuck your mouth. Taking him deeper, you moan when the first spurt of his salty seed hits your tongue, a little treat to tell you he is enjoying it.

His eyes flutter closed as he loses himself in the feel of your mouth around his cock. He can tell you’re not as experienced as the whores he has had but you are enthusiastic and he fucking loves that. “Open your eyes, Acacius.” Caracalla orders, wanting to see the pleasure on the man’s face.

You take him deep right as he opens his eyes and they widen in shock as he chokes out a sound that goes straight to your cunt. Pleased that you can make a man as strong and fierce as the general choke on his own breath. You start to bob your head quickly, wanting to hear more and to see his face screw up in pleasure.

Marcus groans, his chin resting on his chest as he watches you take his cock. “Fuck.” He grunts as your hands rest on his thighs as you take his cock in your mouth. His stomach clenches and he moans, shaking his head. “I am - I’m going to- shit. Stop.” He pleads, his cock twitching in your mouth.

You are surprised that he is already about to cum, but maybe he has been without the pleasure of a woman for too long. You pull off his cock, panting yourself as you wipe your chin. Your cunt is dripping and you are eager to see if his cock scrubs against your walls the way you hope he does. Despite your initial reservations about having sex with someone else, you now find yourself looking forward to fucking this man

He is shocked how quickly you worked him up but perhaps it’s because this is not a whore he’s paid for. You are the most coveted woman in the empire, a prize to your husband, and you’re on your knees for him. Caracalla smirks at the look on the general’s face. He looks worked up and the emperor smirks, “you need to spill inside her. Uxor, lay down on the bed and spread your legs for the general. Let him see how wet you get sucking a cock.”

You shift to your feet and turn around. Your eyes slide to your husband and you see that he is turned on, his own cock tenting his tunic. Laying down, you spread your legs. Bending your knees you run your hands down to spread the lips of your sex for him to see. “Soaked.” You moan softly.

Marcus’s eyes darken as he takes in the sight of your wet cunt. You’re dripping and he loves it. He reaches down to squeeze his cock as he shuffles closer. Caracalla smirks at the look on the general’s face. “You can fuck her, Acacius. You have the emperor’s blessing. Fill her with your seed and create the next emperor of Rome.” He demands and Marcus shifts to kneel on the bed. His free hand slides up your thigh until he’s pushing two thick digits into your dripping cunt.

Your eyes flutter closed on a loud moan, feeling the way his fingers stretch you out. His hands are rough, the skin scraping so deliciously inside you and making your legs shift and shake around his hips. This man will be so different from the only other man you have had sex with, you know that instinctively and for a split second, you pray to the gods that it will take more than one time for him to successfully fill you with his seed.

He pumps his fingers, loving how wet you are around them, and he groans when you squeeze his digits. He wants you to cum like this. His thumb against your clit, he curls his fingers while your emperor watches you. His fingers squeeze his cock through his tunic while Marcus strokes his cock with his fist.

Your body responds to the sure, deep pumps of his fingers into your cunt. “Gods.” You whimper, watching as his dark, intense eyes watch his fingers move inside you. Completely focused on making you feel blissful before he mounts you. You won’t say that your husband hasn’t pleasured you, but it’s always been a byproduct of his own, rather than his complete goal. “It feels so good. His fingers are magical.”

Caracalla smirks as he watches your back arch and you moan as Marcus pumps his fingers into you. The room is filled with a squelch as you take what he gives you. “That’s it, Empress.” He coos, pressing his thumb harder against your clit.

You pant out your first name. “Call me by my name when you are inside me.” You order breathlessly, wanting to hear him say your name. Turning your head, you look to your husband behind you, seeing that he is actually enjoying watching you like this. You know he has attended many orgies and probably watched many people have sex, but his eyes are alight with glee, watching this general touch you.

Marcus watches you as you take his fingers and groans at the way you are fluttering around his digits. He says your name as a demand, wanting you to fall apart for him before he fucks you full of his seed. Caracalla watches and smirks, his cock now pulled out so he can slowly jerk himself at the sight in front of him.

Whimpering quietly, your body starts to react. Toes curling and thighs shaking as your cunt clenches down around his thick fingers. “Marcus!” Your gasp of his name is loud, almost surprised as the intense pleasure rips through you, his fingers pressing against something wonderful inside you.

He groans, cock twitching in his hand as you soak his digits and Caracalla chuckles, “she loves your fingers, General.” Marcus smirks and works you through it, pulling his fingers out after you start to whine. “You want me to fuck you, Empress?” He asks, smirking as he jerks his cock against your pelvis.

You moan, nodding as you try to roll your hips down. He looks confident now, like the general you know he must be on the battlefield. “I do, General. Fuck me full.”

He nods, shifting to position his cock at your entrance, swiping it through your folds as he groans softly when he notches himself at your entrance and starts to push inside you with a soft groan of your name. You’re so tight and hot, his eyes flutter closed at the way you feel around him.

He’s thick. Thicker than Caracalla, stretching you more than his fingers did and pulling a long, wanton moan from your chest. You are taking another man. Having his cock inside you and you hear your husband groan as he watches. He sounds almost envious, but you can only care about the way Marcus fills you right now. “Fuck.” You whine when his hips are flush and his cock is pushed deep and kissing your womb. “Your cock is made by the gods.” You praise breathlessly.

Marcus looks down at you, his chest heaving at the way you are taking his cock and he shifts to his forearms so he can hover over you. Your legs lift to wrap around his hips and his face hovers near yours. “You’re so tight.” He hisses and Caracalla smirks, “I told you. She’s like a virgin.” He declares as he squeezes his cock in his hand, working himself as Marcus starts to move inside you.

That first thrust is a sharp snap of his hips. Making you scream and your nails dig into his biceps. Marcus freezes, fearing that he had made an error, but your thighs tighten. “More, move general.” You demand, wanting to see if he can make you scream like that again.

He loves the way you command him, reminding him of your status. He relaxes now that he knows he didn’t hurt you and he rocks his hips, pushing deep into you. “Empress. Scream for me.” He growls, leaning in to kiss your neck since he doesn’t know if kissing is permissible. His hips rock forward as he pushes against your cervix.

You moan softly, knowing that he will make you scream if he moves like this inside you. “Kiss him.” Caracalla orders, giving permission and you quickly turn your head to press your lips to Marcus's as his head comes up. He rocks into you steadily, your fingers tracing over the scars on his back and side as he fucks you. Mapping the wars that he has fought and the times he has survived to experience this moment. “So deep.” You whimper.

He is lost in the feel of your hot cunt around his cock. Your body takes everything he gives you. His hips slap against your ass and he shifts his weight onto one arm so he can grab your thigh, pushing it back towards your stomach as he sinks impossibly deeper into you. His tongue sliding against yours to swallow your moan.

You don’t even think about Caracalla, although you hear the sound of him stroking his cock. Too taken by the way that Marcus fucks you. He’s rougher, harder than your husband and his pace makes your walls flutter around his cock every time he drills into you. It’s so wicked, forbidden and the people of Rome would be horrified if they knew that their Empress was being fucked like a common whore, but you love it.

He groans into your mouth as you grip his shoulders and he rocks harder into you, wanting to feel you cum around him. His hand slides up your thigh until he’s rubbing your clit. He may have had many whores but he’s always prided himself on ensuring they were pleasured too. “Empress.” He groans against your chin, “want you to cum for me.”

You whine into his mouth when he comes back to kiss you. Rocking up against his fingers as you try to get as close as possible to him. One hand slides down to his ass, feeling it flex as he pumps into you. “Yes. Yes.” You chant, eyes closed in bliss.

Marcus grunts as he grinds into you, his fingers rubbing your clit faster as he wants you to cum for him. He kisses along your neck and Caracalla is invisible to him as he focuses completely on you. “Cum for me.” He demands and you cry into his mouth as you fall apart for him.

It’s good, better than any pleasure Caracalla has ever given you but you can never admit that. Your body trembles under his as your walls spasm around him. Making him groan as you gasp out his name. “Marcus!” You feel how you soak his cock and the sounds it makes as he fucks you through it.

He loves the way you squeeze him and he hisses your name, rocking into you. He knows he should hold off, make you fall apart again but he is wound up by the circumstances. “Fill her up, Acacius.” Caracalla demands and Marcus buries his face in your neck as he thrusts a half dozen more times until he’s pushing deep and filling you up with hot spurts of cum.

The hot splash of his seed makes you whine, eyes closed as you feel him ride out his pleasure, cock pulsing inside you. He doesn’t pull out of you immediately and you enjoy his weight on top of you. He is heavier, broader than your husband and you like feeling like you are at his mercy. The sweat slick skin of his back slides under your fingers and you stroke it and you sigh in bliss.

Marcus shifts to take his weight off you and he swallows harshly. He hasn’t cum that hard since he was with his wife. He kisses your neck without Caracalla seeing it and your emperor stands, cock in his hand, to stand at the foot of the bed. “Pull out of her. I want to see your seed drip out of her.” He demands and Marcus shifts to pull out of you. He lays beside you and Caracalla stands there, eyes dark as he takes in the sight of your dripping cunt.

You can’t really tell what your husband is thinking, his eyes wide and slightly manic. He’s not upset, that much you can tell. “What do you think, maritus?” You ask softly.

He smirks, jerking his cock as he kneels on the bed. “I want to cover you in my seed.” He says as he watches you while you lay on the bed, chest heaving.

You don’t dare look over at Marcus, keeping your eyes on your husband as he starts to buck into his hand. You can tell he’s already close from the groans. “Cover me.” You urge him, spreading your thighs wider. “Coat me and we will pray to the gods that they will give you a strong child.”

Caracalla doesn’t hesitate as he starts to cover you. Hot drops of his seed hitting your skin and covering your cunt that is still creamy from Marcus’s cum. “That’s it. It’s - our warrior.” He groans as he works himself empty of every drop while Marcus relaxes beside you.

You reach down and swipe your fingers through his seed and bring it up to your mouth. He loves when you taste him and he finally milks the last drops out of his cock as you moan softly, licking your digits clean.

Caracalla smirks, “perfect. Fucking perfect. You will be with child before we know it.” He says as he looks over at Marcus, “I want you here to fill her up every day until she’s with child.” He demands, “you will remain here in our quarters. No one will question you because we have no guards inside.”

You are surprised by the Emperor’s order, but you don’t question it. “Will you be present every time, or do you want him to fill me as often as possible?” You ask, looking over at the general to see what he thinks.

Marcus knows he cannot say no. He nods and shifts to sit up on the bed. “I shall do as my emperor desires.” He promises and Caracalla smirks, “you’ll fill her up every single day until it takes.” He demands and Marcus bows his head. “I will let you two decide the times. I cannot afford to spend too much time here and I don’t want people to get suspicious.”

“Of course, maritus.” You shift to your knees and press your lips to your husband’s briefly and he huffs before pushing you back down to the bed. “You must lay there.” He tells you. “Lift your hips so his seed isn’t wasted.”

Marcus reaches for his tunic, suddenly feeling awkward as he redresses while you lay down and keep your hips tilted. He possibly just got the empress pregnant and no one can ever know. The senate would have him killed for his treason, Geta certainly would. Caracalla tucks himself away and strides over to clap Marcus on the back. “I’ll show you to your rooms and we will have your things brought to the palace.” Marcus nods, letting the emperor guide him through the halls until he’s in an ornate room. “You have one job now, General. Fuck my uxor and fill her until it takes.” Caracalla says, his eyes a little manic. Marcus nods and watches the emperor leave. He looks around and sighs, wondering what he’s gotten himself into.

You lay with your hips for an hour. Bored and replaying your encounter with Marcus as Caracalla’s cum dries on your skin. He’s a better lover than your husband and you are ashamed of it, but you are looking forward to having him in your bed again.

Marcus looks around the room, unsure of what to do or say as he comes to the realization that his dream of enjoying time alone in his villa is long gone. He’s under the thumb of the emperor now and he must do as he says otherwise he will face execution.

****

The next afternoon, you find Marcus on the balcony, appearing deep in thought. “I am not disturbing you, am I General?” You ask softly, waiting by the pillar for him to acknowledge you. You wonder what he thinks about this, about being commanded to fill you with his child.

Marcus turns to look at you, reminded of how beautiful you are as the sun shines on your face. “Good day, Empress. You’re not disturbing me.” He promises, “are you well?” He asks, wanting to make sure he hasn’t harmed you.

“I am.” You smile as you walk out onto the balcony and look at the gardens below. “Sore, in a very good way.” You assure him, glancing over at him before looking back out at the neatly manicured hedges and plants. “I hope that you do not feed trapped here.” You murmur softly. “I am sure you are used to doing what you wish when you wish it.”

Marcus looks down at the olive trees and sighs, his hands wringing together. “You and I both know we have no choice but to follow the orders of the Emperor. I did not imagine returning from war to engage in the breeding of the empress. You are a beautiful woman and if you were not the uxor of Caracalla, I would be thanking the gods for letting me be in your bed, but the circumstances are…unusual. As long as you have need of me, I’m at your service.” He assures you, “it is not a task to fuck you but I worry for the day the emperor changes his mind.”

“Caracalla cannot have anyone know about his bad seed.” You murmur quietly. “Especially not Geta. He will not change his mind, but…..” you look around and lower your voice. “I do not trust that he might get rid of you once I have given birth to a son.”

Marcus turns to look at you again, “I would not be surprised but I’d rather have that issue several moons from now instead of being killed for not following orders. It will not be a hard task to put a child in you but you must tell me if you do not wish to take me.” He insists, “I do not want to fuck an unwilling woman.”

You snort, turning to look out at the gardens so he doesn’t see your embarrassment. “He would have my tongue cut out for admitting this, but you are better.” You admit softly. “I spent an hour with my hips tilted towards the gods, replaying what you had just done to me, imagining it happening again and again.”

Marcus turns to look at you, eyebrows raised, and he cannot deny that his cock twitches while his chest puffs with pride. “Is that so? Do you wish for us to…repeat the event soon to ensure the next emperor of Rome? I must admit that I have had many women, most of them whores, but no one has made me cum as hard as you did.”

That makes you straighten, pleased by the notion that you can bring this general to his knees. Making his core quiver in pleasure despite your lack of experience with partners. You bite your lip and turn towards him. “Perhaps we should retire and make sure that we have enough energy for our next session?” You ask, your fingers sliding along the smooth marble edge of the balcony to touch his hand. “The emperor was most insistent that you fill me often. I believe that we should obey his orders.”

Marcus smirks, seeing the eager look in your eyes, and he leans closer. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint the emperor. Shall we convene in your quarters or mine?” He asks, his eyes dropping down to your lips. You’re forbidden to everyone except Caracalla and now…him. It’s intoxicating especially when you tell him he’s better. Even if it’s just to float his ego.

“Yours.” You decide, wondering if it will be acceptable to him. “Unless you need to leave again as soon as it’s done?” You ask, hoping that he would not want you to leave. You spend a lot of time by yourself and you are curious to hear about his campaigns and the places he has seen.

He glances back over the gardens, “I am here to fulfill an order from the emperor and I wish to do it to the best of my ability. Let us retire to my quarters and you are welcome to remain as long as you please.” He promises and he wants to speak to you about your former kingdom, your father, and the army who took you from your home to deliver you to the Emperor.

Nodding, you feel that same odd sense of giddiness that had overcome you last night. A forbiddenness that has been temporarily allowed, even ordained by the gods. A taste of normalcy, where you can pretend that you are not an Empress. Nothing but a woman that this handsome, virile man wants. “Call me by my name.” You ask, almost as a plea.

His eyes meet yours and he licks his lips as he says your name. He loves the smile you give him in return and his hand brushes yours, “lead the way, empress.” He demands, saying your name again when you narrow your eyes at him.

“Do you prefer to be called by your rank or your name?” You ask softly, turning away from the balcony and walking back inside with him towards his chamber.

“You can call me by my name.” He says, following you as you walk through the hallway to his newly assigned quarters. It’s more than anything he’s ever had before. Even in his beautiful villa. He follows you inside and shuts the door behind you, “you are exquisite.” He declares when you turn to look at him.

“Do you claim those words for every whore you fuck?” You ask curiously, tilting your head as you smile at him, showing him that you are teasing. “Or do you save that for the special ones?”

Marcus shakes his head, “there’s usually no words when I have a whore in my quarters. I like to speak with my actions. Not my words.” He confesses, stepping over to you. He reaches up to cup your cheeks, “you truly are Venus herself.” He murmurs, leaning in to nudge his nose against yours.

“You are handsome.” You admit breathlessly. “Strong, fierce. Like Apollo.” Your hands run up the soft white tunic he is wearing. “I thought so last night when you were inside me. Riding me hard and yet-“ your lips brush against his. “Your lips were tender.”

His cock twitches at the soft contact of your lips and he can’t help it. He grabs the back of your neck and drags you closer to him, tilting his head so he can press his lips to yours. You’re so soft against him, pliable as his other hand grips your waist.

He’s so dominant, in control. You can tell this is a man who is used to being in charge, taking what he needs to take. You don’t resist, pressing yourself against his hard body, letting the kiss deepen as you open your mouth and let out a soft moan.

His tongue slides against yours and he groans you relinquish power to him. You’re so eager to please. He wants to taste you though, all of you. His mouth pulls away from yours so he can kiss along your jaw down to your neck, and he starts walking you backwards towards his bed.

You let him guide you, willing to do whatever he wants. Although it’s easy to see that he wants your dress off when his fingers reach for the ornate pin on your shoulder that keeps the material up. You wonder if it will be different this time since Caracalla isn’t watching.

He pulls on the pin and your robes fall to the marbled floor, exposing you to the cool breeze and he pushes you back onto the bed, loving the way your tits bounce as you fall backwards. He wants to taste you so he grabs your waist, lifting you higher up the bed, and he pushes your thighs apart, wasting no time before he dives in to slide his tongue through your folds.

You gasp in surprise, eyes widening as you lurch up. It’s not that you’ve never had this kind of attention, but that it’s rare. Caracalla prefers to have your mouth on him. Your fingers tangle into his hair and you moan loudly when he flicks his tongue over your clit.

He groans at the tangy taste of your arousal. His fingers dig into your thighs as he pushes them apart so he can slide his tongue against your clit. “Fuck.” He curses when he pulls back for a moment, spreading you with his thumbs so he can suck your clit into his mouth.

You whine his name, closing your eyes. “Marcus.” Your hips roll up until he throws one arm over your waist to pin you down. Holding you in place while he does wonderful things to your cunt with his tongue.

He laps at your cunt, wanting to hear you fall apart for him. There’s no rush for this. Caracalla isn’t watching and you are alone with the general. He approaches your cunt like a battlefield, using the best method to make you fall apart for him. He laps at your clit, his fingers digging into your thigh as he pushes it towards your stomach with a groan.

You pull your thighs back like he wants, reaching down and holding them so he can lick as deep as he wants into you. Moaning out his name again as he continues to feast on your cunt like a man who has been given his last meal besides an execution.

He groans into your flesh, loving the way you open yourself up for him, and he slides his tongue as deep as he can go, loving the tang of your arousal and the way you moan his name.

He groans in your flesh, vibrating it deep into your core and it makes you clench around his tongue. Pushing your hips down against his face, you want to grind into it. To ride his tongue. You’ve heard of such things, witnessed some of the orgies when you had been spying on your husband’s parties after you had been sent off to bed. “Marcus, oh fuck. I- it’s so good.”

He loves hearing your cry of pleasure and his nose presses against your clit. His hand on your hips slides up to squeeze your breast, wanting you to cry out his name again. At this moment, he doesn’t care about anyone hearing your cries even though the Emperor wants this to be your dirty secret. He groans and pinches your nipple, wanting you to fall apart again.

You shiver, your legs tremble as you climb closer to your peak. Feeling your body start to buck again as he pinches your nipple again. “Cum for me and I’ll fuck you.” He rasps out, pulling away from your cunt long enough to order you to cum before he dives back into it. Throwing you over the edge with another swipe of his tongue, your cunt starts to gush in pleasure as you clench around nothing.

He laps up every drop you offer. Like elixir, he greedily sucks at your folds and your clit, working you through your orgasm as his fingers grip your body to keep you in place until you push his head away, overstimulated. He’s aching, hard and pressing into the bed.

“Gods.” You pant, pushing to your elbows and looking down at him. “You are good at that.” You reach down and grab his shoulder to drag him up. “Kiss me.” You beg, not caring that your juices are on his mouth. “Then I want you to fuck me.”

He cannot deny you anything. Shifting onto his knees, his cock tenting his tunic as he leans down to press his lips to yours. He shifts his weight to push against you and he hisses when you reach for the hem of his tunic to pull it over his head, breaking the kiss.

“You are gorgeous.” You whisper, reaching down and wrapping your fingers around his cock. “Do you like to fuck away the heat of battle when you come back to your tent?” You ask curiously. “Do you prefer a softer touch then to counteract the violence of earlier?”

He groans, looking down at your soft hand around his cock, “it depends. Mostly it’s rough, fuck away the adrenaline.” He says and leans in to kiss along your jaw as he holds his weight over you. “Gods, you are - let me inside you.” He pleads, needing to feel your hot cunt again.

You spread your thighs wider, lifting a leg to hook onto the side of his hip. “Fuck me.” You order him, surprised that he had even asked permission.

You release his cock and he grips himself, pumping his length a few times, squeezing as he positions himself at your dripping entrance. He slowly pushes into you, wanting to feel how hot and wet you are as he gives you inch after inch of his cock.

It’s slower than last night. As if he is savoring every inch as he pushes inside you. You don’t rush him, enjoying the way his cock scrubs against your walls slowly, breaking you open and making your cunt fit him inside. Holding onto his shoulders, you encourage him with your sounds, moaning in pleasure and caressing his skin as he pauses halfway inside you.

He surges forward to press his lips to yours, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he pushes the rest of the way inside you. His cock twitches once he presses against your cervix, groaning at how you’re gripping him. His hand caresses your side as he slides his hand up to your breast.

His grip on your flesh is possessive, sure. Taking more liberties now that your husband is not directing his movements. “I’m yours now.” You murmur softly in encouragement. “Touch me. Explore me. Use me how you want.”

He knows you’re not his, can never be his, but you are in this moment, and he’s greedy. He groans, kissing along your neck, and he ducks his head down to take your nipple into his mouth. He bites down, sucking on the hardened nub, and he loves how you cry out at his touch.

You love your breasts being played with. Caracalla has a feeding obsession, wishing that you produced milk, but hopefully soon you will be able to. You wonder if Marcus would want to taste milk from your breasts.

He groans at the way your hand tangles in his hair and he starts to move inside you. “Fuck. You feel so good.” He murmurs against your sternum, turning his head to take your other nipple into his mouth.

You whimper his name, letting him rock you closer to pleasure as he suckles at your breast. “Fuck, you- I can’t describe it.” You admit breathlessly. “You are like a god.”

He chuckles, his breath washing over you, and he grabs your thigh, “you’re a goddess. Fucking - fuck. You’re Venus. I am merely here to worship you.” He declares, his voice is raspy.

It’s intimate, so intimate that it makes your eyes wet with yearning. He feels like he is speaking to your soul, even if it is just the moment. You aren’t used to such soft words and you turn your head to press kisses to his broad shoulder, not wanting him to see you choked up.

He shouldn’t feel like this, like this is right where he should be. You belong to Caracalla and he should still mourn his wife, but the way you take his cock has him groaning your name into your neck as he tries to conceal the way you’re making him feel.

Your body responds to him so easily, making every roll of his hips push you higher. The pants and moans grow steadier every time he pushes deep and the inhale of anticipation when he draws back. The rhythm is one that neither one of you questions, each pushing towards pleasure together. “Fuck.”

He wants you to cum for him, needs to hear and feel it. He grabs your other thigh, pushing it back towards your stomach so you are folded over. He groans your name, kissing along your jaw to press his lips to yours. He slides his tongue into your mouth and drops his hips to grind his pelvis against yours.

Your moan is sealed into your mouth with his lips, or maybe it’s absorbed by him. All you know is that your nails dig into his shoulders as he works himself deep into your cunt. Pressing harder and harder with every roll of his hips. “Oh gods!”

Your cry into his mouth makes him smile against your chin, rocking into you a little faster as you clamp down on his cock. His pelvis and balls are soaked with your release and he hisses when you squeeze him like a vice. “Fuck.” He grunts, eyes closing as he works you through it. He pulls out when you relax beneath him and he rolls over, your body on top of his. “Ride me, empress. I want you to take another wave of pleasure from my body.” He demands, smacking your ass.

Eyes wide, you sit up, your hands on his chest. “I’ve never- never been in charge before.” You admit, even though you would love to do such a thing. “I- help me?” You ask, grinding down on his length and wanting him inside you again.

He suppresses his chuckle at your wide, uncertain eyes, but he loves how you look on top of him and the fact that you haven’t done this before. He reaches down to grip his cock, telling you to lift up. You shift to lift up and he positions his cock so you can sink back down onto him. “Rock your hips.” He commands, wanting to help you ride him.

He feels different from this angle. Bigger. His cock pressing against different parts of your walls and you gasp in pleasure when you roll back down on him. “Gods.” Your eyes close and you lean back, enjoying the way his cock stretches you this way. “You feel even bigger. Like you are right here.” Your hand covers your stomach. “You are in my womb.”

“I will be. I will fill you until it takes.” He promises, his hands gripping your hips. He helps you start to rock and you moan, your mouth falling open and he loves the way your tits bounce as you start to get a rhythm together.

It’s so different, being in charge. If you slow down or grind down harder, Marcus groans and twitches inside you. Like he’s enjoying you using him. Your body moves eagerly, loving the sounds he makes as he digs his fingers into your hips. “Gods, your cock is made for my cunt.”

“That’s it, empress. Take what you want from me. Use me.” He demands, his hand slapping your ass while the other grips your waist. He watches you take your pleasure and he loves the way your chest heaves when you get the angle just right.

You squeal when he slaps your ass again, clenching down around him. He is so commanding, even when he is under you and yet he lets you control him. If you pulled off his cock right now, you know he would let you. It’s freedom, and you’re breathless when you collapse onto his chest to press your lips to his.

He groans, his hand grabbing the back of your neck to keep you close, his tongue sliding against yours. He loves the way you rock back onto him and he wants you to make yourself cum. He needs you to cum again for him.

You lean into the kiss. Continuing to work yourself on his cock. Whining softly when your cunt starts to pulse until you are locking down around him with a cry into his mouth.

He groans when you cum for him again, soaking him, and he wraps his arms around you. He hisses your name and starts to thrust up into you. He can’t hold off any longer as he works himself towards your orgasm. He pushes deep into you, his cock twitching inside you as he starts to paint your walls with his cum.

You turn and press kisses to his jawline and moans softly. “That feels so good.” You murmur, resting your head against his shoulder and feel him riding out his high.

He pants as he closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath. He’s never felt like this before. Like his soul is leaving his body. He caresses your spine, fingers lazily trailing along your skin as he breathes you in.

“Can I stay like this?” You ask softly, content to lay just like you are if he will let you. You reason that having his cock still stuffed inside you is even better than tilting your hips up. “Am I too heavy?”

He shakes his head, “no, not too heavy. You can stay like this.” He says softly, closing his eyes as he enjoys the weight of you on top of him. He feels tired, his eyes still closed as his cock softens inside you.

You don’t realize you fell asleep until you wake up. Still on top of him with his arms secured around you. Holding you in place as he breathes softly underneath you. He’s still sleeping, making you softly turn your head up and watch him. He’s beautiful when he sleeps and you hope that the child you have looks like him.

Marcus wakes up when he feels your stare and he offers you a soft smile, “wore me out.” His chuckles vibrate through you and he sighs, glancing over at the balcony to see the sun is setting. “The Emperor will be wanting your presence.” He says softly, “we must clean up and I’ll leave you to your peace.”

“The emperor is attending a feast tonight.” You hum, knowing that you should probably keep your distance from the general when you are not letting him fill you. “I will be presented and then expected to leave before the festivities begin.” You snort. “There will be an orgy.”

Marcus snorts, “I never understood the appeal.” He confesses, “I like connection. Even with the whores I bedded, I felt connected to them even if only for the night.” He admits before he bites his lip, “do you like your life here or do you miss your home?”

“I miss home.” You want to hope that he will not tell the emperor. He doesn’t like when you admit somewhere else might be better than Rome. “I don’t have many people who will talk to me. Or spend time with me. I’m lonely.” You sigh. “Only to be seen and to bear the emperor's children.” Your father had sent you to marry the younger brother in order to preserve peace for your realm.

Marcus sighs, “I’m sure you do. I miss my village. When I was a boy, my father was killed in war and my mother struggled to survive, to feed us. As soon as I was able, I left to join the army. I wanted to send coin back to my mother but by the time I returned home, she was dead.” He murmurs, brow furrowed because he hasn’t thought about this for so long. “I threw myself into the fight until I met my wife. She was the daughter of a noble and I never imagined I’d be able to ask for her hand, so I fought hard to rise in the ranks until I could ask her father for his blessing. When we married, I was so happy, and she became with child. Then the day of our son’s birth…she died. So did he.” He’s lost in the agony of the memory, swallowing harshly as he tightens his grip on you.

You sigh softly and reach up to caress his cheek. Even though their deaths weren’t recent, you can see the despair on his face. “My prayers to the gods that they are peaceful together in death.” You murmur softly. “You gave yourself to the army and to Rome after that.” You know what it feels like to have nothing to live for, you feel like a prisoner with a decorative chain around your neck. Leaning in, you press your lips to his in a kiss meant to comfort.

He sighs into the kiss, cupping your cheek as he kisses you softly. “And now I give myself to her Empress.” He murmurs, “I shall fetch us some wine.” He says and you nod, shifting off him and he moves off the bed so he can get you a cup of wine.

He moves easily in his own skin, unashamed by his nudity and the body he possesses. He is not as firm as he might have been in his youth, but there is a leanness to him still that makes the broadness of his shoulders and bulk of his muscles incredibly appealing. There is a strength in his frame that Caracalla could never possess. “Do you mind?” You ask softly. “Knowing that your child will be claimed by Rome?”

He pours the wine as he contemplates his answer, “I have no choice. Even if it is not my wish, I cannot say no. As for the child…I am a general. I will die in battle and I would wish for my child to be taken care of. I know this child will be taken care of to the fullest extent.” He confesses, “I can die in peace.”

It’s wise, pragmatic even, but you still feel a sudden wave of sadness thinking about this man falling in battle. “Then I must learn all I can about you.” You murmur softly, smiling when he walks back over and hands the cup to you. “So I can tell him stories about a man that he should admire.”

Marcus offers you a soft smile, appreciating you wanting to tell your child about him. “He can never know that Caracalla is not his father.” Marcus reminds you, “he must be the rightful heir. But if you wish to tell him about your friend, I am willing to share myself with you.” He offers, “but you must tell me more about his mother,”

“That sounds fair.” You smile and take a sip of the wine as you lounge in his bed, completely nude. This is the most relaxed you have been since you have been sent to Rome and you know it is because of him, “I will tell you everything.” You promise.

****

Marcus groans as you clamp down on his cock, soaking him again as sweat glistens on his skin. He grunts, jaw clenched as he rocks into you from behind, his hips hitting your ass so the only noise in the room is slapping skin. He's been fucking you for two months now, spending nearly every night in your bed. Caracalla has entertained himself with his whores and orgies, leaving Marcus to make you scream his name every night.

You collapse down to your elbows, face on the cool sheets as he fucks you through the spasms of pleasure. “Amor, cum for me.” You beg, losing yourself to the moment and slipping up. Calling him an endearment you have kept inside you for weeks now. You spend all day, everyday with Marcus. Falling in love with the general and wishing that you were free to be with him. You feel as if he cares for you, but that just might be the sex that he enjoys.

Your words send him over the edge and he pushes deep as he cums, painting your walls for the umpteenth time. You missed your bleed last month but no one announced a pregnancy, wanting to be sure that you are with child. Marcus is reluctant to have it declared, knowing that his duty will be done and he will be sent away back to his villa, away from you. You are unlike any woman he's ever known. Strong, smart, beautiful, and you are lonely. He senses how isolated you are so he has spent a lot of time with you, discussing his battles, your battles - different in their methods but no less weary - and he has fallen for you. You are not his though, you belong to Caracalla and if he even dared to think about you being his, he would be killed.

Whining in pleasure as he fills you, your legs slide out from under you. Bringing you down to the bed and knowing that he will follow you. You love how close the two of you are, how he loves to touch you and keep touching you. You catch your breath and start to giggle softly, feeling him twitch when your walls clench around him in the aftershocks. “I love how you feel inside me.” You hum, lazy now that your body has been used and satisfied equally.

Marcus follows you, keeping his weight off of you just in case you are with child, and he kisses along your back. “You take me so well.” He murmurs, resting his forehead on your lower neck as he hovers over you. “Do you think…do you think you are with child?”

“I should not say this, but I hope I am not.” You sigh softly. “I have become accustomed to you in my bed and between my thighs. I do not want to give such a pleasure up.”

Marcus pulls out of you and shifts to lay down beside you, “perhaps…perhaps we can continue this. Ask the Emperor if he will allow us to copulate until the babe is born. He may allow us to continue in each other’s company, saying it’s to ensure the baby’s health.” He ponders, reaching out to cup your cheek, “I do not wish to give you up just yet.”

“I do not want to give you up either.” You confess softly, leaning into his touch. “You have become important to me. I….care for you.” It’s dangerous to admit, but you have to tell him that much at least. “I will ask the emperor to continue spending time with you.” You promise.

Marcus knows the request could be easily denied but he wants to continue spending time with you. He nods, shifting to pull you into his chest, burying his nose in your neck. He's gotten lazy, not wanting to train when he could be spending time with you.

****

“Congratulations, empress.” The Hippocrates you had called to the suite beams at you as he packs away his tools and tinctures. “The emperor will be pleased and the empire will drink to the health of your child.” You cover your womb protectively and wonder how Caracalla will take the news. Even though he had demanded this, he could always have a different view now that it is done. “Thank you.”

Caracalla is beaming when you tell him the news, pleased that his plan has worked and he can tell his brother that his child will be the next in line. “If it’s a son.” Geta hums and Caracalla nods, “it will be. A strong boy.” He celebrates by holding a party and you are alone, needing “to rest and protect the baby” in your quarters when Marcus enters, his brow furrowed. “What is the occasion for the orgy?” He asks, not having heard the news yet as he was training with his men all day.

When Marcus comes in, you rush over to him, flinging yourself into his arms and pressing your lips to his. Now truly able to celebrate the baby since his father has come home. “I am carrying your child.” You whisper softly, “your child. Not Caracalla’s.” You bite your lip and reach down to cover your womb. “I do not feel as if this child is his. It belongs to the man I love.”

Marcus’s eyes widen at the news and he pulls back to look down at your hand on your stomach. “Our child.” He murmurs in awe, unable to believe it’s happened despite him spending every night in your bed. He grabs the back of your neck, dragging you to his lips, and he pulls back after several moments to declare “I love you.”

You close your eyes in relief, letting out a small sob. “I love you too, Marcus.” You whisper softly. “In another life, we would be together.” You hate that you are the empress, that you are Caracalla’s wife and not his. “I wish we could change our fate.”

Marcus nods, “me too.” He cups your cheeks and sighs, “I love you, amor.” He murmurs and kisses your forehead, “for now, let us enjoy our time together before I am sent away. Let me worship the mother of my child.” He declares, shifting to kneel down in front of you.

“I will talk to the emperor.” You hadn’t had a chance to talk with him in private before he was rushing off to plan a feast and orgy to celebrate ‘his’ virility. Reaching down, you run your fingers through his dark curls and pray to the gods your babe has those same locks.

Marcus lifts your tunic, exposing your body to his hungry gaze, and he leans in to kiss your lower stomach as you bunch your tunic up under your breasts. His hands caress the back of your legs as he kisses down to your mound, burying his nose in the curls at the apex of your thighs. “Want to taste you.” He murmurs against your skin, shifting so he can slide his tongue through your folds.

Marcus is very talented with his tongue. He has proven that over the past months and you moan in pleasure. He lifts a leg onto his shoulder and you feel so exposed. Like a god being serviced by a mere mortal. He makes everything good. “Marcus.” You pant, closing your eyes briefly before you look down at him on his knees. Wanting to memorize this moment in fear that you might not have it again.

He groans at the tangy taste of your arousal, sliding his tongue through your folds and lapping at your clit like he’s worshiping Venus. He wants to savor every second of being with you before he’s sent away. It could be any second Caracalla decides his job is complete and sends him back to his villa.

His hands hold you in place, keeping you upright while he takes his time to lick through your folds and making you moan his name loudly.

He squeezes your ass just as the doors open and Caracalla strides in, dressed in his robes and taking a moment from the party. “Ah, Acacius. You are taking care of the Empress. Well done on ensuring I have an heir.” Caracalla watches as Marcus doesn’t stop, his tongue lapping at you. “I heard that fucking during pregnancy ensures a boy. I want a son. You will remain here in the palace to make sure I have an heir.” He declares, his cock twitching at the way you moan and Marcus sucks on your clit.

Your eyes find your husband, his face filled with pride and lust. “Yes.” You agree quickly, since it’s exactly what you want. “You need a son, my emperor.” You moan. “He will keep filling me, making sure you get what you need. A strong son.” You bite your lip. “He has served his emperor well and will continue to do so.”

Marcus loves your praise, continuing to ignore Caracalla’s presence as he works you towards your orgasm. He wants to be greedy, to have you like this for as long as he can before he has to leave you. “Keep pleasuring her, Acacius.” Caracalla orders and spins in his heel, wanting to enjoy his evening at the party celebrating his heir. “Keep her cumming.” He shouts back before he shuts the door and leaves you and Marcus together.

You push his head away as soon as the door slams shut and you drop to your knees. Needing to kiss Marcus now that you know that he’s not going to be sent away.

Marcus whines into your mouth in protest but he can't deny you. He cups your cheek and deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth as his other hand grabs your ass to pull you against him, his cock hard under his tunic.

You kiss deeply, thoroughly. Panting into his mouth and gasping for air when you break apart. “I love you.” You moan. “I need you inside me. Here, now.”

He grabs your thighs, lifting you so you are hovering over him as he kneels on the floor. "Take my cock and put me inside you." He demands, holding your weight over his body.

You fumble with his tunic, reaching underneath and pumping his cock before you line him up with your cunt. Moaning when he slowly lowers you down on him. “Fuck, amor.” You whimper, feeling him like it’s the first time all over again. You feel like you’re more sensitive but it just might be from the emotional turmoil.

Marcus inhales deeply when you sink down on him, engulfing him in your wet, hot cunt. "Fuck." He pants against your jaw as you grip his shoulders when he's fully inside you. "I love you." He murmurs against your skin, wanting you to know how he feels.

Your arms are around his shoulders, fingers tangling into his hair as he holds you up in his thighs. “I love you.” You promise him, knowing that even if your body belongs to Caracalla, your heart belongs to him. “You are my one love. Forever.”

“Fuck. I love you. Never thought - never imagined I could ever feel like this again. Fuck, I want you to - to take all of me and cum again.” He demands, starting to work you on his cock.

You moan in agreement, letting him take charge and control your pleasure. He’s so good at it. There’s only been a handful of times you’ve not cum on his cock and that was only because he was so worked up he came too quickly. However he had made sure he had pleasured you with his fingers and tongue afterwards.

He rocks you on his cock, wanting you to soak his cock again, and he grips your thighs. “Fuck, te amo, amor.” He rasps, leaning in to press his lips to your neck, tasting the sweat and salt of your skin.

Your eyes water and you wish for a split second that Caracalla was dead and you could celebrate your love. Holding him close, your walls are already trembling around his cock as he rocks up into you. “Yes.” You moan, loving when he uses his mother’s tongue.

He is lost in the feel of you, his cock twitching inside you as he rocks into you. He imagines for a brief moment, a life where he can be with you. A life together with your child. It's not possible though. The Emperor would have him killed, could still have him killed, and it's a dangerous game that Marcus has gotten involved in.

Your toes push off on marble floors, helping you bounce on his cock and you could stay just like this with him forever. You want to stay like this. “I love you. You are my love, my amor.” You moan in his ear. “I would be Marcus Acacius’s wife.”

Your words are treason but they make his cock twitch inside you, closer to his orgasm. He groans your name, pressing his lips to yours as he rocks a little faster, needing to feel you clamp down on his cock. “You’d be mine. I’d die for you.” He promises, “mine. Mine. Mine.” He growls against your lips.

You both are vowing things to each other that would have you both killed, but you don’t care. His next thrust pushes you over the edge and you cry out into his mouth as your walls soak him in hot waves of your pleasure.

His hand finds your ass, rocking you as you shudder through your orgasm, and he groans, thrusting a few more times before he falls apart. “Fuck. Fuck. Empress.” He pants, cock throbbing as he paints your walls, his hands squeezing you closer to him.

You cling to him, both relieved that he is going to stay beside you for the foreseeable future and desperate to never have him leave you at all. “You are perfect.” You kiss his neck gently, stroking his back over his tunic that he couldn’t be bothered to take off. Both of you are still dressed, but the moment had been perfect regardless.

He snorts, knowing he’s not perfect, but he wants you and he is going to protect you and the baby until his last breath. Caracalla wants him to stay and that is the best thing he can wish for right now. “Let’s get you cleaned up and settled. You need to rest for the baby.” He reminds you and helps you shift off his cock.

Grinning, you look down at him as he climbs to his feet. “You are going to be overprotective from now on?” You ask, already aware of the answer. He will be protective, he will take care of you. You are already in love with the baby in your belly and you feel like he is the same way.

****

"Fuck, amor." Marcus groans as you rock on top of him. Your bump pressing against his stomach as he rests his back on the wall while you ride his cock. Your knees dig into the bed beneath and his hands cup your sensitive breasts. He's been in your bedchamber for the past six months and he falls more in love with you with each passing day. It will surely kill him to leave you when he is ordered to return to war, but he will go. You can never be his. Caracalla will never permit a divorce and he will be killed for treason. He must go after the babe is born.

Caracalla hadn’t spent more than an hour a week with you, carousing and spending every night having an orgy. He claims he is excited for his child, but he only brings you out to brag about his soon to be born son before he leaves you in Marcus’s care. You are scared, because you know how precarious a position you are in. But you can only survive.

"That's it. Take what you want from me. It's yours. I'm yours." He vows, his dark eyes watching you as you bounce on his cock. Your belly is round and heavy with his child. It's something he never imagined having again after he lost his wife. He's addicted to you and he doesn't know how he's going to leave after the baby is born.

“Marcus.” You moan, leaning back and knowing that he will make sure you are comfortable and safe. “My general, my warrior.” You have been thinking about something dangerous, but you can’t think about it when he’s deep inside you. “I love you.”

He caresses your hips, leaning in to take a sensitive nipple between his lips, and he suckles lightly. He has gotten too comfortable being away from the battles the Emperors send him into, but right now, he doesn’t want to die like that. He wants to spend the rest of his life with you at this moment, no one else but you and him. His hand slides across your hip to find your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves to push you over the edge.

Carrying his baby has made you so sensitive to his touch that it only takes a few strokes of his thumb before you cry out. Your body shaking and your hips grinding down while your cunt locks down around his cock and your juices coat him.

He hisses your name as you clamp down around him, his eyes fluttering shut for a few moments as he lets you ride your high, until he’s squeezing your hips and thrusting up into you.

“Cum for me.” You beg softly, burying your face into the side of his neck so you can breathe him in. “I want to feel you inside me. Carry you with me even more.”

He groans, rocking up into you with a hiss as he gets closer to his orgasm. “Fuck. Gonna - fuck. Shit. Empress.” He moans your name as he pushes deep inside your pulsing cunt and he falls apart, painting your walls with his seed as he clenches his eyes shut.

You hum quietly, stroking his neck as he catches his breath. Feeling the baby move slightly and biting your lip. “We need to use your favor in the Senate.” You lean close and whisper the treasonous words into his ear. “Stage a coup. Revolt.” You pull back and look into his eyes seriously. “Kill the emperors.”

Marcus inhales sharply, his head turning so he can look into your eyes to see if you are testing him or if you’re serious. When he sees your eyes, he knows you’re serious and he swallows harshly, “it won’t be easy. Trying to convince the senate without the emperors finding out.” He admits quietly, “and they could find out and kill me.”

“Set the meetings.” You had thought long and hard about it. “I will convince them, I will do the talking. If our plot is found out, Caracalla could not immediately put me to death. Geta would discover the child is not truly his and he will never allow that.” You caress his cheek. “I wish to have you installed to rule as proctor for ‘his’ child.” You know the senate could never find out that the child isn’t Caracalla’s but no one but you and Marcus know this truth besides your husband.

Marcus caresses your spine, knowing that you could risk everything you’ve created, your life, your child, it’s all on the line. “Amor…” He murmurs and you cup his cheek, “I will never be allowed to be my own person. I will never be allowed to love you freely unless you do this.” You tell him and he nods, swallowing harshly, “I’ll get it organized.” He promises, “we will see it done.”

“Thank you, my love.” You lean in and press your lips to his. “I fear for our child raised under Caracalla’s direction.” Even if you are the mother, the fact that the baby would be proclaimed the emperor’s heir would mean he would be guided by your childish and evil husband. “I want him to grow up to be like his father.”

Marcus caresses your cheek, knowing there is no choice. If he looks back, he knows that he had to make this choice at some point. He never truly wanted to let you or his child go. The next morning, he dresses for court and decides to start with the hardest senator to convince, Brutus. A man who struggled to watch the Emperors rule but had loyalty to Rome. Marcus approaches him under the guise of talk of war, and Brutus nods, wandering off into a quiet corner of the senate to speak. “I fear we cannot speak in these quarters. Come to my villa, we can speak freely.” Marcus says and Brutus nods, unaware that you will be meeting with the men.

You pace, nervous about what you should say, would say. This is the most dangerous undertaking you have ever attempted. Not even trying to run away from your fate was as dangerous as this. You are trying to change your fate. The senators could be allies, or they could stab you in the back.

Brutus enters the room with Marcus, his head held high but his eyes widen when he sees the Empress standing there, her bump protruding beneath her tunic. “Empress.” He greets you, bowing his head.

“Brutus.” You greet him cautiously, but with a gracious smile on your face as you rub the swell of your stomach, bringing his eyes down to the baby. You will leverage the child in your womb. For your freedom, and perhaps Rome’s as well. “I trust you are well?” You ask kindly. “Please sit. The wine has been especially good lately.” It’s been watered down for your use, but you nod to Marcus to pour the senator a cup. “I hope you do not mind the subterfuge, I needed to speak with you and did not wish to summon you myself.”

Marcus pours the cup of wine and hands it to Brutus who nods, thanking Marcus, before his attention turns back to you. "I trust you are well, that the future Emperor is well?" He asks, and you nod in response, "he is lively. Due any day now." You declare and Marcus clears his throat, "the heir is the reason why we called you here.”

You wait for Brutus to turn back to you curiously, setting his cup down. You take a deep breath and caress your stomach. “It is no secret that unrest in Rome is at an all time high.” You murmur softly. “People are starving and while General Acacious has not been sent off on another expensive and bloody campaign, he will be soon.” You pause and sigh. “I fear for the future of Rome, of my son’s legacy that he will inherit.”

Brutus looks at Marcus who stands there, spine straight and steely eyed as your treasonous words are aired. Brutus could go tell the Emperors and you would be killed as soon as the babe is born, Marcus would be hanged the next day. However, Brutus doesn't run off. He nods, setting his cup down, "it is true that the empire is on a precipice. It could be the fall of Rome or her glory continues. The Emperors are driven by lust and greed. Their actions are selfish and make the lowest Roman anxious for change. We will fall if we allow the Emperors to continue down this path."

“There is another solution.” You suggest, rubbing your stomach again. “In my belly lies the next emperor of Rome. Ready to be guided by wise and cautious men.” Your eyes slide over to Marcus briefly. “Men who know the true cost of war and would be able to teach our emperor those lessons without it harming Rome’s people.” You look back at Brutus. “Men such as our senators, you, nurturing a leader that will take Rome to an even greater height.”

Brutus frowns, looking over at Marcus, knowing that the man who will assist in raising the young Emperor will be him. "And how would we remove our problem?" Brutus asks, eyebrows raised.

"I say we speak to the senators...establish a coup. My husband and brother-in-law would never see it coming." You say and Brutus takes a gulp of his wine before he says, "I will start speaking to the senators tomorrow."

“I hope that we can count on your discretion.” You add, pushing out of your seat and moving over to the senator. “We are on the cusp of change.” You murmur softly. “If it is the ruin of Rome or the brightness of her future, I leave that to your hands.”

Brutus nods, "if this gets out, it will be death for us all. We won't risk it." The senator promises and he looks over at Marcus, "you shall be the one who the senate turns to?" He asks and Marcus nods, making Brutus smile. "very well. I will do what needs to be done."

You nod to the senator when he leaves, Marcus walking out with him and you start to pace. Wondering if you have just signed your death papers or if you will be successful.

****

The senate is abuzz with chatter until Caracalla and Geta enter the chamber. The senators stand straighter and Marcus stands there, dressed in his official robes with the golden laurel wreath shining. He looks regal and the Emperors slosh wine across the marble floor as they greet the senators with wide grins. Brutus looks over at his fellow senators, his hand resting on his dagger. "Emperors." He greets them, walking towards them, and his eyes meet Marcus's for a moment. "The senate and I have been in discussions about the future of Rome." He declares and Geta hums, "and what a wonderful future it will be."

Marcus sighs, "we aren't so sure. Romans are starving, you tax them more and more every day to fund your wars and your lavish lifestyle." Marcus declares and Caracalla spins around, his eyes narrowed at the accusations, "you dare to spit these treasonous words?" He demands and Marcus shakes his head, "you are draining Rome dry. Her empire will be no more." He says louder and the senators nod while Brutus steps forward, "your leadership has driven Rome to the edge and we want to save our empire before it falls." Brutus declares and he steps up behind Geta while Marcus moves towards Caracalla. It happens in a flash, the daggers pulled out and embedded in the lower backs of the Emperors who cry out, cups of wine falling to the floor. The other senators rush forward, daggers in their hands as they each take a turn stabbing the emperors until blood runs along the marbled floors.

Your cry from your chamber is loud and pained, servants rushing and whispering through the halls. The Hippocrates has been summoned and the labor seems to be quick. The new heir to the throne of Rome is insistent on being born today. It takes your mind off of your worries. Your waters had broken almost as soon as Marcus had left to join the senators. You know that they had planned to kill your husband and his brother today, but the pains had taken over all thoughts so you had not been able to fret over the hours as they passed.

Blood covers the floor of the senate as Caracalla and Geta lay dead, blood pouring from their mouths. It turns out they betrayed a lot of senators, made promises they couldn’t keep. The senators didn’t take a lot of convincing to remove them from power. “It is done.” Brutus declares, “a new emperor shall be born any moment but we need someone in the interim. An emperor who will represent us, save Rome and her people from ruin. I nominate General Marcus Acacius.” Brutus declares and Marcus’s eyes widen. He didn’t expect to be nominated, feeling that Brutus would want to take control. “I second that nomination.” Drusus announces and one by one, the senate declares Marcus to be the next emperor. The General is speechless, knowing he could easily be taken down like Caracalla and Geta, but this means he gets to have you. “I accept. I will serve as Emperor for all, we will make Rome prosperous and safe.” He promises as a servant rushes in to announce, “the empress is in labor.” Marcus’s eyes widen and he rushes from the senate, running through the marbled halls in his mission to get to you. He doesn’t care that men shouldn’t be in the birthing room as he pushes through and stumbles to your bedside. “Amor. I’m here, I’m here.” He promises, blood still on his hands as he reaches for yours.

“Is it done?” You gasp out, scared for a brief moment that Marcus had been injured, but he would not have been able to come to your side if the plot had been foiled. “It is.” He murmurs, leaning down and pressing his lips to your forehead. You don’t even care that the servants can see, that the rumors will spread across Rome of your relationship with the General. He ignores the Hippocrates’s complaints about him being there as another pain rips through you and you scream, fingers crushing his own hand until the pain passes and you are panting for air. Your child is safe. Boy or girl, they will be free of your husband’s influence. “We need-” you gasp. “A ruler until the baby is older.”

"The senate has voted. They have chosen me to be Emperor until the child is old enough." He confesses, "I did not want to become Emperor but I want to save Rome and her people from destitution." He admits just as another pain causes you to grip his hand.

Your hiss is low and almost animalistic, the pains feeling like you are being ripped in two, but you know that it is natural. Surprised that the senate had voted for Marcus, you can’t help but be pleased by that outcome. It would ensure that you do not have to be apart. He will have a large role in raising your child together. “The babe is coming.” The Hippocrates tells you from between your legs, frowning at Marcus as he looks down to see the head. “You must push, empress. As hard as you can.”

Marcus is suddenly taken back to the moment when his wife was laboring and after the silence that lingered in the air when the boy was born sleeping, he remembers his wife's cry of agony until she started convulsing. His grip on your hand tightens as his heart pounds, terrified that he is going to lose you in the same way.

Gritting your teeth, nodding as you sit up and start to scream as you bear down as hard as you can. Sweat is pouring off of you and for a moment, you want to give up and tell them that you cannot do it. The pressure on your hand makes you look up. Seeing the horror on Marcus’s face, you know that he is scared for you. For the baby. Closing your eyes, you push again, feeling the pressure suddenly release and hearing the Hippocrates exclaim happily, “a boy!”

Marcus is shaking when he hears the babe cry out and he knows he's alive. He looks at you, wanting to see if you are okay as the hippocrates cradles the crying baby who has a mop of black hair.

You hear the hushed whispers, but you don’t care. You don’t care if all of Rome knows that the baby that will one day be Emperor is Marcus’s. The Hippocrates cleans the baby up while the servants start to massage your stomach, making you wince in pain but it’s all forgotten when the babe is placed into your arms. Making you cry happy tears as you kiss his head softly.

Marcus stares down at the babe in your arms, his cries echoing in the room, and Marcus falls instantly in love. His son. He will never allow harm to come to the boy, and he will claim him as his. He is Emperor now, he can do as he wishes in regards to his personal life. He wishes to marry you and claim the child as his. “I love you.” Marcus declares, uncaring of anyone else in the room, and he leans in to kiss the forehead of the crying baby. “My son.” He whispers, wanting him to know how much he already adores him.

You beam as you look at Marcus and your son. The future is far brighter now that your love has done the impossible. He and the senate have toppled the emperors and restored order without needless bloodshed. “I love you too.” You promise, leaning forward and kissing him boldly. “Both of us do, my emperor.”

****

Marcus wraps his arm around your waist, the golden laurel on his head matches yours as you stand on the balcony. “Do you, Maximis Acacius, vow to dedicate your life to the Roman Empire and her people?” Brutus asks, his hair now greying like Marcus’s. “I do.” Maximus vows, his head nodding. Marcus is proud of his son who he has trained to be the emperor. He claimed him as his son after he was sworn in as emperor and the empire celebrated having a new emperor with a son to take over. Since that day, you and Marcus have had 3 more children who stand beside you, proud of their brother who is taking his rightful place.

You look out over the crowd, a smile on your face bright and proud. You have been incredibly lucky, Marcus has been a wonderful emperor. Rome has flourished under his care and now he willingly turns the reins over to Maximus like he had planned when he was born. “I love you.” You murmur as the crowd roars in celebration of the new emperor.

Marcus turns to look at you, older but no less beautiful. You are his world - you and the children. He leans in to nudge his nose against yours, “I love you.” He promises, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. His entire world has changed thanks to Caracalla’s mad idea to have another man conceive the heir to Rome. In the end, Marcus is the one who won with his son as emperor and the empress as his uxor.

#pedro pascal #marcus acacius #marcus acacias x reader #marcus acacius x f!reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius imagine #gladiator 2

651 notes · View notes